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Limping back toward the mansion two hours later, I’m bruised inside and out. I’m no expert, but police interrogations are probably more fun than a walk with Mrs Bamford. She grilled me on my background, my education, my political views and my hobbies. My future plans and favorite books. Needless to say, she did not coo over the photo of Rusty I showed her.
“Ow. Ow. Fuckity ow.” I wait until the laughter and voices of the other guests are distant, carried away by the breeze, and then I kick off my heels. Curling my toes into the springy grass, I let out a low groan.
Never. Again.
I’m a sneakers girl from now on. Or even better: crocs. Who cares if I’ll look unhinged wearing them around the office? I cannot force my blistered feet into a pair of heels for another single second.
“Felicity.”
Sebastian’s low voice warms me from the inside out. I huff at the grass, trying to hide the blush spreading over my cheeks.
It’s always like this. My boss so much as looks at me, and I melt into a steaming puddle. I snatch the heels up from the lawn and glare at the man looming beside me.
“Your mother is a deadly weapon.”
His mouth quirks. “So she is. But you clearly survived.”
“Only just,” I tell him, hobbling forward. He falls into step, never mind that I’m moving at a glacial pace. Rose bushes dot the lawn, and we weave between the sweet-smelling flowers. “For a while there, I thought she might kill me and sink my body in the ornamental fish pond.”
“I doubt it.” Sebastian takes my shoes, then offers his arm. I cling to his elbow, grateful for the support. “That’s probably bad for the koi carp.”
I hear the exact moment he notices my battered feet. His breath sucks in, and his body goes all still. My boss tugs me to a halt, staring down at my blistered toes.
Silence. A bird trills in a nearby tree, hidden by the pink and white blossom.
“Sexy, right?” I joke, uncomfortable. My toes scrunch into the grass. “I’ll have to beat those retired old bankers away with a croquet mallet.”
Ugh. Why now? Why does my crush have to see me like this? Why couldn’t Sebastian see my bare feet when I’ve just got a pedicure or something, and I’ve slathered my whole body in essential oils?
“Felicity,” my boss says, and he sounds devastated. “The shoes I picked did this?”
Kinda. Sorta.
“Walking for two hours with your mom did this.” In these shoes.
Sebastian drags his free hand down his face, then glares at the heels clutched in his fist. He looks ready to fling them into the stratosphere.
“They’re pretty,” I assure him quickly. “Well, I mean, they’re not my style, but they were a good pick for this weekend—”
“No, they weren’t.” The heels land beneath the nearest rose bush with two soft thuds. Hopefully some lucky gardener thinks to sell them on eBay, because they’re worth a small fortune, even stained with my blood. “Come here.”
The sky tilts, and my breath seizes, and then I’m in my boss’s arms. Cradled against his chest like something precious, never mind that carrying your girlfriend is probablynot doneon this estate.
“They’re gonna gossip about this,” I warn. My arms slide around his neck, and Sebastian’s so warm and sturdy. The grass blurs beneath his long strides.
“I don’t care,” he says.
“They already think I’m a ragamuffin.”
“Fliss? I don’t care.”
I grin at my boss, suddenly a million times lighter. His face is close to mine, and he’s holding me so steady I barely feel the motion of his steps.
The air changes. Gets cooler. Sebastian’s footsteps echo across the marble foyer, and in a distant room, piano keys tinkle.
“You can’t carry me to our suite in the middle of the day. They’ll think you want a nooner.”
“It’s two thirty.”
