Once upon a time, and far away, Niall Horan found himself the ultimate prize in a dangerously high-stakes card game. When the last hand had been revealed, the knowing curl of Zayn Malik's lips told him he had every intention of claiming his winnings...
Niall blew his nose vigorously, swallowing back the threatening tears. The last thing he wanted was someone to see him crying and misinterpret the reason, he thought, as he closed The Notebook and slipped the paperback into his bag together with his hankie.
During the past week, he'd devoured Nicholas Spark and discovered John Green from the bookshelves, along with a Raymond Chandler and Ernest Hemingway. but had hesitated to begin the book that Harry had given him, knowing that it would revive memories of the quiet evenings with baby Freddie - and a time when all Niall has to trouble him was shortage of money.
I didn't realize how lucky I was, he thought bitterly.
Suddenly restless, Niall got up from the lounger, putting on his hat and slinging his bag over his shoulder. Lunch would not be served another hour or more, so he could fill in some time with a walk.
He'd explored most of the immediate vicinity, and all that remained was the unexciting prospect of the olive groves where Liam had assured him almost vehemently that there was nothing to see, and it would be better to go to the beach instead. He was probably right, Niall thought, but at least the trees would provide some shade and less chance of running into an armed guard.
And it was pleasant to wander along, his espadrilles making no sound on the loose soil of the path winding between the trees, listening to the faint rustling of the silver leaves above him. There were nets spread on the ground beneath the branches, presumably to catch the fruit when it was harvested, in the way it had been done since the first olives were grown.
He recalled reading that the trees could live for hundreds of years and judging by the gnarled and twisted trunks he saw around him, some of these were very old indeed. Just being among them was an oddly peaceful experience.
And then Niall paused, frowning a little, as that peace was suddenly disturbed by the sound, not far away, of a child crying.
Except there were no children on the island. The only residents of the villa were the house maid, who was a childless widow, and Adonis and Penelope, whose two sons were grown up and working on the mainland.
Puzzled, Niall followed the direction of the crying, and found himself on the edge of the grove, looking at a neat two-storey house fronted by its own fenced garden. Yet Liam had implied that the Villa was the only house on the island.
And the house had occupants. A very small girl, incongruously clad in a pink taffeta dress, with a number of lace-edged underskirts, plus white socks and shoes, was standing at the gate, sobbing, her gaze fixed on the blue ball lying on the other side and well beyond her reach.
Ουπς! Αυτή η εικόνα δεν ακολουθεί τους κανόνες περιεχομένου. Για να συνεχίσεις με την δημοσίευση, παρακαλώ αφαίρεσε την ή ανέβασε διαφορετική εικόνα.
Niall said gently. "Oh dear."He picked up the ball and walked towards the gate, and saw the child retreat a couple of steps, her thumb in her mouth.
"Yours, I think." Niall pushed the ball carefully through the bards of the gate so that it bounced gently at the little girl's feet. "And now you should say shukriya." he prompted.
