Page 45 of A Secret In The Garden

She looked really fucking good in those overalls. My mind immediately wondered what she’d looked like in them without the shirt she was wearing. What shade of pink her nipples were. What they’d taste like when I bit them. If she’d scream.

“Hi.” She smiled.

I cleared my throat. “You have something to ask me about Chanel No. 5?” I asked, sitting down on the couch and stretching out while I watched her.

“Yeah, but first, I want to tell you, I’ve been thinking about it, and you’re a plant,” she said decidedly, adjusting her purple gardening gloves.

I quirked my brow. It was impossible not to be intrigued by this creature. “I’m a plant?”

“Yes. Would you like to know why?” She lifted up a pale green leaf with a blue metallic sheen to it. “Sometimes, because of how they look, you think they’re dead and ugly and⁠—”

“You think I look dead and ugly?” I cut her off, not hiding the amusement in my voice.

She grinned from ear to ear. “And what if I say yes?” She lifted her brow in a challenge.

“Then I suppose I’d be able to come back for your corpse flower party,” I replied.

“Well, then, you’re hideous, inside and out,” she teased. A bright, rosy blush pinked her cheeks, either from her laboring or the conversation.

“You’re a horrible liar. Never enter politics,” I stated, feeling the corners of my eyes wrinkle.

“Stop interrupting me,” she demanded. She was playful but still serious.

Something about the confident command in her voice made me sit up slightly. I liked her feeling like she could boss me around. It stirred something in me that wanted more.

She cleared her throat. “You’re a plant because all the time, people neglect them and throw them away thinking they are ugly and dead, but it’s only what you see on the outside. Underneath the soil, the roots grow stronger, and eventually the foliage returns, and the plant grows back stronger and more beautiful than ever.” She stopped what she was doing to look at the camera with a heavy look. “You’re a plant.”

Something in my chest ached. My mouth opened slightly as I was hit by the sentiment. I stared into the phone, unable to form a cohesive sentence to deliver back. Her words had glided over my skin and curled up in my bones, where I knew they would stay. It was one of the most poetically thoughtful things I’d ever heard. I wasn’t used to being treated like this, and I wasn’t quick enough to have a response ready.

It was quiet for a few moments while I watched her work before I found words I felt confident speaking.

“Then you’re a painting, confined to a frame. With dutiful brushstrokes that conceal your true colors. You are a beautiful masterpiece aching to break free. A work of art, created and kept as a captive to agony.” I didn’t say it to flatter her. It was an honest observation.

Eliza sat back, putting her hands in her lap at the edge of the flower bed. We both simply marinated in the other’s poetic sentiments for a moment.

“Jasper?” Her soft voice curled in my ear with the comforting lilt of a lullaby as she grabbed the phone.

“What?”

“Are you sure—” She stopped herself and then started again. “I’m terrified of heights, mostly of falling to my death, but sometimes I feel like I’m missing out on seeing the view…you know?” she said. “I always wish I could face my fear for a few minutes. I think the sight I’m afraid of would be so beautiful and impactful that it might be worth it even if I fell. But I’ll never know because I’m too terrified to look. I wish I could look.” Her eyes melted into mine as she kept her expression slightly guarded.

“Well, you’re missing out. Your balcony has the best view of the entire manor,” I answered, knowing what she spoke about had little to do with the view. The conversation was getting a bit too poetic for my taste. If she wanted someone to talk with her about feelings, I was not going to be it.

The corner of her mouth lifted. “Says you.”

“Are you asking for a different room, Eliza?” I asked sarcastically. “Sowerby said the addition’s finished, and the men won’t start modernizing the inside of the original manor until after your party, so there’s plenty of rooms to choose from now.”

Her smile brightened, and mischief glittered in her blue eyes. She seemed more comfortable than I’d seen her before. Huh. Maybe she was less afraid of me than I had originally thought. “You look like you’re about to cosplay Miami Vice with your shirt unbuttoned like that.”

I held back a snort of laughter and schooled my features. “If you mean to insult me by comparing me to eighties Don Johnson, you’ve failed.” She laughed, and the sound left the speaker and poured into my body like hot honey. A notification from Blackwood Manor’s security system pinged in a gray box over her face. Someone was at the gate.

A rush of irrational anger and protectiveness jolted through me. I only got notifications from security if someone wouldn’t take no for an answer and they wanted to double-check with me. I was sure it was nothing. With the latest leak in the news, it was inevitable the media would be back outside, pounding on the gates for a comment, but this time, it felt different. Eliza was involved, and I had left her there alone. I hated that.

“Eliza, someone’s giving security issues. Stay where you are, okay? As you’re aware, John from JV Plastics leaked photos of you in the conservatory, and it’s all over the news. Hang on a second,” I said before opening the live footage as fast as my fingers could.

“What a snake. I’m sure it’ll blow over. No one cares about me.”

Poor naive girl. The media would have a field day with her. She was easy to push around and get the responses you wanted.