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We walk down a windowed hall with a generous view of a courtyard where, beyond the unkempt lawn, sits a massive enclosure with glass roof panels, similar to those in Mom’s greenhouse.
Rowan catches me staring. “That’s the indoor pool. I plan to have it up and running by the weekend. You’re welcome to use it whenever you’d like.”
“You mean, the people you’ve hired will have it ready,” I correct him.
He tips his head thoughtfully. “Does it matter who accomplishes the task as long as it gets done?”
I’m not sure why it does, except that People like my father depend on those like Rowan and the Radleys for a living. If the wealthy didn’t exist, then the lower and middle class wouldn’t survive, and maybe that’s the problem. The elite know that we need them more than they need us, and it’d be disappointing to discover that Rowan was one of them.
We make a detour through the kitchen, and holy hell, it’s a dream.
I gape at the architectural design, admiring the kitchen’s original brickwork. It’s spacious and equipped with multiple preparation areas, but the exposed wood beams and stone-paved walls give it a comforting, cozy vibe. Like I could plop down at the bar with a hearty cup of soup and freshly made bread and pretend that I’ve been transported to an English cottage.
A woman in a simple black skirt uniform gives me a twinkling smile before bee-lining to us. “Miss Hart. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Hi,” I exhale when she wraps her arms around me. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”
“I’m Danika Black, head of housekeeping. Britney, Jillian, and I are going to take excellent care of you.” Two young maids curtsy behind the woman’s back. Her classic perfume mixes with the mouthwatering scent of sugar consuming the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind, but I requested permission from Chef Victoria to make you some homemade sugar cookies as a welcome gift.”
The genuine joy she radiates is infectious. “How’d you know I’m a sugar cookie fanatic?”
When her glittering gaze flips to Rowan, he’s looking anywhere that isn’t the two of us. “Lucky guess, I suppose.”
“Well, I appreciate you taking the time to make these, Ms. Black.” I step over to the stove where I pluck a cookie, still warm from the oven, from the tray. “Sweets are the way to my heart.”
“You and me both, dear, and please, it’s Danika.”
Unable to resist, I take a quick bite, humming with pleasure. “I’ll call you whatever you want as long as you keep making me these.”
We share a laugh that rings through the kitchen, and by the time I’ve devoured the morsel, Rowan’s ushering me along, grumbling beneath his breath about ‘cackling women.’
“What?” he grunts when he sees me eyeing him.
“I bet it’s been ages since you’ve lifted a finger to do anything yourself.” I’m half teasing, but the walls he’s placed between us have me on edge.
I can’t tell if this is the real Rowan or a clever ruse to hide the version of himself who kissed a stranger senseless, sought retribution on Wade for being a bully, and revealed my favorite treat to Danika.
Could someone who’s capable of doing those things really be so cold?
I nearly collide with him when he stops before a fully furnished bedroom, decorated with luxurious champagne-pink and cream accents, including the bedspread on the four-poster bed. “And have you, a small-town florist, who lives with her father, ever experienced true luxury?”
“I don’t need all this fancy stuff,” I retort. “My life is great exactly as it is.”
I move past him to where my belongings have been arranged in three neat stacks in front of a beautifully carved footboard. The furniture throughout is all made from rich, dark wood, providing a stunning contrast to the softness of the room—and I can’t lie, that bed looks damn comfy.
Rowan leans against the doorframe, tutting while he crosses his arms. “Now, if that were the case, why would you willingly attend an auction where you were promised to be spoiled by one of those self-righteous assholes?”
“Are you including yourself in that lovely description?” I ask, but instead of annoyance, I find his cheek twitching. “Besides, it’s none of your business why I was there.”
I don’t owe him an explanation, and if he’s going to close himself off from me, then I’ll happily do the same.
“Very well.” He pushes off the frame before crossing to an enormous connecting bathroom. “This is your home away from home for now, and I’ll be sleeping in the master suite adjoined through here.”
My heart springs into overdrive. It’s going to be hard enough to hide my hideous birthmark from him while living here, but now we’ll be separated by a single bathroom that we’re expected to share?
“Oh-kay. If we’re really doing this, I think we should get a few things straight.” A dark brow arches when I hold up a finger. “First, no mutual bathroom time. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for privacy while I’m getting dressed, showering, or… using the restroom,” I finish awkwardly.
A trace of humor flits behind his eyes, warring with something darker, more sensual. “Afraid your future husband will take advantage of his pure, innocent bride?”
