One Weekend in London

12. Sadie

I’ve diedand gone to Southern belle heaven.

As Rhys guides me onto his yacht—a sleek, white vessel that screams luxury—my jaw nearly hits the polished teak deck. The gentle rocking beneath my feet sends a thrill careening through me, the breeze rolling off the Thames’s waters gentle as can be.

The beauty of this place is unmatched.

Eyes wide, I stand on the main deck of the boat, slowly taking in the plush seating areas that fill the space, accented by gleaming art fixtures, and white orchids contained in glossy black vases.

“When you said you had another surprise for me, I wasn’t expecting this.” I gesture to the pristine furniture, as if it has never been sat on, and floor-to-ceiling glass. “Like, at all.”

Rhys chuckles, guiding me deeper into the boat. “I aim to impress.”

I lean into where he stands at my side, his strong arm banded around me, relishing the solid strength of his body against mine. “Then consider your mission downright accomplished.”

I can’t even imagine how much this all costs.

Probably six figures just for the furniture...

The scene from earlier at the hotel flashes through my mind, muddying my previous thoughts. I snap my mouth shut with an audible clank.

I wonder...

Glancing up at Rhys, I bite my bottom lip, shifting uncomfortably. I’m not sure I should ask the questions I’m interested to know, yet I do so anyway. What can I say? It seems I’ve come down with a case of the nosy bug.

Just call me Snoopin’ Sadie.

“So, about what that girl said back at the hotel. You know, the teenage paparazzi.” I can’t help but smile because even now, when I think of her, I think of Tasha. “Is it true? Are you really a billionaire?”

His gaze meets mine, unflinching.

“I am.”

Huh. Never met one of those before. “Well then. Guess I should’ve figured, what with your fancy hotel and all.”

I’m sure it’s not the only property he owns. In fact, I’d bet everything I have—which, when compared to Rhys, admittedly isn’t much—he owns more real estate than Papaw does cows and chickens combined.

And that’s saying something.

“But just so you know, the size of your bank account doesn’t matter to me.” I shrug, truly uncaring of his monetary status. It’s his heart I’m interested in—not his financial portfolio. “I’ve dated a well-off man before, and we both know how that turned out.”

Rhys’s jaw clenches at the mention of my ex, but he quickly smooths his expression, quick to regain control. “I assure you, I’m nothing like that wanker. When I commit to something—or someone—it’s with everything I have. No exceptions.”

The intensity in his eyes steals my breath. Quite literally. I have to look away and focus on the white leather sofa before me, my cheeks heating to keep it together.

I take a breath before glancing back his way.

“I’m starting to see that.”

“It’s high time you did.”

Winking down at me, he leads me to a beautiful black table situated near a gas fireplace. At its wooden center, tucked between monogramed place settings for two, a riot of pale pink peonies spills from a crystal vase.

Drawn to them like a bumblebee to pollen, I can’t resist leaning in to inhale their sweetly floral scent—one that reminds me of Mamaw’s beloved flower garden back home.

“These are gorgeous.”

A shadow flickers across Rhys’s face as he pulls out a chair, like the perfect gentleman he’s proving to be, and waits for me to take my seat. The darkness is there, morphing his expression.

But then, in an instant, it’s gone.

“They were my mum’s favorite. She always said they reminded her of hope and new beginnings.”

My heart twists, the pain sharp and lasting. Reaching across the table once he’s seated, I cover his hand with my own, twining our fingers together.

“Want to tell me about her?”

I don’t mean to pry, I truly don’t. But after he was there, listening as I blubbered over Mamaw and confessed how her death shattered me, I want to do the same for him. I want to be his rock, his anchor. And truth be told, that scares the heck out of me.

Too much, too fast, but it feels so right...

He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes distant. Then, when he speaks, I have to stop myself from crying on his behalf and swooning all at the same time.

“She was my whole world growing up.”

One sentence and my chin starts wobbling. The emotion lining his voice, the longing mixed with unmistakable fondness—goodness gracious, it’s downright soul-wrenching.

“My father was a right bastard, too busy chasing his next million to give a toss about us, the woman he used until he was finished with her and the bastard son he never claimed as his own.”

That son of a biscuit.

If he were here, I’d stab him in the eye with the fancy salad fork in front of me. I know nothing of my own parents except they decided last minute they weren’t ready for a baby, abandoning me at the hospital where I was born. That’s how I ended up as a ward of the state before Papaw and Mamaw came along, saving me.

I don’t begrudge my parents for that. They may have left me behind but at least they didn’t throw me in a dumpster. Besides, I have the best family ever now. Even if they are a little insane and a whole lot loud. Rhys’s dad though? Trash.

One-hundred-percent pure trash.

“But Mum?” he continues, interrupting my murderous thoughts, once more claiming my full attention. “She poured everything she had into giving me a good life, even when we had nothing.”

Amazing—that’s precisely how she sounds.

“She used to take me to this little garden in the city, even though it was a devil of a trek from our flat. We’d pack a picnic lunch and spend the whole day there, just the two of us. She’d push me on the swings and teach me the names of all the flowers. Those times are my happiest memories.”

Tears sting my eyes at the raw emotion in his voice. Exactly how many dang times can I cry in one day? If the past few months are anything to go by, too many to count.

Clearly, I’m an emotional basket case.

“She’d be so proud of the man you’ve become.”

Rhys clears his throat, blinking rapidly. “Her name was Victoria. And I like to think so.” Victoria. Like Caroline, his assistant, the name seems to fit her. Perfectly. “That park was our special place. These days, when I’m missing her, that’s where I go. To feel close to her again.”

It takes everything in me not to leap over the table and straight into his arms, where I’d hug him until my own arms grew so weak I no longer could. But, not knowing if he’s done speaking, I stay still, remaining seated and hardly even breathing.

Until I no longer can.

Tracing my fingertips over the back of his hand, I circle his knuckles in slow strokes. “I’d love to see it sometime, if you want to share it with me.”

The approving smile he gives me is blinding, along with the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, leaving me awestruck.

Nearly obsessed.

“I’d like that, love.” He flips his hand over, taking mine in his. “More than you know.”

“Good, because—”

Our moment is interrupted by a white-jacketed chef approaching the table, a loaded tray balanced on his palm.

“Lunch is served,” he announces with a crisp nod as he begins to lay out an array of mouthwatering Southern dishes—golden-fried green tomatoes, creamy shrimp and grits, juicy pulled pork sliders nestled on mini brioche buns.

And, of course, two generous helpings of bourbon bread pudding and peach cobbler, the crowning glory.

If Papaw could see this...

“How did you know I love—”

“I’ve got my methods, haven’t I?” He smirks, looking entirely too pleased with himself, undoubtedly recalling the background check he ran on me. “There isn’t much I don’t know about you, but whatever I have yet to learn, I’ll soon discover.”

Feigning offense, I narrow my eyes. “Stalker.”

He doesn’t miss a beat, reading my playfulness for what it is. “When it comes to you, Sadie Winslow? Proudly.”

We untwine our hands and laugh, the sound as natural as breathing, before tucking into the feast with gusto. On the first bite, not surprisingly, the flavors explode on my tongue like a Winslow-style Fourth of July fireworks display.

I can neither help nor stop the moan of pure bliss that escapes as I devour the blackened shrimp and creamy grits, then take a bite of a perfectly cooked fried green tomato. Whatever he’s paying his chef, he needs to double it.

Pronto.

“Sweet mercy, this is good,” I mumble after swallowing and dabbing my lips with the ritzy napkin stowed next to my plate. “I think your chef may have just ruined me for all other food. But please don’t ever mention that to my papaw or he’ll throw a conniption fit the size of Alaska, since he considers his cooking to be the crème de la crème of the South.”

Rhys chuckles, spearing a bite of his own. “I’ll be sure to pass along the compliment to Louis and keep your sentiments to myself when I meet your family.” That has me stopping mid-bite. The thought of Rhys meeting my family is both terrifying and pleasing.

I think I’d like that. A lot.

Despite their often-bullheaded behavior, something tells me he could hold his own against my overbearing and overprotective male cousins. All frickin’ seven of them. Papaw, though, he’s the wildcard of the bunch. But even so, he doesn’t worry me much. I’ve had him wrapped around my pinky finger since the day he first held me in his arms.

Eli calls it the Sadie Effect.

“Though I must say,” Rhys adds, his eyes darkening before my own, causing me to freeze, “the sounds you’ve been making while eating are giving me all sorts of vivid ideas.”

Not missing the emphasis he puts on the word vivid, I flush, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Behave, Mr. Kensington. With the shore still being visible, we’re literally in public.”

“Trust me, love, it doesn’t matter.” He smirks, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Since I don’t intend to share, I’ll find a way to silence the screams I plan to coax out of you later.”

I nearly choke on my next bite, desire streaking through me like lightning. “You’re pure dang trouble.” I point my fork at him in mock accusation. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“A time or two.” He shrugs as I did a minute ago, completely unrepentant. “But you can tell me again once I show you how talented my tongue is, and after I’ve upended every plan you thought you had for the future.”

He’s going to be the death of me.

The absolute death.

More than a bit flustered, and with my skin growing hotter with each second that passes, I change the subject before I combust, making a mess of his lavish yacht.

“You know, this reminds me of the church potlucks back home. All the little old ladies trying to outdo each other with their secret recipes.”

Rhys leans back in his chair, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “I’m having a hard time picturing you as a church-going belle. What with that wicked mouth of yours.”

My wicked mouth?

As Tasha would say, puh-lease.

Seriously, pot meet kettle.

I flutter my lashes at him, the picture of perfect—if not exaggerated—innocence. “Why, I sure don’t know what you’re implying, sir. I’m as pure as the driven snow.”

He barks out a laugh. “Now that I find it hard to believe. I bet you were the one all the lads were trying to sneak off into the hayloft with before you found a boyfriend at eighteen.”

Not hardly.

I was pretty, but I was also quiet and shy.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I pop a bit of cobbler into my mouth, nearly coming undone at the explosion of butter, cinnamon, and juicy peach that rolls over my tongue. “Oh God. If this is what sin tastes like, then sign me up for a one-way ticket downstairs.”

Rhys’s eyes track the movement of my lips, making my belly flip. “Careful what you wish for. I might just be tempted to deliver.”

“Is that a promise or a threat?” I can scarcely recognize my own voice, laden with innuendo. For goodness only knows how many times, I’m so far out of familiar territory when it comes to this man. It’s just plain mind-boggling.

His grin is wicked. Knee-quaking. “Both.”

I take a sip of water, trying to cool the fever racing through my veins. It’s a losing battle. Rhys Kensington is a fever I can’t break.

And truly, I don’t think I ever want to.

“So tell me...” The semblance of composure I’ve gained isn’t much, but it’s something. “What’s your favorite dessert? And don’t say anything crude, or I swear I’ll push you overboard.”

He clutches his chest in feigned anguish. I like the possessive, dirty-talking side of him, that’s not even a question. But this playful side? I love it so much my heart feels as though it may burst.

“You wound me.” I know a mocking tone when I hear one. “As if I would ever stoop to such uncouth behavior.”

I shoot him a you-have-to-be-kidding-me look. “Uh-huh. Pull my other leg while you’re at it, handsome. It’s got bells on it after all.”

Again, he laughs, the sound rich and warm, snapping pieces of my broken heart back into place. “As you wish. I confess, I’ve got a bit of a sweet tooth. Always have, ever since I was a lad.”

Quickly standing, he leans across the table and steals a bite of my cobbler, then presses his lips to mine in a soft, lingering kiss that curls my toes, painfully so, before he sits back down, leaving me dumbfounded.

What in the world just happened?

“But I’ve got to say, I think I’ve just found a new favorite. Nothing else quite compares to the taste of sugar on your honeyed lips.”

I blush straight to the roots of my dark hair, my healing heart doing a giddy little flip in my chest. Honestly, it’s a wonder I haven’t self-combusted on the spot like I feared moments ago, on account of the way this man keeps stoking my flames.

“You,” I accuse breathlessly, “are an absolute menace.”

“Guilty as charged. But I suspect you like it.”

Heaven help me, I do.

In comfortable silence, we polish off the rest of the meal, the air between us crackling with anticipation. By the time we’re finished, I’m nearly vibrating out of my flushed skin, every nerve ending alight and attuned to the spellbinding man across from me.

The man who, with every word and touch, is steadily bursting through my fortified walls, even though I never thought such a thing would be possible, especially so quickly.

But it seems fate is hell-bent on proving me wrong.