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He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “You’ll do just fine, Miss Jackson. France is a country full of diversity.”
And with that, he gave me another quick nod and hopped back into the small rental car and drove off. I stood there watching as he left, suddenly feeling even more alone.
Behind me, Mr. Malveaux loudly cleared his throat. “Mademoiselle Jackson? Are you hungry?”
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Chapter 4
I blinked my eyes, trying to see if Mr. Malveaux was really just that handsome, or maybe I was just imagining things at this point. Who knew?
He looked at me expectantly, a polite smile crossing his face as I took way too long to finally answer him.
“Um, yes. Sorry . . . yes, I’m actually pretty famished. It was a long drive. Actually, it’s been a long couple of months.”
My eyes nearly bugged out of my head as I realized I was saying way too much. Great, I’m such a genius when it comes to first impressions.
“Please, follow me. We have a full kitchen, and my head chef is still on staff for the rest of the day. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind preparing something for you,” Mr. Malveaux said.
Geez, even his accent was enough to make me drool. When he turned to walk away, I followed, discreetly checking to make sure that I wasn’t doing just that.
Being impressed by the natural surroundings of the castle was one thing. But once I set foot inside the place… it was like I was Cinderella.
The entryway was expansive on its own. It wasn’t too wide but had a domed ceiling, with many doors leading off both the left and right sides. Where the architectural beams met in the point in the middle the dome, there was an enormous chandelier dripping with thousands of crystals. I looked down at my feet and realized that I was walking across a complex design of white and gray tile that expanded out in a circle, surrounded by darkly veined marble floors.
In front of us was the largest staircase I had ever seen, complete with the red carpet in the middle of the steps, centered and going all the way up. There was lovely dark wooden furniture that looked like it belonged in a museum scattered throughout th
e room, complementing all of the matching wooden doors.
I let out a low whistle, shaking my head. “And this is your home?”
Mr. Malveaux chuckled to himself and tilted his head to the side slightly, looking as though he was trying to figure me out. Good luck with that, honey.
“It is. It’s also the home to my staff on hand, or at least a few of them. If you’d like, I can give you a little tour and a brief history of the château on our way into the kitchen,” he offered.
“Sure, I’d like that.”
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Chapter 5
Man, he wasn’t kidding. With the kitchen being all the way to the one side of the castle, we nearly toured the entire house.
“… and this is actually one of my favorite rooms. It’s known as le chambre de musique. The music room. Every now and then when I get the chance I like to come in here and play a few scales on the épinette,” he said, pointing to the mini piano in one corner of the large room.
I walked over to it, testing out the keys on my own. I had always wanted to learn how to play the piano, but growing up in my neighborhood… it just never happened. My daddy and mama were too busy working their jobs or fighting with one another, and the money was never really there. As I trilled my fingers down the line of keys I felt a certain sadness.
I wasn’t bitter, in fact I was pretty lucky to have a relatively stable family. Plenty of my friends couldn’t say the same. Sometimes though, if I was being honest with myself, I did feel a twinge of jealousy for those who had more than we did. Of course… I would’ve given all of that up if I could just have my family back…
I cleared my throat, trying not to dwell on the past. It never did me any good—that was for sure.
“Do you play, Mademoiselle. Jackson?”
Mr. Malveaux was standing pretty close behind me, catching me off guard. I quickly pulled my hand away, both blushing and cringing at the same time. All I could think about was how I wished I could just chuck the name away. I had always liked my own, and for some reason I felt the need to tell him. He was on the government’s payroll, so it wouldn’t hurt, right?
“No, but I’ve always wanted to. And you can call me Amira. If you don’t mind. It’s my real name. Amira Kyle.”
I glanced over at him from the corner of my eye, watching as the corner of his mouth turned up.
