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“How dare I what?” he retorts, and I don’t appreciate his sudden sass.
“The… You know.” I extend my hands in a grabby motion.
He smirks. “You picked the wrong fiancé if you were hoping I was prude.”
“Yeah, well, let’s keep the ass grabbing to a minimum from here on out. Got it?”
He huffs at that. “Come on. I’ll show you around before we head below the house.”
The warmer side of him gradually recedes, and just like the night I agreed to this, he’s all business.
I can’t understand how he turns on the charm, only to shutter it away like nothing happened. But then, this elusiveness is an excellent reminder that our engagement isn’t real—that nothing between us is—and I’ll do well to remember that.
A frosty chill glides over my arms, but left with no other choice, I trail him inside the massive manor.
“What do you mean, below?” My breath hitches the second we enter the foyer. “Oh my god.”
A crew of at least eight people are dusting, cleaning, and rearranging furniture in one of the most gorgeous homes I’ve ever seen.
The marble floors collide with an enormous, curved staircase, the center of which is draped with luscious maroon velvet from top to bottom.
To my left is a doorless entry to what appears to be a library. The floor-to-ceiling shelves are packed with books, and I can just make out the edge of a solid oak table. To my right is a front room, with three bay windows overlooking the front garden, and from somewhere within the manor, I smell the aroma of fresh-baked cookies.
At once, I’m self-conscious of my childhood home. I can only imagine what Rowan must have thought when he left yesterday to come back to this.
“You’ll have access to any of the rooms downstairs at your leisure.” His rough-edged voice breaks through my thoughts. “If you need anything at all, Ms. Black, the head housekeeper, or Mr. Thorne, the butler, will tend to you.”
“What’s up there?” I ask, pointing to the unlit landing at the top of the stairs that connects to a dark hallway.
From here, I can’t see more than a thin table with an elaborately framed mirror centered above it.
Spooky.
“Upstairs is off limits, and I highly suggest you not push that boundary.”
The hair at the nape of my neck rises at his warning, and I’m baffled by this more detached aspect of him. Almost like I’m engaged to two different men.
I purse my lips. “You’ve got a collection of creepy porcelain dolls up there, don’t you?”
Rowan rolls his eyes in response before walking past the staircase to the main living area.
“Listen, I’m not judging,” I say, scurrying to keep up. “But the second I wake up with one of them in my room, I’m outta here.”
Enormous windows take up most of the back wall of the room we’ve entered, with a door that exits to a veranda on the farthest end. Outside, a lawn crew has started ripping up dead bushes and trees, preparing to replace them just in time for the start of spring.
I halt abruptly when I spot an elegantly crafted grand piano perched on a platform to our left.
“Wow,” I murmur in awe. “This is stunning.”
I’m drawn to the age-old instrument, and even though it could use a good shine, it’s an absolute marvel. The gold paint, artfully brushed into every dip and crevice of the French filigree design, complements the glistening glass chandelier suspended above it, and the felt on the bench matches that of the staircase.
When I press the keys on the far right, a hollowed, sorely out of tune note rumbles from beneath the lid.
“If you’re ready, I’d like to show you the kitchen before we head to your room,” Rowan says quietly.
I whip around to find him watching me, pensive yet unnervingly curious.
“Sure,” I rush to say, tucking away my excitement, but that haunting note follows me long after we’ve left.
