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Okay, now he sounds like himself.
Luckily, living out of a suitcase meant it didn’t take much for me to pack. I’m still suspicious about his change of heart but want to at least have some semblance of a normal life. I look at his profile as he zones out like he’s the only person in the car. I don’t know how close to normal I can get with him.
I’m not surprised when we get closer to the shores. Oran would be the guy who lives on the opposite side of the island where the founding families live. It perfectly matches his now reclusive nature. In the dark, his home is still stunning outside. He parks in the detached garage that holds four vehicles, all burnt orange except one that’s classic white. I’m not a car buff and cannot tell what it is in passing, but I know he has expensive taste in vehicles. We pass the lit turquoise pool and lounge area as we enter through the patio into his kitchen. I don’t know what I’d expected from his space, but the clean lines that are not too traditional and not uncomfortably modern suits him. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s a minimalist.
“How many bedrooms and bathrooms?” I ask softly, not sure about his mood.
“Five bedrooms and seven bathrooms.”
Oran unpacks the groceries, putting them on a huge white quartz island that doubles as the breakfast nook for the kitchen. The fabric - blue with pops of burnt orange - of his chairs and the white backdrop of the ceiling, walls, and counter of the kitchen gives me an idea for our wedding colors. Some may think I’m a glutton for punishment, but if I’m being subjected to marrying him despite my protests, I’m damn sure going to make it my own since this could be the only wedding I’ll ever have.
Us heiresses/socialites/founders’ children all get married at the same venue, nothing less is acceptable. I think it’s a stupid rule, and at first felt it stifled my creativity. Now, I welcome the challenge of making the same space look completely different for everyone. If not, I’d happily arrange for us to get married right outside of his home on his private section of the beach. But I can bring the beach feeling to the ballroom.
Before I know it, I’m perched in one of his chairs with my notebook - yellow for inspiration and positivity - is out and I’m jotting ideas as they fly into my head.
“What are you doing?” His tone is more curious and less accusatory.
“Jotting down wedding ideas.”
Oran’s dark brows move towards his hair as he leans on the opposite side of the counter.
“Now, that’s a turnaround. You went from spitting mad to wedding ideas?”
“No. I went through all the stages of grief and am now at acceptance. I’m not stupid. Something much bigger than ‘heirs’ are at stake. I’m thirty-one and you’re thirty-six. They would have pulled this stunt at least six years ago if that were the case.”
The twitch of his lips tells me he knows something I don’t. I study him for a second, trying to see around the blank mask he wears.
“I’ve fought this almost six weeks, you’ve only known for a week yet we’re somehow on the same page.” I look around his home, loving the flow of the open floor plan. “Your livelihood is still intact, what did your dad have on you?”
Oran stiffens and goes back to sorting his groceries. “None of your business,” he grumbles. “Let me show you where you’ll be.” I follow him into what looks like an office. More trophies and accolades in glass cases that line the wall. An oak desk with a plush black leather chair sits in the corner facing a window.
There’s no sign of a bed or a couch present. I turn to look at him. He’s pulling a bag out of the closet. I huff once I realize what he’s doing.
“Really?” I scoff.
“Yes, princess. Really. My biggest trophy in the center of the rest.” He drops the mattress in the center of the floor. I’m annoyed at how he somehow makes unrolling the inflatable bed and attaching the pump sexy. “I’m blowing it up for you. It’s a high-quality product.”
“You said you have five bedrooms.”
He stops and looks at me with his hands on his hips.
“All empty. So do you want to move the mattress in one of them? You have four options. This mattress, the couch, my floor, or share my bed.” The concept makes me warm as he watches me for a response. “That’s what I thought.”
“Why didn’t you leave me at the hotel if you don’t have an extra bed?” I challenge him.
“I do.” He pats the now inflated mattress. “Like I said, I can’t see my trophy from here if you’re there.”
I roll my eyes more times since I’ve known Oran than I have my entire life.
“A gentleman would take the air mattress.”
Oran smirks at me for the first time, but it’s for him thinking my observation is silly.
“Sucks for him.” He unbuttons his shirt. My gaze drops to the hint of chest hair beneath his undershirt. “I’m about to take a shower. Make sure my steak is medium.”
“Wait. I don’t know my way around your kitchen. Where’s the rat poison?”
He winks at me. “You and Ainslee must be friends.”
