Chapter 16
Like a recovering addict, Jade told himself each day that he wouldn’t succumb. He’d wait for yet another day to drink from the cup of grief. Mornings, he rose at four to pray, check the overseas markets, shower, make breakfast and lunch for Belle and set in motion the renovation of his parents’ home.
By seven, he was at work in the fields—planting, weeding, mowing, watering, sculpting the landscape, supervising the greenhouse, delivering the flowers that festooned the inn, hiring workers, dealing with the thousand little crises that arose and, of course, enduring his daily crucible at the Manor House.
“Pink,” Señor shrieked at him. “I said I wanted pink impatiens bordering the house, not more yellow ones, not more red ones. But pink.”
“Old Man, shush,” Paris said, rushing ou
