Part 15 (1/2)

”No, I'm not.”

”Sorry,” Diana mumbled.

”That's fine.” He took her hand again, but she pulled away.

”I have another question.”

He raised one eyebrow. ”And what is that?”

”Why the focus on mothers and their kids?”

”Why not?” He captured her hand, but she refused to walk forward. ”What?”

”Answer the question.”

”I did.”

”No, you gave me another question.” She twisted her lips. ”Why the focus on mothers and their kids?”

He smirked. ”I believe the children are our future-”

”Really?” She interrupted him. ”You're going to quote a Whitney Houston song?”

”Fine. I have a special pa.s.sion for helping mothers and children out.”

”Especially ones dealing with domestic violence?” she asked.

”Why would you say that?”

”You were the one who mentioned it, Asher.”

”Did I?”

”Yes. You brought up that there's a lot of abused women in homeless shelters.”

”I also mentioned drug addicts.”

”Yeah, but that's a typical stereotype. But, most people wouldn't think to bring up the fact that a lot of shelters are filled with broken families.”

”I'm sure that's common knowledge.”

”I don't think so.”

”I'm sure of it.” He pulled her away, and she decided to leave the topic alone and follow him. In her head, more questions rose.

The best way to know a rich man's insides, is to see how they spend their money. Buying up all the shelters in Miami and even building his own for mothers and kids trying to escape domestic abuse? That's not some pa.s.sion that you happen to pick up. That's an ache that came from. . .unfortunate things. Did he see someone being hurt in his childhood? Was it all around him? Where did he grow up? What was his childhood like?

For the remainder of the tour, Diana barely heard half of the things Asher said, as she swam around the thoughts in her head.

Minutes flew by with each step. Asher guided Diana down hallway after hallway filled with polished walls that led to room after room of stunning furniture and exquisite art. A haunting magic thickened in the air. She half expected the candlesticks and clocks to come alive.

Each s.p.a.ce held its own scent. The kitchen radiated savory aromas. The bathrooms emitted flowery fragrances. The bedrooms roared with herbal perfumes that tantalized the senses.

Yet, for some reason, the whole mansion made her feel like she was walking through a high-end hotel, instead of someone's home. The place had the right scents, look, and sounds, but no warmth flowed through the air, just this stiff, coldness.

Is he really alone here? I would be.

There were other odd things that set Diana on edge.

In every room, a large oil painting of what she guessed to be his mother hung on each wall. On every one of her portraits, clear, blue eyes stared back beneath a bundle of blonde curls that were usually stacked high on top of her head. She was an attractive woman, and there was no doubt that Asher had gained his gorgeous looks from her.

Maybe, in these two days of staying with him, I can get a closer look into who he is. I still never figured out what he would gain out of funding this investigation. Sure, he would be safe from a serial killer, but what else? And what's up with all of these paintings of his mother?

When Diana had researched Asher, there hadn't been any pictures of his mother. Which was surprising. Most affluent women relished in flas.h.i.+ng cameras all around them. Additionally, the few articles Diana discovered had been difficult to find. She'd called in more favors than she should have.

For that first meeting at The Cove, she'd wanted to prepare herself for Asher, surprise him with the depth of her knowledge on him. So she'd delved deep into his history. Though there was no indication of murder, malice, or wrongdoing in his life, Diana found some details hard to swallow. Her research revealed all of Mrs. Bishop's marriages. Something that Diana didn't think most of Asher's society friends were aware of. She'd bribed too many just to get that tiny bit of data. Someone had paid even more to keep the woman's history buried.

Who wanted to keep her marriages a secret, Asher or her?

Mrs. Bishop had been an unlucky wife. Each husband died a few years after the wedding, leaving Mrs. Bishop in a pile of wealth.

To most that would've seemed odd. For the rich, it was pretty normal for a beautiful young woman to marry a rich man, and he die later. Most of the ambitious women wedded the old and sickly, then once their husband died, they married again. For the wicked female, wedding the rich was a career.

And besides her first marriage, Asher's mother had been at least twenty years younger than all her ex-husbands after.

There was also absolutely no information on Asher's father. That concerned her. In a few interviews that Asher had done, he'd discussed the fact that his father had left him and his mother.

With all of his wealth, why hadn't Asher sought his father's ident.i.ty out? Or had he searched for him and just didn't want to confess such a private thing to Diana or the world?

Throughout the whole tour, Diana tried to keep her questions to herself. But after the tenth room with a huge portrait of his mother, Diana could no longer stifle her urge to bring the woman up. ”So these are paintings of your mother?”

”Yes.” He guided them out of the study. ”She likes seeing herself in every room.”

Still, I don't think I would have kept them up after she died.

The last article on Asher's mother was her obituary. She'd died in a huge fire on the Bishop grounds. There'd been no police investigation or anything further.

Maybe Asher will tell me more about what happened. Well, that's if he was comfortable enough to reveal it to me. G.o.d, listen to me. I'm always on the story. Leave this alone, Diana. Cupid is the one I'm supposed to be focused on, not Asher Bishop. Who cares about his past?

Diana followed Asher as they walked down the hallway. ”And now that your mother's gone, you keep the paintings up in her memory.”

He captured Diana's hand and led her up the stairs. ”She's never really gone.”

She's never really gone? Even though it's been years, it must still be too difficult to heal from.

An hour later, Asher showed her the last room.

Hers.

It was s.p.a.cious with a king bed, a luscious armoire, walk-in closet, and big windows that looked out onto a field of pink roses. The bathroom was connected and the deep slate cream marbling on the floor stunned her.