On his twelfth birthday, Nathan had been given the solemn and weighty responsibility of caring for the sword. His father had handed him a flat, featherlight package wrapped in blue-and-gold-striped paper. Nathan opened it to find a pair of lint-free cotton gloves. He’d known immediately what they signified, since he’d watched his father wax and oil the sword while wearing a similar pair many times. His heart had leaped at this rare sign of his father’s trust.
Of course, the trust had lasted only about two years. Once he and his father began their battle over Nathan’s future, Nathan deliberately shirked his duty as sword polisher. He’d never done damage to the sword, though, even at the height of hostilities. He could be grateful for that.
Nathan walked over to the shelf and lifted the box down the way his father had, placing it on the huge leather-topped desk in the center of the room. The key lay on top of the box, since there were no children in his house who needed protection from the sharp blade. Or vice versa.
The brass of the key and the padlocks gleamed in the soft light of the overhead chandelier. Probably Ed’s handiwork. Ed respected the sword as much as the general did. Removing the padlocks, Nathan flicked open the hasps and raised the lid.
He was struck by how utilitarian the sword was. In his memories, it glowed in its nest of velvet. But this was a weapon that had been used in battle on a regular basis. There were nicks on the blade to prove it. The basket hilt was dull steel with a tint of ancient rust, and its curlicues were not delicate ornaments but bold swirls and bars meant to protect its owner’s hand from an attacker’s slashing blade. The brass scabbard was a little fancier and more polished because it had been an officer’s sword, but it also showed the scratches and dents of daily use.
His father had explained that you didn’t strip clean a sword like this, because that would wash away its history. You oiled the grip and waxed the blade to preserve its integrity for the next generation. And Nathan had done just that for two years, first with his father coaching him through the steps, and then with his father simply sitting with him, sharing their heritage.
Nathan felt a clench of emotion at the back of his throat. He’d forgotten those times when the two of them would talk as he wiped the sword down with a soft cloth. His father had told him stories of his childhood, of his military training, and even of some of the missions he’d taken part in, although those were heavily edited. Nathan had shared information about school and sports and even his friends. He’d never discussed his fascination with technology, though. That topic brought a tightness to his father’s jaw that Nathan had learned it was better to avoid. But those infrequent afternoons had been good ones.
That was what Chloe and her grandmother had all the time.
Nathan gazed down at the sword as he let the memories flow over him. Then he went rummaging through the desk drawers until he found what he was looking for: a box containing lint-free cotton gloves, baby oil, kerosene, a jar of carabellum wax, and several clean cloths. He’d known Ed would keep the supplies near the sword. Lifting the supplies out of the lowest drawer, he shook out the folded piece of felt that lay beneath them, spreading it over the desktop before he pulled on the gloves.
He slipped his fingers under the hilt and blade of the sword and laid it on the felt. Opening the jar of wax, he dipped a cloth in it and began to apply it to the blade with a touch so gentle the sword lay motionless on the felt.
CHAPTER 26
Chloe shoved the last bobby pin into her neatly twisted bun and scanned her reflection in the mirror. The foundation was doing a decent job of lightening the circles under her eyes. The last twenty-four hours had been tense and sleepless because she’d alternated between trying to persuade herself she wasn’t in love with Nathan and wondering exactly what his bet was about.
How stupid was she? She’d known from the beginning that their relationship had an end date. Chloe just wished it wasn’t so soon and that she didn’t have to be the one to break it off. Although Nathan clearly wasn’t in love with her, she kept remembering his statement that she’d brought joy into his life. As ticked off as she was about the existence of the bet, she still hated to cause him pain. Because she didn’t want to hurt the man she loved.
With a huff of angry exasperation at herself and Nathan, she picked up her lipstick and carefully applied the rose color before tucking the tube into her Alexander McQueen handbag. She couldn’t help running an admiring finger over the bag’s metallic surface. Then she opened her closet door to check every detail in the full-length mirror.
It was extraordinary how much taller she looked because of the perfect fit of the dress. The sky-high heels lengthened her legs and gave her more height. She arranged the blue wrap around her shoulders, appreciating the way it brought out the blue touches in the dress and the shoes.
This was the armor she wore to face Nathan and his father.
She picked up the purse and went out into the living room to twirl in front of Grandmillie.