Back to Thorn Hill ✓

Part II

Greetings were hasty and glacial. Alexandra would have felt a perfect stranger if not for the memories brought back by the sight of the rooms where she had spent most of her lonely childhood. Luckily enough, the attorney of uncle Vernon had been punctual and also the others were already there at her arrival, settled down in the library and waiting for the reading of the will.

Alexandra took place next to the lawyer on the sofa, preferring a neutral spot for observing the procedures. Her parents sat on the opposite side, careful not to cross her gaze. The reading started therefore without further delay, so that the dozen people attending could go back to their occupations. The bored glances and impatient sighs put Alexandra enough at ease as to concede herself a yawn; the flat and monotonous voice of the elderly lawyer was so tedious that even she started to be annoyed by it. Furthermore, uncle Vernon had thought of leaving them with a long goodbye sermon. When it finally came down to the interesting part—money, obviously—Alexandra tensed against the soft velvet of the sofa, bracing up for an improvised flight.

Uncle Vernon, who had neither wife or children, had donated all his shares of the Cherry-Pop to charity. This was a real smack to Alexandra's father, sole brother of the late Vernon Graham. In fact, after the patriarch of the family, Walter Graham, had discovered the formula of a new fizzy drink that had lead the Coca-Cola Company to bankruptcy, every single generation of Grahams succeeding him had benefited from the enormous patrimony accumulated thanks to those early profits. The value of the secret formula was thus incalculable, and essential for the living standards of the Grahams. For this reason the company had been passed down from father to son, remaining under exclusive administration of the family members.

Alexandra looked around the room for an escape route allowing her to pass undetected, but that turned out to be impossible given her central position. It was then that she noticed him—a man with eyes of the darkest black. The stranger was distractedly leaning against the frame of the French doors, as he watched with cold disinterest over the havoc wreaked by the revelation. Alexandra couldn't tell what struck her more about him, if the flawless appearance and the undeniable magnetic aura that the man radiated even through that relaxed posture, or if it was instead the strange and undefinable feeling that he conveyed to her. His charm was surely unquestionable: tall, not older than thirty, with a body clearly trained, pronounced but not too sharp features, short hair perfectly matching his tenebrous almond-shaped eyes. That was his most intriguing trait, a mesmeric and faintly scandalous gaze, center of an almost tangible erotic energy.

"This is inconceivable!"

Alexandra had to tear her eyes off the mysterious stranger and drag them over the rigid and jittery figure of her father. The situation degenerated in a few seconds, and she actually tried to sink into the sofa, wishing she could just disappear. Making sure that the will of the deceased was respected was a tough nut to crack that now concerned only her. When she turned again toward the French doors looking for the eyes of the stranger she felt taken aback—and maybe a little disappointed.

He was gone.