Read Online Heart Choice by Robin D. Owens - Free Book Online Page A

addressed the archives of the Residence, “where are the plans, drawings, holos of the previous styles of the Residence?”
    â€œOlder records are in the ResidenceDen, the last GrandLady D’Blackthorn, your mother, redecorated just before you were born—”
    â€œStop,” Straif commanded.
    Now he appeared pale. The man was going to have to face some deep problems that he’d avoided for years. She wet her lips, crossed over to him, and put a hand on his arm. He looked down from the few centimeters that separated their heights, eyes stark.
    â€œPerhaps you might consider a whole new style,” Mitchella said.
    He jerked a nod.
    Feeling more in control of the project, Mitchella continued. “Let’s take a look around, and you can tell me of your color preferences and what you like and dislike about each room.”
    He narrowed his eyes and studied her, as if examining her for evidence of pity. She kept her bland professional expression.
    He shrugged, and Drina protested with a mew.
    â€œRight,” Straif said, and wheeled to the left. “We can view the west end first.”
    Drina meowed loudly, and he set her down.
    As they traversed the hallways once beautiful with paint and other wallcoverings, Straif’s manner subtly altered. His gliding walk showed breaks in the smooth rhythm, his voice was strained, his expression impassive.
    Mitchella recorded his comments and her own on the flexistrip, noting his tastes as well as his decisions on what furnishings to keep. Drina made cat noises that Mitchella ignored.
    The Residence itself was beautiful, with paneling that had resisted deterioration; fine moldings and discreet carvings emphasized the architecture. How Antenn would love to study this building.
    She soon realized Straif wouldn’t enter many of the rooms, an added difficulty. He’d waved her into the ResidenceDen with a curt order of “change it all,” and she merely scanned it. It incorporated so many of his preferences that she was surprised that he hated it. But with a fast look around, she realized it showed the stamp of his father, perhaps his FatherSire, too, who had formed Straif’s own tastes.
    This room would hold too many memories for him. She didn’t linger, but thought it would be a challenge to make Straif comfortable in the room. The natural focus of the chamber was the windows. The best way to give Straif a room that he’d enjoy was to relandscape the grounds outside the windows. She recorded everything with an image sphere.
    Returning to the hall, she saw Straif studiously avoiding a large closed door opposite them. She nodded at the door. He pretended to look, but his glance slid by. He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to walk to where the main building curved into the attached wing and the stairs leading upward.
    Mitchella frowned as she thought of the floor plan she studied. “The room we didn’t enter was the ballroom?”
    The chamber took up a great deal of that half of the floor. Why would he dislike the ballroom?
    â€œYes. I won’t be going in there. Ever.”
    That was clear enough.
    â€œI’d like to demolish it.” He marched up the stairs at a quick pace and couldn’t have heard Mitchella’s smothered protest. She remembered the magnificent room now. As she watched him move swiftly up the stairs, she noted his smooth stride. With a Holly mother, no wonder the man was so graceful. From her studies she knew the Blackthorns had always been good dancers, had enjoyed giving balls. Why would he break with generations of tradition?
    A hideous yowl came from Drina. Back arched and hair on end, she backed away from the ballroom door. The small cat whirled and sped past Mitchella up the stairs, ears flattened.
    Nibbling her lower lip, Mitchella realized she needed more information about her client—from whom, she didn’t know. Maybe when she had dinner with Danith D’Ash