No Escape by Julie Moffett

 

Chapter Seven

 

Lexi Carmichael

 

My first impression of the castle was that it wasn’t exactly a castle. Instead, it was more like a mansion built atop the ruins of an ancient castle.

As we pulled up onto a circular stone driveway, I stared in awe. The new part of the castle was made of cream-colored stones built directly onto the gray stone foundation that had once been the original castle structure. The architect appeared to have followed the original design, building a mansion that mimicked a real castle with impressive turrets, large windows ringed with stone arches, and impressive balconies guarded by delicate iron railings. The castle was unmistakably Italian, with red terra cotta tiles perched on the roof. Two enormous, arched wooden doors were decorated with Christmas wreaths woven with red and gold ribbons and dotted with silver balls.

“Wow,” I murmured as I exited the car. If the castle looked this stunning in the dark, I couldn’t imagine how it would look in the daylight.

“Impressive,” Slash said. I hadn’t realized he had come to stand beside me. He slipped his hand in mine, and for a moment we marveled at it.

“Lexi, this place is beautiful,” Mom said from behind me. “What a lovely idea to come here.”

“It’ll undoubtedly be an adventure,” Dad said, also admiring the view. “Good job.”

We helped Lorenzo unpack the van and followed him through one of the gigantic wooden doors and into the foyer. The inside didn’t disappoint. Two gorgeous rose-colored marble staircases with elaborately carved handrails led to the next level and flanked a large open space. A huge iron chandelier, possibly original to the castle, hung down from the second floor and held actual lit candles.

To the right of the entrance stood a gigantic Christmas tree, dripping in white lights, satin ribbons, and huge pear-shaped crystals. But the Nativity scene caught my interest. Someone had created an entire mini village with an inn, running water, working lights, intricate backdrops, and a plethora of people and animal figurines. The engineering and design were so sophisticated, the geek in me immediately activated.

I walked over to examine it, and Slash followed. “This is extraordinary,” I breathed. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“We Italians take our presepi quite seriously,” he said with a smile. “It’s your Nativity scenes, as you call it. Presepe means crib. The crib will remain empty until Christmas Eve, when the baby is placed in it to great fanfare. But I agree with you, this one’s exquisite.”

I wanted to stay and figure out how the architect had done everything, but Lorenzo ushered us toward the area between the two staircases, near a large rectangular table with a pink marble top. Atop the table was a rustic Christmas centerpiece made of pinecones, gourds, and fir boughs, mixed in with red, white, and gold candles, all of which flickered from the draft of the open door behind us.

“That’s the butler’s table,” Slash said softly. “It holds things that a butler might need, I suppose.”

Perhaps it was normal for a castle to have a butler, but I didn’t even know what a butler did. “This castle is mind-blowing.”

Even my mom was speechless, and that’s saying something. My dad looked around the room, whistling at the view.

“I’m so pleased you approve of the seasonal decor,” Lorenzo said. “Mr. Zachetti spares no expense. Now, behind the staircase to your right is a small elevator that will assist you with getting your luggage to the second floor.”

As we started to shuffle that way with our luggage, my mom asked Lorenzo a question. “Mr. Conte, you speak English so well. Where did you learn it?”

He seemed pleased, as well a little embarrassed by her compliment. “That’s kind of you to say, signora. I studied several languages in London. I also speak French, German, and Spanish. Mr. Zachetti often has guests from diverse locations and prefers to have a butler who can appropriately and efficiently respond to the needs of everyone.”

“It’s such a wonderful talent to have,” Mom said. “My tongue gets tied up whenever I try to say something in a foreign language beyond a basic greeting.”

“I’m sure, madame, with a little practice, your grasp of the language could be quite sufficient.”

“Oh, that’s kind of you to say.”

We took turns in the elevator getting ourselves and the luggage to the top. Lorenzo then led us down a hallway lit by golden sconces on the wall. He stopped at a wooden door to his left and, using an old-fashioned golden key, opened the room. “Signore and Signora Carmichael, this is your room.” He helped pull the suitcases inside and handed my father the key before walking to the next room.

“Your room, signore and signora, is here,” Lorenzo said. “Hopefully you’ll find it satisfactory.”

“I’m sure we will,” I said.

Lorenzo opened the door and motioned for me to enter first, so I did, pulling my suitcase behind me. “Wow,” I said.

A beautiful four-poster bed with elaborately carved wooden columns and gauzy white curtains commanded the room. The space also had a marble fireplace, two antique armchairs, and a small table.

“Is that a working fireplace?” Slash asked.

“It most certainly is,” Lorenzo replied. “Beneath the blanket to the right of the fireplace is the wood. It will be replenished every morning.”

“Excellent,” he said.

I went straight to the balcony, opening one of two large glass doors that led out onto it. “Come look at the view, Slash.” Cold air rushed in, causing the curtains to billow. Our room faced the sea, and the moon shone brightly on the water. Waves crashed against the rocks of the cliffs, and for a moment, the sound reminded me of my favorite hotel room in Salerno, Italy, where Slash and I had worked through one of the most challenging issues of our relationship.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.

Slash joined me, putting his arms around me, pulling me close. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing.

“If that will be all, I shall withdraw and give you time to refresh yourself before supper,” Lorenzo said.

Slash left me and walked Lorenzo to the door, speaking to him softly in Italian. I closed the balcony door and sat on the satin ottoman before starting to take off my damp tennis shoes. When Slash came back, I asked him what he’d said.

“I asked him where my parents are located,” he replied.

I looked up from untying my shoe. “And? Where are they?”

“Next door.”

My stomach did a little flip. “So, we’re sandwiched between our parents?”

“Looks like it.” He shrugged. “This ought to be fun.”

“Said no one ever.” I tossed my shoes aside, peeled off my socks, and lay back on the bed. “Jeez.”

“It’ll be fine, cara. It’s just for a couple of days.”

“If you say so. We can do this, right? Please tell me we can do this.”

“Of course we can do this. We just have to be ready for anything.”

I sighed. Wasn’t that the motto of our freaking lives? “Well…aren’t we always?”