withheld food as punishment for insubordination.
Poor guy. Gwen put her hand on the cloisonné tray with the bottle, the cork pull, and the two gold-rimmed crystal glasses. “As a welcome gift, we left you an appetizer tray and wine from one of Washington’s finest wineries. The Chardonnay is one of our favorites, so we hope you will enjoy it.”
Cecily sighed wistfully. “If only I could. But my acid reflux won’t allow me to drink the tiniest drop of liquor of any kind.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Gwen was pretty sure she didn’t give a damn.
“It’s really okay. I’ll be the one laughing when you drinkers destroy your livers.”
Gwen, and her liver, were speechless.
Oblivious to her faux pas—or was she?—Cecily walked over to the window and looked out.
Gwen told herself to relax, for who could resist that idyllic view of primal forest and distant ocean?
Cecily ran her hand over the sill, looked at her fingers, rubbed them as if she had detected dust, and asked, “Where are the curtains?”
“The curtains?”
“Yes. Curtains. For this window.”
“The copper trim was added as a decorative frame for the view. It doesn’t need any more embellishment.”
“It’s not about embellishment, Cousin Gwen.” Cecily sounded as if she was explaining the principles of decency to a child. “People can see in!”
Gwen took a firm grip on her patience. “No. They can’t. Virtue Falls is the closest town, five miles to the north. We’re off the main highway, no one comes out here, and even if someone wandered onto the property by mistake, the ground drops away steeply at this side of the cottage and it’s impossible for anyone on the ground to see more than the bottom of the deck.”
Cecily’s artificially plumped lips wrinkled like a prune. “Can someone get up to the deck from the ground?”
“No, the only way onto the deck is through these doors.” Gwen flung open the sliding glass door and stepped out to let the cool ocean breeze cool her cheeks.
Landon followed her out.
Cecily hurried after them. “Heavens, Cousin Gwen! I don’t want you to feel guilty or remiss.”
Not a problem!
“I just feel so … exposed.” Cecily hugged herself.
Gwen wanted to say, No one wants to look up your skirt. Instead she said, “We have never had trespassers.”
With halfhearted enthusiasm, Landon said, “This is really nice.”
Which wasn’t the kind of admiration Gwen was used to, but after her pummeling by Cecily, she was grateful for even such slight praise. She waved an arm. “Washington in all its grandeur!” Then she cursed her own nervous, chirpy voice.
Cecily turned back toward the cottage—and promptly stuck her stiletto heel into the crack between the boards on the deck.
Gwen and Landon leaped to her assistance.
Cecily moaned about her joints and nerves and examined her shoe with a ferocious and furious intensity, an intensity she transferred to Gwen when Gwen suggested she put on flats to more easily navigate the rugged Washington landscape.
In a low voice that throbbed with drama, Cecily replied that heels were an important part of her exotic persona.
Gwen didn’t have a single doubt that her own khaki trousers, button-up shirt, old-fashioned boat shoes, and chin-length brown hair with its streak of premature white did not, in Cecily’s estimation, contribute to an exotic persona, or any persona at all.
Gwen announced that dinner would be served at seven and escaped back to the main house.
* * *
Late that afternoon, Mario found Gwen sitting in the dark in the pantry on a low step stool, drinking a glass of sauvignon blanc. He flipped on the light. “Things aren’t going well?”
She looked up at him, at her husband who had visited this plague upon them. “Did you meet them?”
Mario had immigrated from Italy after their marriage; he had a warm, deep voice with a marked Italian accent and an Italian’s sense of hospitality. “As soon as I got home, I
Poor guy. Gwen put her hand on the cloisonné tray with the bottle, the cork pull, and the two gold-rimmed crystal glasses. “As a welcome gift, we left you an appetizer tray and wine from one of Washington’s finest wineries. The Chardonnay is one of our favorites, so we hope you will enjoy it.”
Cecily sighed wistfully. “If only I could. But my acid reflux won’t allow me to drink the tiniest drop of liquor of any kind.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Gwen was pretty sure she didn’t give a damn.
“It’s really okay. I’ll be the one laughing when you drinkers destroy your livers.”
Gwen, and her liver, were speechless.
Oblivious to her faux pas—or was she?—Cecily walked over to the window and looked out.
Gwen told herself to relax, for who could resist that idyllic view of primal forest and distant ocean?
Cecily ran her hand over the sill, looked at her fingers, rubbed them as if she had detected dust, and asked, “Where are the curtains?”
“The curtains?”
“Yes. Curtains. For this window.”
“The copper trim was added as a decorative frame for the view. It doesn’t need any more embellishment.”
“It’s not about embellishment, Cousin Gwen.” Cecily sounded as if she was explaining the principles of decency to a child. “People can see in!”
Gwen took a firm grip on her patience. “No. They can’t. Virtue Falls is the closest town, five miles to the north. We’re off the main highway, no one comes out here, and even if someone wandered onto the property by mistake, the ground drops away steeply at this side of the cottage and it’s impossible for anyone on the ground to see more than the bottom of the deck.”
Cecily’s artificially plumped lips wrinkled like a prune. “Can someone get up to the deck from the ground?”
“No, the only way onto the deck is through these doors.” Gwen flung open the sliding glass door and stepped out to let the cool ocean breeze cool her cheeks.
Landon followed her out.
Cecily hurried after them. “Heavens, Cousin Gwen! I don’t want you to feel guilty or remiss.”
Not a problem!
“I just feel so … exposed.” Cecily hugged herself.
Gwen wanted to say, No one wants to look up your skirt. Instead she said, “We have never had trespassers.”
With halfhearted enthusiasm, Landon said, “This is really nice.”
Which wasn’t the kind of admiration Gwen was used to, but after her pummeling by Cecily, she was grateful for even such slight praise. She waved an arm. “Washington in all its grandeur!” Then she cursed her own nervous, chirpy voice.
Cecily turned back toward the cottage—and promptly stuck her stiletto heel into the crack between the boards on the deck.
Gwen and Landon leaped to her assistance.
Cecily moaned about her joints and nerves and examined her shoe with a ferocious and furious intensity, an intensity she transferred to Gwen when Gwen suggested she put on flats to more easily navigate the rugged Washington landscape.
In a low voice that throbbed with drama, Cecily replied that heels were an important part of her exotic persona.
Gwen didn’t have a single doubt that her own khaki trousers, button-up shirt, old-fashioned boat shoes, and chin-length brown hair with its streak of premature white did not, in Cecily’s estimation, contribute to an exotic persona, or any persona at all.
Gwen announced that dinner would be served at seven and escaped back to the main house.
* * *
Late that afternoon, Mario found Gwen sitting in the dark in the pantry on a low step stool, drinking a glass of sauvignon blanc. He flipped on the light. “Things aren’t going well?”
She looked up at him, at her husband who had visited this plague upon them. “Did you meet them?”
Mario had immigrated from Italy after their marriage; he had a warm, deep voice with a marked Italian accent and an Italian’s sense of hospitality. “As soon as I got home, I
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