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“Of course I can. Can you?” She gives a little wink as she moves into the en-suite bathroom. “You won’t be here much anyway.”
I follow her and lean against the jamb of the door. “Who says that?” I ask.
“I just figured.”
Her eyes say everything as she takes in the corner whirlpool tub.
“Yes, there will be times I may have to leave the country. And yes, those are super jets in that tub.”
“Oh. The only jets I have in my tub are Tennyson’s.” Her cheeks turn a little pink and I grin at the sight.
These are luxuries I’ve always had access to. At this point, I don’t even think about them. For some reason, I like that it’s all new to her.
“Why don’t you relax and take a bath, and I’ll make sure Tennyson has his dinner.”
Clementine’s lips press together. “No, that’s quite alright. I want to be with Tenny his first night here.”
“You plan on sleeping in his room?”
She moves toward the door. “I’ll sleep on the slide if I have to. Besides, we’re not married yet. I won’t be staying with you until we are husband and wife.”
I smile, pushing off the door jamb. “I figured you’d feel that way, so I’ve had a room set up for you across the hall from Tennyson’s.” I reach an arm out, resting my palm against the frame, blocking her exit. “Until we’re married.”
Her amber eyes look up at me, and she lets out a breath she’d obviously been holding since we stepped foot in this bedroom. “Good.”
I drop my arm and step away. “I’m not as big of a monster as you think I am.” She brushes past me. “I have a few things to work on, while you and Tennyson get settled. Let me show you the room you’ll be staying in.”
She nods and we exit the bedroom, walking side-by-side down the long hallway. Her steps slow as she studies the famous artwork hanging on the walls.
“Are you an art lover?” I ask.
“Not really,” she answers. “They remind me of the artwork on the walls at Tennyson’s school.”
I laugh a little, looking at the Van Gogh, and a few original Monet’s grandfather collected over the years. “Maybe we can hang some of Tennyson’s with these.” I’m sure Grandfather would roll over in his grave to have a child’s drawing next to his prized ‘Salvatore Mundi.’
“Could you imagine? He’d love that.” She giggles, and then immediately looks like she wants to take it back.
I kind of want her to as well. The pure sound seeps in my pores, swishing my insides like the blobs of color on the wall. Abruptly, I turn away and resume the walk to the room across the hallway from Tennyson’s and say my goodbyes to her.
“I’ll see you tonight at dinner. If you need me, you can text me.” And then I walk back down the corridor, past my bedroom, and into the west wing of the property, my brain still haunted by the sound of Clementine’s laugh.
I enter the office, and focus on the Richard de Kooning painting that cost a fortune, hanging on the wall behind my desk. The splashes of reds, blues, and yellows cost more than Clementine will be paid. I pull out my cell and instead of making sure Ronin paid Blackstone—which should be my first priority—I make a call for custom made frames to add some new artwork upstairs from a very young artist.
