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“So what now?” she asks.
“We are going to have lunch with my sister and brother.”
We make our way down the corridors to the dining room, and, as expected, the table is empty.
“Where are they?” Chelsea asks and holds out her arms exaggeratedly.
“I have no idea,” I lie. Farrah is a sun-worshiper, and during the summer months spends her time outdoors. No doubt she is sitting on the rattan sofa outside drinking freshly squeezed orange juice whilst my maids wait on her hand and foot.
With Chelsea all to myself, I see now is as good a time as any to fill her in on our new arrangement. I tell her that Farrah intends to stay, and she will have to spend a great deal more time with me.
“I am not sharing a bed with you. You’ll have to tell your sister that you are honouring my virtue and we’re waiting until our wedding night.”
I quirk a brow. That may have been believable in the nineteenth century, but not today. Women in their mid-twenties are not virgins. I could stand here and argue with Chelsea until I’m blue in the face, but frankly I do not have the time. Instead of getting into a discussion I decide it’s best to keep my reply brief. “No.”
Chelsea looks at me as though I’ve suddenly sprouted a second head. “What did you say?”
“You heard me, I said no. You will sleep in my bed.”
Chelsea laughs, although there is no humour in her tone. She looks me up and down and places her hand on her hip. “And where will you sleep?”
“If you want to back out of our agreement, now is your chance. The front door is literally right there.” I pause and jut my chin in the direction of the hallway. I give Chelsea a chance to speak, a chance to leave, but when she does neither, I continue. “As to our sleeping arrangements, that is a matter we will discuss this evening. But right now, my sister and brother are waiting for us to join them, and I do hate to keep our guests waiting.”
I turn my back on her and make my way toward the door. I stop walking, hold my hand out and wait.
Chelsea
Iflash a glance at Lucian’s palm, a palm that incidentally holds the solution to all of my problems. But what am I going to tell my family, my friends, Amber and finally my boss? As much as it pains me to admit, Lucian’s idea of me telling them I’ve joined Tyler in America isn’t terrible. Problem is Amber will see right through my lie. I will have no option other than to limit my contact with her, at least initially. But in any case, I will have to at least contact them to let them know I’m okay so they don’t worry. But I can’t contact them at all if I can’t find my phone.
“I need my phone,” I say finally.
“Is it not in your room?”
If it were, I wouldn’t be asking.“I couldn’t find it.”
“I will ask Bessie. She took your clothes last night after we helped you into bed.”
“My best friend Lizzie’s wedding,” I blurt out.
“When are the nuptials taking place?”
“The last Saturday of the month.”
Lucian pauses for a second, and, taking his phone from his jacket pocket, scrolls to the calendar. “Perfect. That falls on the same day the meeting with my father and brothers takes place. I will go to Truro and sign the contracts and I will arrange transportation to take you to the church.” Lucian pauses and studies me for a beat before continuing. “Unless by that time you have fallen madly in love with me and want me to attend as your plus-one.”
I try not to laugh. “That’s not going to happen.”
“In that case we part ways amicably, and you can go on to reopen your salon.”
Lucian really does have all the answers. It seems this crazy plan of his could actually work.
One month and I can reopen my salon.
One month and I’ll have my life back.
One month…
I take a tentative step forward and slide my hand into his. I gaze into his eyes, wanting, or rather needing, reassurance. Lucian doesn’t utter a single word. He doesn’t so much as look at me. The subtle upturn of his lips is confirmation enough that he is pleased. He saunters forward and I follow his lead. We walk from the dining room to the kitchen, into the adjoining orangery, and from there step into the gardens.
