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Chapter 11
Rose
“Areyousurehesaid it was for me?”
“It’s what he said,” Larry, one of the estate’s groundskeepers, replies, as he props the giant bubble-wrapped package up against my bedroom wall.
Why would he send me a gift? Why would he send me anything?After yesterday, Dax’s feelings couldn’t be clearer.“I’ll have to put you on the first plane back to New York.”It doesn’t matter what else he said. I’m fed up with riddles. He thinks about me going back to New York. He doesn’t see me staying here long term. Not that I was ever meant to. A fact I’m sure he’s ecstatic about.
“You want me to unwrap it?” Larry asks.
I smile at his kind, older face. He reminds me of Dad, a little. The way his eyes twinkle as he smiles.
“No, thanks, Larry. I’ve got it.”
I see him out and then go to my bedroom and stare at the giant object.
I fetch scissors and cut through the layers of protective plastic, tearing them away and discarding them on the floor. It’s therapeutic in a weird way. Like shedding dead skin to reveal the new, smooth, fresh one below. One that hasn’t been scarred with mistakes.
I sit back on my heels as I peel the final layer back.
Blonde hair and blue eyes that almost look too big for the face they’re a part of stare back.
Me.
He’s sent me a mirror.
A giant, gilt-framed mirror that must be hundreds of years old. It’s probably one of the original ones from the main house.
I run my hands around the intricate carvings of the frame, a mix of leaves and flowers. And at the top center—a bird.Like Dax’s neck tattoo.
Taped to the top right corner of the frame is a handwritten note.
Look in it and see what I see. What the world sees.
I stare at my reflection. What is that supposed to mean? What he sees? What the world sees? Dax Silver is the most confusing man, no, most confusingpersonI have ever met. Why would he send me this? He’s so moody and intense. But then I know he can be tender too. He calms me in a way no one else can. When he holds me and tells me to breathe in his deep voice, it’s like a wave of warmth flows over me, easing all the tension away. It’s like he gets me somehow. Like he gets what it’s like to feel at war with yourself inside your own mind. But then he says and does things that contradict it again and throw me through a loop.
I stand, straightening my white flowy dress. I’ve teamed it with heeled sandals today and have my hair up in a high ponytail with a thin white ribbon tied in a bow. I bought the dress when I went shopping with Jasmin. She said it was too cute not to get, and I agree. I didn’t even realize most of my wardrobe had turned dark in color since losing Dad. Not until I unpacked my suitcase here and my wardrobe looked like it belonged to a grieving widow from centuries ago.
I purse my lips, looking in the mirror one final time as I grab my purse.
Right now, there is only one thing I am sure of.
And that is, the more time I spend with Dax Silver, the less I understand him.
“Did Larry bring the mirror to you?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
I purposefully don’t look up at the open doorway of my office.
“I see,” he murmurs.
I carry on typing the figures into the report I’m working on, but he stays standing in the doorway, so I glance up for a split second, then away again. He’s wearing a suit, his bird tattoo on full show where the neck of his new white shirt is unbuttoned.
He ripped the last one off, remember?
I press my thighs together and bite the inside of my cheek, continuing to ignore him. That was hot. I know he didn’t intend for it to be an act of seduction—he couldn’t get me out of there fast enough afterward. However, a man that looks like Dax Silverrippinghis shirt off… I doubt anyone is immune to that. And his tattoos… I’ve never seen anything more beautiful. I could have stared at him all night and traced the curves of ink over his skin with my fingertips had he let me. I found them mesmerizing. So detailed. Each having a story behind it. Marking a moment of how he felt, how he thought at that point in his life. Like a diary portrayed in images instead of words.
