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A glance told me the room itself split into a separate sitting room on the other side, along with an en suite bath fit for a queen, a walk-in closet, and some other private sitting area that looked like it was once someone’s office.
“This is—ours?” I stammered as I took it all in.
“Yours. Yeah.”
I looked back at him, unsure of what to make of that, but found I was too distracted by the grandeur to ask. Yet.
Xavier shifted from foot to foot as he watched me explore the space. “It’s a bit gaudy, I know. But what can you do? Heirlooms.”
He shrugged, like he was talking about a nice, crocheted doily inherited from a grandmother, not a castle full of art.
I crossed the room to peer at an oil painting hanging between two of the windows. “Is this—oh my God, Xavi, is this an actual Renoir?”
He followed me, leaned over my shoulder, and examined the painting along with the tiny signature in the lower right corner. “Looks like it, yeah. I’ll ask Gibson if it’s been cataloged. We’ve been talking about auctioning a few pieces to fund some of the updates for the smaller farms.”
I continued to stare at the painting, a still life of vivid pink flowers. “It’s beautiful.”
Xavier looked up from his phone. “Like it?”
I turned. “Well, yes. It’s stunning.” I didn’t know what else to say.
A shy half-smile appeared, almost as if I’d complimented him, not a lost masterpiece. “I’ll make sure that one stays, then.”
I wandered around the rest of the room, taking in the glossy furnishings, the gilt fixtures, and the warm yellow walls covered in art. “I feel like I’m going to break something in here. These things have been in your family for who knows how long. Hundreds of years, I suppose?”
Xavier followed me to the doors leading out to a balcony, then pulled me into his arms so we could take in the view together. “They’re just things, Ces. I don’t care about any of it. Just you and Sofia. If you want me to yank it all out and have a bunch of Scandinavian garbage hauled in to replace it, we can do that too.”
I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it. Just that I didn’t want to break anything.”
“Sleep on the bed. Jump on it if you want. It’s lasted this long—it can handle a tiny bird from the Bronx, you know.”
I made to punch him in the gut, but he captured my fist and brought it to his lips for a fleeting kiss. It was uncharacteristically gallant of him. But I didn’t mind that either.
“No Ikea needed,” I confirmed. “Although maybe some things that Sofia can get dirty. A table where she can do some art, maybe. Or a rug where she can play dolls that’s not worth roughly a million dollars. We don’t want another stained angora on our hands.”
Xavier chuckled at the memory. “Your wish is my command. Any time, too. My doors are always open, and just next door.”
I frowned. There it was again. The yours versus mine thing.
“Your doors?” I asked. “So this really isn’t your room too?”
“Oh, I’ll be in here with you. But in the old days, it was always customary for the duke and duchess to have their own chambers. I thought maybe you and Sof would need your own space while you’re here. And to be honest, there will be a lot of late nights for me. That door opens up to the nursery. You might just want to be on your own instead of having me wake you at two in the morning.”
I frowned. It made sense. But what had happened to always sleeping in the same bed? Given his work, it wasn’t like he hadn’t had plenty of other late nights at the restaurants, though until this week, he’d mostly kept that to a minimum. Still, I truly believed he’d invited me to share his life, and on our first night, hadn’t he promised just that?
That was when you were alone, my conscience reminded me.
Now we were going to have walls between us. Relatives watching. Servants noticing. Neighbors checking in.
“Don’t worry,” Xavier rumbled as he pulled me closer. “I’ll be sneaking into your bed every night I can.” He smirked. “I’m pretty good at it too. Quiet as a cat.”
He turned me around and began steering me toward the four-poster as if to demonstrate exactly how he planned to do the sneaking.
“Don’t you run away now,” he said as his hands found their way under my shirt, sliding along my skin in a way that made me forget my initial doubts. “This tour’s just getting started.”
* * *
We foundour way down to dinner a bit later than planned, mostly because Xavier enjoyed watching me fret more than normal about my wardrobe. He vetoed at least two outfits I’d brought with me from London—none, apparently, were sexy enough for his liking.
