“You started with the ones I was less sure of.” He nods past me to the other screen. “That’s my main monitor.”
I turn enough to stare at him. “First, you could’ve mentioned that. Second, who puts their main monitoron the left?”
“I do?” He shrugs against my back. “Left-handed.”
“Freak,” I mutter, moving the mouse over.
The first house is an immediate improvement. A sprawling vineyard estate halfway between a manor and a boutique hotel. It’s lovely, but I’m not sure who’ll be picking the grapes from the vines, and move on.
The next has promise. Honey stone with green shutters and wide terraces facing the hills. A mix of old and new, with modern comfort merged quite successfully into the façade. I thoughtfully chew my lip, and move on.
As soon as I see the next, my heart flutters. It’s a restored hillside cortijo with thick whitewashed walls, terracotta tiles, beams darkened by a century of summer heat, stone floors worn smooth with age. The house wraps around a shaded courtyard with vines and an elegant fountain, and beyond the land falls away into olive groves. The pool is cut into the slope rather than designed for a magazine shoot. A handful of buildings nearby suggest a guest casita, maybe a staff cottage, another that looks like a stables.
It feels private. Not grand or performative, just a house that wants to be lived in, that will be there for a long time, that we could leave our children.
“You like that one?” Alex murmurs.
“I do.”
“It’s only fifteen million.”
Which of course he sees as a detractor. “Um… I think that’s enough for a house.”
“Would you like to see it?”
Part of me says no. It’s too much, too extravagant. But we have to live somewhere, and this one calls to my soul. I turn back to the pictures, clicking through slowly one more time.
He doesn’t rush me.
I flick onto the next house, and it’s fine, but I come back to this one. It’s in Andalusia, in the hills above the coast, near enough to Málaga for access, far enough to feel sealed off from the world.
“Yes,” I say at last. “I think we should go and see it.”
“Good.” He lifts me off his lap and slapsmy ass. “Get dressed, then. We need to leave within half an hour.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You booked viewings at every one, didn’t you?”
“So suspicious, Tink,” he says playfully. “No, I just thought you’d like this one, andIwanted to see it. This is the only booking I’ve made, but we can look at others, too. In fact, we should,” he adds with a serious note. “That way we know this one’s the right decision.”
“You really only booked this one?”
“I really only booked this one.”
I slip my arms around his neck and kiss him. “What do you want me to wear?”
“Whatever you like.”
“What doyouwant me to wear?”
His lips curl at one corner, and I know that expression. My stomach flips, my nipples tighten. “A summer dress, then. The day is warm. Maybe that silk-linen yellow one?”
“It’s short.”
“It is.”
“Underwear?”
“Surprise me.”
