skiing, because they were in the midst of a blizzard, which meant there would be no flying (Cayne shrugged the storm off, but Julia ordered him grounded), and there could be no roof sleuthing at other resorts by other means because Edan had taken the van to the hostel, which the map said was two miles away.
After a few minutes of debate, they decided to eat a late lunch at a Spanish restaurant on the west side of the first floor.
“I hope they have real Spanish food,” Carlin said wistfully. “The cooks at the compound tried their best, but it was never as good as in Spain.”
“Carlin, we’re in Switzerland,” Drew said, like he was breaking bad news, and even Cayne cracked a smile.
“True, but I guarantee in this resort they will have a Spanish chef.”
The conversation reminded Julia of group home field trips. One Saturday a month the older kids would go on field trips to places that at the time seemed fancy (one month, it was Graceland), and Julia has always felt that they stuck out like a bunch of sore, unwanted thumbs.
The ornate hallways at House of The Gods actually were fancy. With Carlin’s bank account and Edan’s Edan-ness, they definitely weren’t a bunch of poor kids; here they were another kind of outcast.
She wondered what these people would think if they knew they were hiding Chosen. Assuming, of course, that they knew what Chosen were.
She wished she was just Chosen. She envied Meredith, Drew, and Carlin and the rest, although at the same time she was grateful for her friends. They’d stuck with her—and they didn’t have to. She wondered grimly how much longer they she would need them to.
Her headache was mild enough that the Advil had helped a lot, but Edan had warned her it would get worse again. He said each time, there would be more pain to transfer. Meaning one day, he just wouldn’t be able to do it anymore. Her mind flashed a picture of the compound’s great glass pyramid; as quickly as it had sprung up, Julia reminded herself that the place was gone, and that even if it wasn’t she would never go back to The Three and their Chosen crazyland. She’d rather die.
Meredith’s gasp interrupted her thoughts, and Julia’s initial bite of fear was replaced by something warm and fuzzy. One of Jess Stanton’s body guards was at the end of the hall, pushing open a door to a stairwell. At least he looked like one of them. Decked out in ragged black jeans, snow-crusted black boots, and an amazingly hot red and black flannel jacket, the guy bumped Julia’s blood pressure up a notch.
Normally she’d never have the nerve to look someone that holy freaking hot right in the face, but her eyes didn’t give her an option. As her gaze caressed his deliciously sculpted nose, cheekbones, and chin, settling on his omniscient dark brown eyes, she decided no way in hell had she ever seen the guy before. His black hair bounced as he moved, a short—but not super short—cut that made his white highlights stand out.
She only saw him for a second, bit Julia felt like a dirty cheater. He didn’t look like one of Jess’s body guards, so who was he? She remembered Cayne’s question that morning, and wished she’d had the presence of mind to open her sight. There was definitely something up with those hotties.
Pretty quickly, Carlin was talking about getting his number, sending Mer into a long lament about how bad her hair had looked. “I need to find a ladies’ room.” Julia watched Meredith and Carlin’s backs as they walked, remembering what she’d always heard about girls: three’s a crowd.
She sighed, and Cayne’s hand closed around hers. He’d been walking a step behind her, surveying the hall and probably Jess Stanton’s guard, but he’d somehow sensed her gloomy thoughts. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. Somewhere behind them, Drew cleared his throat.
“Something to say?” Julia teased.
“Get a room,” he murmured.
“We have one,” Julia giggled.
She
After a few minutes of debate, they decided to eat a late lunch at a Spanish restaurant on the west side of the first floor.
“I hope they have real Spanish food,” Carlin said wistfully. “The cooks at the compound tried their best, but it was never as good as in Spain.”
“Carlin, we’re in Switzerland,” Drew said, like he was breaking bad news, and even Cayne cracked a smile.
“True, but I guarantee in this resort they will have a Spanish chef.”
The conversation reminded Julia of group home field trips. One Saturday a month the older kids would go on field trips to places that at the time seemed fancy (one month, it was Graceland), and Julia has always felt that they stuck out like a bunch of sore, unwanted thumbs.
The ornate hallways at House of The Gods actually were fancy. With Carlin’s bank account and Edan’s Edan-ness, they definitely weren’t a bunch of poor kids; here they were another kind of outcast.
She wondered what these people would think if they knew they were hiding Chosen. Assuming, of course, that they knew what Chosen were.
She wished she was just Chosen. She envied Meredith, Drew, and Carlin and the rest, although at the same time she was grateful for her friends. They’d stuck with her—and they didn’t have to. She wondered grimly how much longer they she would need them to.
Her headache was mild enough that the Advil had helped a lot, but Edan had warned her it would get worse again. He said each time, there would be more pain to transfer. Meaning one day, he just wouldn’t be able to do it anymore. Her mind flashed a picture of the compound’s great glass pyramid; as quickly as it had sprung up, Julia reminded herself that the place was gone, and that even if it wasn’t she would never go back to The Three and their Chosen crazyland. She’d rather die.
Meredith’s gasp interrupted her thoughts, and Julia’s initial bite of fear was replaced by something warm and fuzzy. One of Jess Stanton’s body guards was at the end of the hall, pushing open a door to a stairwell. At least he looked like one of them. Decked out in ragged black jeans, snow-crusted black boots, and an amazingly hot red and black flannel jacket, the guy bumped Julia’s blood pressure up a notch.
Normally she’d never have the nerve to look someone that holy freaking hot right in the face, but her eyes didn’t give her an option. As her gaze caressed his deliciously sculpted nose, cheekbones, and chin, settling on his omniscient dark brown eyes, she decided no way in hell had she ever seen the guy before. His black hair bounced as he moved, a short—but not super short—cut that made his white highlights stand out.
She only saw him for a second, bit Julia felt like a dirty cheater. He didn’t look like one of Jess’s body guards, so who was he? She remembered Cayne’s question that morning, and wished she’d had the presence of mind to open her sight. There was definitely something up with those hotties.
Pretty quickly, Carlin was talking about getting his number, sending Mer into a long lament about how bad her hair had looked. “I need to find a ladies’ room.” Julia watched Meredith and Carlin’s backs as they walked, remembering what she’d always heard about girls: three’s a crowd.
She sighed, and Cayne’s hand closed around hers. He’d been walking a step behind her, surveying the hall and probably Jess Stanton’s guard, but he’d somehow sensed her gloomy thoughts. He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. Somewhere behind them, Drew cleared his throat.
“Something to say?” Julia teased.
“Get a room,” he murmured.
“We have one,” Julia giggled.
She
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