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How many establishments?I gulp, and at the same time sink in my chair. “Just the one, sir. One salon in Cornwall. It’s currently being refurbished.” I don’t tell him I can’t afford to reopen, that’s information he doesn’t need to know. “But I plan to branch out in aesthetics and offer courses to train upcoming therapists.”
“Oh.” Duncan’s brows furrow, and he doesn’t utter another word. I try desperately to think of something to fill the silence but can’t think of a single thing.
Our eye contact is broken when the dining room door swings open and Lucian re-enters. Mrs Collins follows closely behind. She’s an elderly lady dressed in a black uniform with a white apron secured around her waist. She is carrying napkins, several pieces of cutlery, and a soup bowl. She’s quiet as she sets Lucian’s place beside his father. I feel somewhat intimidated sitting alone and facing two such powerful men.
“Clarissa was just telling me that she owns a salon.”
“Her name is Chelsea,” Lucian corrects and takes his seat. “And yes, she owns a soon-to-be-very-prestigious beauty salon in Cornwall.”
“Soon-to-be?” Duncan questions.
Lucian looks to me and then back to his father. “It’s a work in progress.”
“I will go fetch your starters,” Mrs Collins says, and leaves the room.
Both men are openly staring at me. I didn’t realise how hot the room temperature was until right now.
“Tell me about your upbringing. Did you attend private school?” Duncan asks.
I can’t even begin to imagine how much private school in England costs. My parents didn’t have two pennies to rub together. “Mainstream.”
“And what of your education?”
What does that even mean? Is he asking how I did at school? I shrug. “Average, sir. I passed all my exams—well, the important ones anyway.” I fail to mention the two F’s I received.
“Where are you from? What is your lineage? Do you have siblings?”
Laughter erupts from Lucian, and he places a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Next you’ll be asking her her blood type and religious beliefs.”
“I had planned to, yes,” Duncan answers, and I can’t tell if he’s being serious.
“Don’t overwhelm the poor girl.”
I lift my hand. “It’s okay,” I say, and I mean it. I’m an open book, and have nothing to hide. It’s nice that he wants to know more about me. “I’m originally from the Netherlands. My parents moved to England when I was a baby. I’m AB positive, and I grew up in a Christian household. I have two siblings, Amber and Phillip.”
Lucian places his elbows on the table and leans in close. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
I let out a small laugh. “There is a lot about each other we don’t know. But I look forward to learning everything about you.”
Lucian smiles, and it’s a genuine smile. He looks at me with pride, and it makes me feel all fuzzy inside. I could stare into his eyes all night, but I tear myself away from their hypnotic pull, reminding myself that we have company.
“Tell me about yourself,” I say to Duncan, deciding to flip the conversation around.
Duncan’s eyes gleam. “Certainly, young lady. What is it you want to know?”’
I’m sitting in front of one of the richest men in the country. A million and one questions flood my mind. But where do I even begin? At the beginning is as good a place as any. “Tell me about you, your childhood. What made you the man you are today.”
Duncan’s eyes roll back, as though he’s trying to recall a past memory. “I have fond memories of my childhood. I had the best education money could buy. All of us Calloways attended Ravenhill boarding school in Kent. It’s where your children will one day go.”
My body stiffens. “Children? I don’t know if I want children,” I answer honestly, and am met by silence. It surprises me that Lucian says nothing. What is he expecting? I entered into this agreement just days ago, and he’s already asked me to marry him for real. And now children? Everything is moving way too fast.
While I’m lost in my own internal turmoil, Duncan turns to his son. “Did I tell you that I play golf with Simon Matthews?”
“I was not aware,” Lucian answers. He picks up a glass of wine and swirls the liquid around. “Matthews, where do I know that name?”
The dining room door opens and Mrs Collins re-enters carrying a crock bowl. She places the bowl between us and, pulling a ladle from her apron pocket, begins dishing out our starters. My stomach instantly rumbles at the scent drifting up to my nose.
I glance down, about to pick up my spoon, except there are three. Three knives and forks also. Wide-eyed, I look at Lucian for help, and he subtly gestures toward the first spoon to my right.
