Chapter Twenty One
The man’s name was Elias Foster, a landscape architect Amara had worked with on two previous projects, and he showed up at the estate on a Tuesday afternoon with rolled-up blueprints under one arm and an easy, familiar way of talking to her that Rafael clocked the second he walked into the room.
“He is helping me redesign the east garden,” Amara explained, when Rafael’s face clearly asked the question before he could. “For the client event next month. We worked together on the Ashford renovation.”
“I remember,” Rafael said, though he hadn’t, not until she had said it.
Elias stuck out a hand, warm and not bothered by whatever tension he might have sensed in the room. “Rafael, right? Amara mentions you. Good things, mostly.”
“Mostly,” Rafael repeated, a heaviness sett
