The Red Ledger Part 1

Chapter 4

ISABEL

I've never been this far outside the city. Every instinct is shouting at me. It's the same voice that keeps me on high alert when I'm in uncharted territory or edging outside my comfort zone. Tristan leaves the vehicle and pops the trunk, while I hold on to the door handle with a white-knuckled grip. What if this was all a terrible mistake?

I want to trust him. I told him so, but that was two seconds after he kissed me like the Tristan I remember. The second our lips touched, an avalanche of memories rushed in. Stolen moments, heated touches, and forbidden nights. Everything precious that clung to the hurt he'd caused me, making him impossible to forget.

In my periphery, a man descends the white stone steps that lead to the grand entrance of the home. He smiles warmly, and I hear his muffled greeting to Tristan from inside the car. I take a deep breath, gather my resolve, and step out.

"It's good to see you, meu amigo." The man's gaze shifts swiftly to me. "And who is this?" His accent is thick and brusque.

"I'm Isabel." I smile weakly and take his outstretched hand to shake it.

In one fluid motion, he brings it to his lips and brushes a kiss against my skin. The warmth in his dark eyes chases away the discomfort the gesture should give me. The man has charm, and even though my entire life changed a few hours ago, somehow I'm grateful we're here and not someplace even more frightening.

"I'm Mateus da Silva. Muito prazer em conhecê-la. Welcome to my home."

"Obrigada," I mutter.

Tristan's eyes darken as he hauls our bags over his shoulder. "Shall we?"

"Of course." Mateus hesitates a moment before easing away, nodding toward Tristan, and leading us toward the house.

We step inside onto a well-worn Persian rug that stretches into an expansive living area. The walls are covered with dozens of paintings of varying sizes. Each is trimmed with gold leaf and light dust. Antique furniture hugs the walls and completes several small entertaining areas. The tables are decorated with ornate lamps and bronze statues.

The guards at the gate and the heavily barred windows tell me whatever he keeps in this house is worth protecting. I'm telling myself it has to do with the wall-to-wall antiques and nothing to do with the danger that Tristan insists we're running from.

"Are you hungry from your travels? I can have a meal prepared."

"We'll eat in the room," Tristan answers quickly. "Where are we staying?"

Mateus motions us to follow him down a hall. He seems unaffected by Tristan's grim mood. A sinking feeling washes over me. If this is normal behavior for Tristan, who has he become? Is there anything left of the man I fell in love with so many years ago? I can't think that way...

We pause outside one of the doors, which Mateus pushes open. "The honeymoon suite," he says with a smirk.

Tristan frowns but doesn't reply. He only guides me into the room that matches the rest of the house—rich textures and deep colors. The bed is draped in a red satin bedspread, its ornate metal headboard pressed to the wall like a piece of art in itself.

"I will have Karina bring you dinner. I'll be in the den if you need me, Tristan."

"Thank you," Tristan says after dropping our bags to the floor. He meets Mateus's gaze briefly, and I swear something passes between them. An understanding, a wordless exchange.