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Jessa gave me the fakest smile ever smiled. “Good manners are made of small sacrifices. And if you consider putting your hands where they don’t belong, know that I took six years of judo and am fairly certain I can break your nose without much effort.”
“Understood. But I’m not responsible if you can’t keep your hands to yourself,” I said, unable to help myself as I backed toward the door with an involuntary uptick of my lips. “We’ll get you all set up. It won’t be so bad—I’ll even close off the dog door and make Beau sleep in his doghouse. He oughtta be in it anyway after what he did to your clothes.”
“I’ll be sure to send him my dry cleaning bill.”
“Deal. He can work it off with me.”
That earned me a little smile, enough to hope this wouldn’t just be a cycle of the two of us driving each other crazy. At least not without results. So as not to press my luck, I headed downstairs.
Cass and my mother were nose to nose, whispering about something or other.
My eyes narrowed. “What are you two talking about?”
“How you’re going to pay us for our cleaning services,” Cass answered.
“She’s gonna end up costing me, isn’t she?”
“Yeah, but she’s worth it,” Cass said as she walked to the door, shooting me a wink.
5
petite fille
JESSA
I rose from my nap still tired, but no longer angry. Remy had been all but forgotten.
I was about to have dinner with Henry Howard.
An unstoppable smile played on my lips as I strode toward the restaurant, smoothing the skirt of my dress before reaching for the door. Fortunately, the clothes at the bottom of my suitcase had remained untouched, and I counted myself lucky to find something clean and suitable to wear to a restaurant named after a horse.
The Filly was apparently the nicest place in town, though my expectations had been schooled by Cass as to what that meant. When she mentioned pressed jeans as locally preferred attire, her point was made. So I opted for a black-and-white striped tailored dress and flats. The bodice panels were cut so the stripes ran at different angles, cinching my waist and accentuating the curve in a way I appreciated.
As I’d walked the two blocks from Linda’s, I came to find that everything about Roseville was charming—that was the only word for it. Linda’s home was another perfect cottage on a patch of green land a few blocks from Main Street. Inside was clean and white with touches of dusty pink and navy blue. One of the walls had been treated with boards Cass had called...boatlap? No, that wasn’t it. Shiplap, I remembered. And it only added to that undeniable appeal that touched everything in this town.
Other than Remy, of course.
I was sure someone found him appealing—men that confident didn’t just happen upon it. If the hair ties on his gear stick were any indication, quite a few women found him appealing, and I saw the draw. He was indescribably masculine, a man who made things with strong hands, who would hold a woman with arms like burnished steel. He’d picked me up and deposited me into his truck without even bending his knees, and I wasn’t sure what he could have possibly done to form a backside of that size and strength, but it must have been serious business. Remy Winfield was a genetic marvel—his cock being the most marvelous of all—and I’d have been lying if I said it didn’t trigger some deep, instinctive attraction in me. It was part of my code, I supposed. Out of my control.
The rest of him was the equivalent of a cold shower.
On walking through the door of the establishment, I caught sight of Cass, who raised her hand, smiling from Davis’s elbow. And across from Davis sat the one and only Lord Henry Howard.
I’d known Henry all my life. Our parents were the best of friends, our families a comfortable constant of every summer holiday and in between. His father was a Duke, and as the only child, the immense pressure on him had always been a source of contention, particularly with his father. Under that sort of strain, things go one of three ways: either you go all in, you become a louse, or you reject the mantle altogether.
Henry had chosen the latter, running away to spend his days covered in dirt and dust in remote parts of Africa the very first chance he got.
He turned his gaze in my direction with a blinding smile and brilliant eyes. No one else mattered—I floated toward him like I was caught in a tractor beam.
It seemed I’d always been in love with Henry, even from my first memory of him when we’d nearly given each other concussions jumping on the bed at five. Our parents had all but betrothed us at birth, leaving the matter somewhat decided, a joke between us that didn’t really feel like a joke. But we’d never dated and had only kissed once.
We were eight.
On another night years later, we almost kissed, and he’d suggested that if we weren’t married in a decade, we’d marry each other. And here we were, nearly ten years to the very date.
I was just as in love with him now as I’d ever been. And what wasn’t to love? He knew me better than almost anyone. And on top of being brilliant, gorgeous, and clever, he oversaw a charity in Africa that built sustainable communities for orphaned children, putting his social work degree to good use.
Really—orphans.
