Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 740(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
36
PRIMROSE
In my reflection, my black cocktail dress lies across the bed behind me. Do I wear it or not? Not that I plan on turning up naked, curling my bare leg around the door frame as I purr, I’m ready for my close-up, Monsieur du Beaumont.
Not that he can get any closer to me than he did in the herb garden this afternoon. Unless he’s going to crawl under my skin. I put my hand to my cheek, my eyes burning bright as I will myself to concentrate on the matter at hand. But it’s no good. My mind keeps turning back.
Tell me you need me.
I swear I’m the one who might never recover.
The intensity in his expression. The way he closed his eyes, like he thought I saw too much. The silly exchanges and laughter. The way he made me feel utterly treasured.
It was an experience like no other.
Is it any wonder I couldn’t hold back? The man turns my resolve to Silly String.
But back to my little black dress. Will it make me look like a try-hard or a sophisticated woman? It’s not like we’re going out to dinner or anything—no wine, dine, and sixty-nine for me. Just as well, I think, pressing my hand to my stomach. I’m too nervous to ingest anything. Nervous with anticipation, and because of how intense this afternoon was.
My phone bings with a text. I move to the nightstand, where it should be on charge. But it’s not.
ZOE: I am still salty.
I smile. While I hate that I can’t tell her the truth, Zoe going scorched earth on my behalf is quite touching. She’d get on well with Lavender, I think as I type out a small row of heart emoji.
Her response is immediate.
ZOE: His main character syndrome is legit unhinged. Does he think the sun needs his permission to set?
ME: I just keep telling myself he signs my paycheck.
I end my text with a shrug emoji as I think, another fib. This is something I actively choose not to think about.
ZOE: You’re too nice, and I’m too feral. But we will drink wine and scream at the moon together sometime soon.
ME: Sounds like a plan.
And… my phone goes flat in my hand.
Ah, well.
Zoe was very curious as to why it had taken me so long to pluck a little rosemary this afternoon. Good thing the kids were there as it prevented her coming to find me. But I explained (read: lied) that one of the gardeners had turned up, and that I thought he said the rosemary I was cutting was no good, and that he’d find a better selection and take it to the kitchen himself. But obviously, his limited English and my non-existent Spanish meant that something got lost in translation. And then the boss sent me on an errand to find Maria, which was a whole other thing and so… yep.
I’m not sure if she bought it, but if she has theories, they don’t include Luc. When he’d surfaced later, freshly showered and all gorgeously damp hair, she treated him as she would normally, with the exception of a little stink eye when no one but me was looking.
As for me, I couldn’t look at him. Not without wriggling in my seat. Or sighing like a love-sick, I mean, lust-sick idiot.
When he’d taken my hand earlier, I’d let the realization wash over me. This was it—the moment. Finally. And I keep remembering it in snapshots. The crunch of his boots over gravel that seemed in step with the beat of my heart. The taut set of his jaw set as he’d turned me and set me back against that clay wall. The breeze that had ruffled through his hair, and how the sun had burst through the branches above, shining down on him like a blessing, though his expression was so dark and intense. There was a moment his when his nostrils had flared, and he’d looked almost canine. And like he was angry—angry with himself, maybe. But then he touched me, and the moment had changed.
I shake my head. Reminiscing isn’t going to help me choose what to wear, and I have to wear something… even if only initially.
I wonder if we’ll end up in his bed or mine tonight.
I scan the room at that thought, then I remember I’m not living at home. The maid service is very efficient, so there are no stray socks, coffee cups, or undies littering the place.
Back to the matter in hand. My LBD dress or something more casual? Is it nerves making me so indecisive? It already took me twenty minutes to debate between black lace or cream satin for the bra and knicker set.
I glance at the clock and see it’s already ten past six. My stomach flips. Luc told me, not suggested, to be ready for seven.