2 Chapter Two

Avevia had an islet that served as the international airport. Much to Evan's misfortune, it began raining when the airplane landed. Nothing too serious, though, just a light drizzle. But the weather escalated really fast at the moment of disembarking. A heavy drop hit Evan's nose bridge, and soon the skies turned dark gray and a thunderstorm unbound. The umbrella he had brought was tucked up in some of the many suitcases piled up in the baggage vault, so opening each one in order to find a sole item was certainly not the wisest thing to do, and would only help at getting him even more drenched.

So there he was now, sitting on one of the backseats of a luxurious limousine, his clothes couldn't be more soaked and he had a heavy trench coat covering his shoulders. With shaking limbs and water dripping from his hair and face, he heard the Martís' butler speaking to him with an attentive, polite voice tone.

"My apologies for the inconvenient rain, Sir Clarke, I promise I've never seen such a thunderstorm in quite a long time." He spoke, his trimmed mustache reminded him of his piano teachers' back when he was a teenager; but he passed on him —too old for his taste. "Let me offer you a cup of rose and bergamot tea as soon as we arrive in the Martí Manor, the family has an orchard and a greenhouse where they grow the best crops in the kingdom. And you've been assigned with the suite next to Lady Gabrielle's; feel free to take a warm bath and warm up next to the fireplace before the dinner."

Soon the limousine was nimbly crossing the connecting bridge to the Departure Islet and Île des Toucans. The island was given that name due to the homonymous birds that visited it during the tropical summers. It was spring in Avevia and the exotic flowers bloomed wild all over the archipelago. Giant trees of plumeria and coconuts grew at the side of the roadway, but some of their leaves were being plucked away with harsh force by the storm. Evan thought the place could be a true paradise in other circumstances, but right now it seemed a land about to be brutally devastated by nature's rage.

Around fifteen minutes later, he was able to make out an astoundingly large manor on the top of a hill. He felt like in The Princess and the Pea fairytale all of a sudden, but reversing the roles of course.

"Is that the Martí Manor?" He asked, trying to start a fruitful conversation with the butler for the first time.

"It is, indeed." The butler nodded slightly. "The manor was built back in the early eighteenth century with a French provincial chateau architecture. It has eight suites, two dining rooms, a personnel quartel with four bedrooms and a kitchen. As I've said before, an orchard with high-quality crops and a large greenhouse with a sunroom that is perfectly suitable for Lady Caterina's Saturdays' tea parties and Lord Stefano's handcrafting practices. There is a lounging area on the ground floor where you can find Lady Gabrielle delighting us with a wide variety of classic and contemporary piano compositions each night after dinner. A cellar with a selection of the most valuable and exquisite wines and a playroom in the basement where Lord Stefano spends his Friday nights with his two oldest sons and other noblemen who are friends of the family. Among other things that can be found in the manor."

But talking to that man was probably never going to be something fruitful. He was overly well-mannered and all he knew was licking Lord and Lady Martí's boots. He was, in other words, the perfect butler.

Evan noticed the limousine was already parking. He turned around and found the gates of the manor slowly opening. Apparently, the butler's monologue had been long enough to shorten the way up the hill and to the manor.

"Well, at least I won't be that lost if I ask where a certain room is now." Thought Evan as he surreptitiously rolled his eyes.

The first one in getting out of the vehicle was the butler, he was offered an umbrella by the security guard and he opened it. Then, he proceeded to open the right door, where Evan was sitting. He got out and crossed stares with the guard, who examined him from head to toe. Evan felt intimidated suddenly, blushing in sheer panic.

"You're certainly not Lady Gabrielle's type. Too skinny, too pale, a freckled redhead with glasses… I wonder if you'll be up to her standards." The security guard sketched a wicked smirk.

"Oh, please Gerard, don't be so rude! Sir Clarke has just arrived, so watch your mouth and make sure you don't scare him like that anymore, have you heard?" The butler scowled and frowned deeply.

They walked towards the entrance, the magnolias bushes shook vehemently due to the inclement wind. The black umbrella that was handed to the butler threatened to open upwards any moment, but it seemed to be made of a strong material nonetheless, as it resisted the fury of the storm impressively.

"We're here finally." The butler announced once they reached the main entrance and closed the umbrella. He reached for his pocket and brought up a large key, inserting it on the keyhole of the grand wooden door afterward without further ado. "I must go back to my duties as the personnel chief now, Sir Evan Clarke. A maid is going to guide you to your suite, though. As I've promised, a cup of fine warm tea will be delivered to you while you take a bath and make yourself comfortable. We have left a suit on your respective bed as well, gray jacket and trousers, and a slate blue shirt with freshly polished black moccasins; Lady Gabrielle's favorite combination for a special or formal dinner."

"Thank you very much, um..." Evan hesitated, noticing he hadn't asked the butler about his name yet.

"Philippe." He replied.

"Okay, thank you very much, Philippe." Evan smiled shyly. "It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too, Sir Evan, I'm looking forward to seeing you at this evening's dinner."

And with that, both of them parted ways.

Later on that evening:

Evan was adjusting his sleeve cuffs when he heard a maid knocking on his door. He took a look at the ancient-looking clock placed on top of the fireplace, on a shelf cluttered up with small plants and porcelain sculptures. It was seven o'clock already.

"Mr. Clarke? It's dinner time already." The young woman said.

"I'm going downstairs, give me just a second." He replied.

He took one last look at himself: the foot mirror reflected a young man a bit less than 1,80 meters tall. His carrot red hair was inevitably cowlicked, his glasses could have looked cool when he bought them, but now they looked plainly bad on him. The suit… in first place, it never mattered how good he tried, he never looked good in suits, and the colors didn't match any of his features at all, he looked better in brighter colors most of the time.

He sighed in defeat. He was bound to look like a leprechaun, and now he was going to be a forever gloomy leprechaun as the wedding date would be revealed soon in the dinner… He heard the door getting gently knocked again and he left.