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“She seems lovely.”
“You certainly manage to bring out her good side. That’s no minor feat.” I take her hand. “Can we please eat now? I am wavering between dying of starvation and dying to get you back to my suite so I can pick up where we left off. Which I think was right here.” I bite her neck and deliver a hungry kiss.
22. Virginia
A GREENHOUSE DREAM
“Should I sublet your bedroom? It’s too quiet without you.” Georgia stands in my door and watches me pack another bag to take to Will’s. Over the last two months, I’ve virtually emptied my closet, one dress at a time.
“I’m sorry. He’ll be going on the road in three weeks and then gone for nine. That’s loads of time for you to get sick of me again.”
My protective older sister purses her lips, scowls, and sighs. Loudly.
“I will never get sick of you. You’re family. I love you. But I worry that this guy … a man who publicly humiliated you and basically said you’d never amount to anything? Who called you a clown? I worry that …” Georgia stops talking and lets me fill in the blanks.
“Will is nothing like Dad. And I’m not in some messed-up ‘make daddy love me’ relationship. I promise. Will is a complicated man. The way we first met was an unfortunate snapshot of a bad day. That’s not him at all. He truly isn’t concerned with what people think about how I dress or my crazy hair or—”
“Yeah, well, when was the last time you were out in public with him? Why is he keeping you hidden away if he’s not embarrassed to be seen with you?”
I press my fingertips to my temples to soften the spikes embedding in my forehead.
“Georgia, he’s hiding himself, not me. He hates being in the spotlight—”
My sister scoffs. “Funny way to show it, you know, being the most famous public speaker in the English-speaking world.”
My headache intensifies. “Please don’t worry about me. He’s a great guy. And half of the reason I’m there every night is that he still has nightmares if I’m not with him when he hits REM sleep.”
“An attractive trait,” she mumbles.
“I need to go. I’ll be back soon-ish.”
“Which will be?”
“Soon-ish,” I repeat.
I leave my tiny apartment, which in the last weeks, I’ve started to think of as “Georgia’s place” since I’m feeling more and more at home at Will’s. It took several days for me to relax and get comfortable using spaces it’s clear he never has—like his kitchen—but once he gave me free rein (and a bottomless budget) to add cozy touches to his black, white, gray, and polished chrome decorating, his condo has become more welcoming. In addition to the dozens of plants that are now bringing life to every corner of every room, I’ve added a few wood tables, some nature-inspired art pieces, and loads of colorful cushions and accent rugs.
My dresses hang in the master closet and look perfectly at home with Will’s custom-tailored suits. Well, in the quality department, at least. From a color point of view, my side looks like an explosion of a million flowers while his side looks like deep space.
Even though it feels needlessly decadent, Will insists I use a company car, with driver, when I want to run errands or when I care for Mr. Bernard’s greenhouse in the British Properties. Will says that since he has a vehicle and man on twenty-four-seven standby who is paid whether he drives or twiddles his thumbs, I provide the guy a reason to get dressed in the morning.
“Sorry. That took a little longer than expected. My sister needed to vent,” I say to Dawes, sliding into the back seat of the black Bentley. I schedule my rare appointments and errands around Dawes’s. He’s been working for Will Power & Bros. since it belonged to the previous William, and he loves telling stories about the old days.
“Will’s birthday is coming up in just over a month. I have no idea what to get him. Do you remember what some of his favorite gifts were when he was younger? I’m thinking of something with a nostalgic theme.”
Dawes hems and haws and taps his steering wheel as we drive toward the British Properties. “I can’t say I can help. His father loved a good bottle of Cognac. He’d drink every time he was in my car. He joked that he had to be drunk to relax with my driving.”
“Will doesn’t drink, so that won’t work.”
“No. He is nothing like his father. Now, Mr. Aiden? That nut didn’t fall far from the tree.” Dawes chuckles.
“He is a bit of a nut, isn’t he? But …” I’m not sure how to ask what is now on my mind. “Was Will Senior um … ahh … did he have … I mean, was he a ladies’ man like Aiden is?”
Dawes laughs out loud and makes eye contact with me in his rearview mirror as he shakes his head. “No, no, no. Not as far as I know, and I would know since I was with him whenever he left his apartment. He was a faithful husband. He and Mrs. Power enjoyed socializing. They were out three, sometimes four nights a week.”
“It must’ve been quite a shock when he died. A big change for you.”
“As a driver, it’s not considered right to call an employer a friend, but Mr. Power and I were close. Closer than any other friend I had then or have had since. He confided in me like I was a priest—a priest who shared his love of fine Cognac when I was off duty.”
