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Now, the bastard was dead, and somehow, my life was still hell.
As I stood there, a few guests came in behind me and also looked at the large photo. For a moment, I feared being recognized, but it was a silly thought. The picture was taken thirty-two years ago.
Moving on, I went through each level of the store, eyeing the glass displays. It was all in order, and I found myself taking note of the people. Tourists packed the place and so many of them had their phones in their hands. They were texting or taking pictures or scrolling social media. It seemed like no one could live in the present these days. I shook my head I watched two women put their heads together in front of a chocolate display for a selfie.
I was glad that Belle wasn’t like that. She didn’t even have a phone and hadn’t asked for one. Although now that I thought about it, I had to wonder why. Most young women were completely attached to their phones.
I internally chastised myself for thinking about Belle. I tried not to give her any consideration at all, except for when we were fucking. That was the plan from the beginning, but it was hard.
I was failing miserably.
The more time I spent around her, the more I wanted answers. I wanted to know how the hell she ended up in my castle. Why didn’t she have anything with her? What had happened?
Pushing those thoughts aside, I walked through the store one last time. On the way out, I spotted a pyramid of chocolate bars near the entrance, a display of our newest line. I paused, contemplating grabbing one. I knew how much Belle liked chocolate.
Not that I care what she likes,I reminded myself. But it made sense to keep her happy if she might be pregnant, right?
I still hesitated, arguing with myself.
Despite trying to convince myself that Belle’s enthusiasm for chocolate didn’t mean anything, I couldn’t shake the memory of her excitement in the tasting room or the image of her sleeping with candy wrappers around her. With a muttered curse, I purchased a chocolate bar and quickly left the store.
* * *
It was late by the time I returned home. I walked into the castle just after ten at night, and I was starving.
Instead of going straight home from France, I convinced myself to visit another location after having a successful visit to the Paris store. However, the Carrington Chocolate store in London turned out to be a disaster.
The shelves were improperly stocked, signage was all wrong, and the staff infuriated me with their incompetence. They were a bunch of idiots who didn’t know their faces from their asses. I didn’t like that they represented my company, even if I had one foot out the door.
Despite my reluctance to reveal my identity, I carefully observed the operations and made mental notes. Afterwards, I spent over two hours on the phone with the regional manager of that store, which was unusual for me. I usually left such matters to Maxwell, but I was so enraged that I felt compelled to give the incompetent employee an earful.
By the time I was done with him, I was so infuriated that I didn’t even feel like stopping for dinner in London. I just wanted to head home. Barclay knew I would arrive late, so he would have something prepared for me in the kitchen.
I slowly peeled my heavy coat off my shoulders and hung it on the hook next to the front door. My jaw was clenched tight from a mix of tension and disappointment, and the muscles in my body felt like they were aching from the inside out. I headed toward the kitchen, illuminated by a beam of light that shone through the dimly lit castle hallways. As I entered, I paused at the center island, and the sound of my leather satchel thudding on the chair beside me filled the room.
A quick glance around revealed that Barclay had left my food sitting on a warmer covered by a cloche. My current read was lying next to it, and I grinned as I took a seat at the island. No matter how terrible the employees at my London store were, I took comfort in knowing that my house staff were efficient. The chef had made a roast and root vegetables, a favorite of mine.
As if conjured by that thought, a kitchen aide came through one of the doors and greeted me.
“Good evening and welcome home, sir. Do you have everything you need?”
I had grabbed an empty glass from the cabinet, and I raised it. The older woman understood, bringing a tray with a bottle of brown liquors over to where I sat. She left, and I dug into my food.
I’d only been eating for a few minutes when the kitchen door swung open and Belle walked in. She wasn’t paying attention to the island, where I sat, going straight to the stove with her back to me. I perked up as I watched her. Her little pink slippers made almost no sound against the stone floor. She was dressed in a soft-looking nightgown that stopped in the middle of her thighs. Her curves were on display, and I felt arousal heat my blood. My cock stirred in my pants as I imagined those legs wrapped around me.
But my eyes flickered up to her hair, and I couldn’t stop staring at it. It was in a ponytail with a ribbon wrapped around it, dark brown and beautiful. If I didn’t recognize the lines of her body, I might not have even known it was her. It was a hell of an improvement, and I made a mental note to add a large tip when I paid the bill for the service.
After she filled the teakettle with water and placed it on the gas stove’s burner, she grabbed a container of hot cocoa packets from the pantry. I found myself enjoying the way she moved around my kitchen as if she owned the place. She was at ease, and that soothed my soul in a way that made me uncomfortable.
I was just about to escape the kitchen when I heard her shuffling through drawers. She opened cabinets and peered around the countertops. With careful deduction, I noticed she was hunting for a coffee cup.
“The cabinet to the far left,” I said, making her flinch. She looked around at me with wide eyes, her hand over her heart. I’d scared her.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, grabbing a cup.
I averted my gaze from her smile and tried to focus on my book, determined to resist the temptation to kiss her full lips. I knew I had to ignore her presence and hoped that she would finish making her drink soon and leave.
I read the same paragraph three times before I admitted to myself that avoiding her presence wasn’t working. My body was too aware of her. I peeked up at her, wondering if her hair felt as soft as it looked, only to look away when she turned in my direction. As I lifted my book to block my view of her, a gasp escaped from her lips.
