25. Daniel
25
DANIEL
R osie is standing outside the Starr Design office with her overnight bag, tapping away on her phone not looking happy. She’s wearing a pair of white oversized pants and a navy and white striped silky shirt, looking like she should be in Monaco on a yacht rather than the streets of Chelsea. She messaged me earlier saying she was running late due to a client meeting running over. I wasn’t sure if that was a lie to get out of this weekend. But seeing her waiting for me, the anxiety I’ve been feeling for the past twenty-four hours has subsided and I know everything is going to be sorted out this weekend.
I park my car and get out. She sees me walking over to her and jumps in surprise.
“Oh, hi, you’re here.”
“I am,” I say, reaching out and grabbing her bag from her. She follows in silence as I put the bag in the backseat and then open the door for her. She gives me a small smile and hops in, I walk around and jump back into my car. We sit in silence as we pull out into Friday night London traffic. “Thanks for picking me up.”
“No problem,” I answer, hating the way her berry perfume tickles my nose and makes me think of burying my face between her thighs.
“I’m sorry that my meeting went over. Now we’re going to be stuck in peak hour traffic.” She grimaces, staring at the red and white lights of the cars around us as we merge into traffic.
“Least we are stuck in style.” I grin, daring to look over at her.
She’s playing with the end of her plait nervously, which is hanging over her shoulder. “I’ve never ridden in a Ferrari before,” she confesses.
“It’s a Ferrari Purosangue.”
“It’s beautiful,” she says, running her hand over the leather fabric before silence falls between us.
“Do you like cars?” I ask, filling the void between us.
“As a mode of transport, yes, but I don’t know anything about them. I’m assuming you have a thing for cars.”
“I do,” I answer but don’t elaborate any further, which stills the conversation. I don’t want to talk about what I have in case it makes her feel uncomfortable like it did in New York. I can feel her fidgeting beside me.
“What other cars do you have?”
And yes, the conversation between us has reached this level of pain. “Do you really want to know?” I ask, looking over at her.
She turns and gives me a frown. “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t interested?”
Great start to the weekend, we are already bickering. “Fine. I buy a car that matches my home because each home I have I use for something different.”
“Of course you do,” she grumbles.
“Like you said, we’re not from the same world.” I hear the sharp intake of her breath at my harsh words, but she doesn’t respond and instead stares out the car window. “You want to talk about what happened in New York?”
“No.” She huffs, folding her arms over her chest.
“Guess you’re going to have to listen to me talk then,” I say, looking over at her, she continues to ignore me. “I thought we had a great day. I loved hanging out with you, watching how excited you got over cushions and sofas.” She doesn’t say anything. “I was excited to show you my home. Of all the people I’ve brought there, and it's only been a handful, you were the one who I wanted to impress the most.” She fidgets in her chair. “I grew up with this being my world. I don’t know life any differently. Even Louis, it’s taken him a while to get used to it. My father and I think, to some point, because my mother was so heartbroken, made sure that Louis and his mother never saw a dime of what my family had. Louis grew up struggling, but I guess that’s why he is such an incredible artist because of that struggle and love he got from his mother. He may not have had the material things that I did, but he sure as hell had the love.” When I look over at her again, she is staring at me, there’s emotion swirling behind those green eyes as she stares at me. “I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable, Rosie.”
“You don’t,” she whispers.
“I can’t change who I am.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“I would try for you,” I confess, my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.
“Daniel,” she says my name lightly.
“Don’t, Rosie, I know what you’re going to say.” I don’t want to hear the whole client line in this moment.
Silence falls between us as we continue what feels like the longest drive in history.
“I’m sorry that I hurt you in New York,” she says quietly, “I just … if I’m being honest, I don’t understand why someone like you is interested in someone like me.” Her words come out in a flurry as if she didn’t get them all out at once, she wouldn’t be able to say them.
I turn to her for a brief moment. “How could I not be interested, Rosie?” She is chewing her nail before I turn my eyes back to the road. “You’re smart, beautiful, kind, and funny. I have a lot of fun when I’m with you.” When I chance a glance at her again, she is still chewing that nail.
“You could have anyone,” she adds.
“So could you.”
“I’m just me, no one special, but you … you’re …”
“No one special either. I’m just me,” I tell her. Having money doesn’t make me a catch. “I come with childhood baggage, Rose. I’m a workaholic who doesn’t prioritize relationships over my business. I like the finer things in life which makes me a snob. I’m French. Probably a little vain as I like to look after myself and make sure I look good. I talk about art a lot and that bores people. And I’ve never been in love.”
“I like hearing you talk about art. You explain it so it’s not boring,” Rosie confesses, her words are barely a whisper.
“You’d be the only one. I’m flawed, too, we all are.”
“I’m sorry I ran out on you in New York. You went to so much trouble and I got in my head and left you there after such an amazing day. I like you, Daniel, and I know I shouldn’t. I’m just trying to protect myself.”
Wow.
I was not expecting that confession from her. I hold out my hand for her which she looks at for a couple of beats before accepting it. “I like you, too, Rosie, and I shouldn’t because I know you deserve better than what I can give you. But I’m a selfish man,” I tell her, bringing her hand to mine and kissing it. “I can wait till the project is over if you are still interested,” I say, turning and looking over at her.
“Okay,” she answers, biting her bottom lip. That wasn’t at all what I thought she was going to say. “When the project is done then we can do whatever it is we are doing.”
“Fucking.” I turn and smirk, loving the blush that creeps up her neck. She gives me side-eye.
“Yes, but no one can know. Louis and Emily are so loved up they want the world to be like them and I don’t know if Ivy will be too happy.”
My fingers tighten with hers. “How about this, when we are alone like we are now then me doing this,” I bring her hand to my lips again and kiss her skin, “is okay, but when we are near our friends we hide whatever it is we are doing together?”
“That seems fine.”
“And how many days or weeks or months do I have to wait till this project is finished?” I chuckle which makes her smile.
“I’ll be able to tell you tomorrow exactly how long it will take.”
“I think I can handle that.” I smile.
“And there will be no IKEA,” she warns.
I roll my eyes. “Fine. You’re the boss.”
“I am.”
“Does that mean you’re going to boss me around?” I ask, wiggling my brows.
“When it comes to interior design, then yes.”
“Will you boss me around in the bedroom?” I tease.
Rosie bites her bottom lip. “If you want me to.”
The thought of Rosie telling me what to do while at The Paradise Club come to mind. “I do.”
Electricity crackles around us in the interior of the car and she’s lucky that I booked us two separate rooms for tonight, otherwise, I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my hands off her, better change the subject before my dick decides he wants to pull over on a deserted country lane and have his way with her. “Hey, if you’re hungry, I packed some essentials. There’s a picnic basket in the back with water, cheese, and biscuits.”
“You packed a picnic basket for the car?” she asks.
“It’s all I had. And I thought you might be hungry during our drive.”
Rosie reaches into the back and pulls out the basket. “You really did pack food. I’m starved. This is awesome.” She smiles happily as she pulls out the containers. I made sure to pre-slice everything so that it was easy to put together on the road. She pops some cheese and crackers in her mouth and hums happily beside me.
“Do you want some?” she asks, holding out a cracker with cheese on it. I lean forward and grab the food, my lips closing over her fingers as I take it into my mouth. Rosie looks away and quickly pops a grape into her mouth. The next portion she hands to me, making sure that my lips don’t meet her fingers again.
Once we are out of London, it doesn’t take us long to get to the bed and breakfast. It’s almost dark, but we haul the bags out of the car and walk into reception. An older woman greets us warmly, welcoming us.
“Two rooms for Daniel DuPont,” I say.
“Oh, yes, Daniel. I’m sorry to inform you there’s a problem with one of the rooms. We’ve had a plumbing leak and we’ve had to close the room. We only have one room available. Will that be a problem?” she asks, looking between the two of us.
Shit.
“He’s my client,” Rosie states. The older woman’s eyes widen at her comment, and it takes Rosie a couple of beats to realize what the lady is thinking. “I’m an interior designer.”
The older lady bursts out laughing. “Okay, miss, I understand. Unfortunately, I do only have the one bed, but it is a king. There’s a wedding tomorrow and everywhere is booked up.”
“We can find a shop and buy a blow-up mattress and stay at the house,” I whisper to Rosie.
“Shops are closed, I’m afraid, this isn’t the city,” the woman says.
“It’s fine, it’s one night,” Rosie says, giving the woman a wide smile.
“Fantastic.” The lady grins as she starts typing into the computer.
I tug on her arm, and Rosie turns to me. “Are you sure?”
“It’s a king bed, it will be fine.” The clenched teeth she's talking through are giving anything but fine.
“Here you go, you two, enjoy your stay. The local pub is open until midnight, and they serve a nice steak and ale pie,” she suggests.
I give her a nod and we head up the rickety stairs, cursing with each step. Rosie unlocks the door, we step into the bedroom, and I want it to swallow us up. It looks like a damn honeymoon suite with its red velvet bed, white duvet cover, with red satin cushions. There is a neon sign on the wall saying, ‘Heartbreak Hotel’. Rosie covers her mouth and bursts out laughing, which I follow, staring at the room with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and a box of chocolate strawberries. There is a velvet chaise lounge underneath the window, I could sleep on that.
“I can take this,” I say, placing my bag on the chaise lounge.
“Do you think you’ll fit on that?” Rosie asks as she stares at the piece of furniture.
“It’s one night, or I can sleep on the floor, the white shaggy rug could be comfortable.”
Rosie shakes her head. “We’re adults, we can share the bed. She said it was king size.” We stare at the bed.
“Are you sure?” I question her.
“It’s fine,” she squeaks out, shaking her head.
I pick up my bag and place it on my side of the bed. “You want to grab something to eat?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
The local pub is a five-minute walk around the corner. It’s a gorgeous white and black pub, with hanging baskets and window boxes of colorful flowers. There are moss-covered tiles on the roof, and what looks to be three different levels of the pub, every hundred years another section has been added. Rosie and I walk in, and the place is packed, they must all be here for the wedding. We walk through the bar area, find a booth that is empty and take a seat. A waitress comes over and greets us while wiping the table down and handing us the menu before disappearing again.
“Everything looks good,” Rosie says over her menu, but I’m not so sure. She stills when I don’t agree. “Please, don’t tell me you’re going to be so French, right now. This is a quintessential English pub.”
“The floor is sticky, I’m not sure if I’m up for bangers and mash or steak and kidney pie,” I grumble.
Rosie bursts out laughing. “Are you missing your caviar back in London?” she teases. I don’t dare tell her that I am. “Have you been to a pub before?” she questions me.
“Of course,” I bite back, offended.
“No not the ones in London, a real country pub?”
I try to think back, have I ever? I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Daniel, how can you be living in England, buying a country estate, and not have adopted the English pub culture?” Rosie asks aghast.
“Do I look like a man that frequents pub culture?”
“You’re such a snob.”
“I like what I like,” I tell her.
“Which is caviar and Cristal,” she teases.
“And?” I argue, defending myself.
“Nothing wrong with that at all. But you’re here in a pub. You should embrace it, you might like it.” She grins.
Doubtful, but she seems to be getting a kick out of it, so I’ll indulge her. “If you’re the connoisseur of English pubs, why don’t you choose my meal for me.”
“You trust me to choose your meal?” Rosie asks. I nod. “You don’t have any allergies or anything?” I shake my head. Her brows pull together as she scans the menu. “I know exactly what I’m going to order for you.” She grins.
“I look forward to it,” I say, genuinely amused by her excitement. The waitress comes back, and Rosie orders our meals and drinks, but she whispers it to the waitress, telling her I’m visiting from France, and she wants to surprise me with an authentic English experience. The waitress gives me a once over and I don’t think she’s impressed.
“I don’t think she likes French people,” I lean forward and whisper to Rosie.
She bursts out laughing. “I don’t think she does either. She might be the first woman to not fall at your feet.”
“Second woman,” I say.
“Second woman?” Rosie questions me with a frown.
“She’s the second English woman to not fall at my feet, you were the first,” I tell her. Then I watch as her cheeks bloom pink and the tips of her ears turn red. But she is saved by the bell as the waitress brings over my pint of ale and a glass of prosecco for Rosie.
“Cheers,” she says, clinking her glass against mine. “To a productive weekend making your country house a home.” Cheesy but cute.
“I know this weekend wasn’t your idea, but I am genuinely excited to show you the home and see what you think.”
“I’m reluctantly excited,” she says, looking at me over her glass. “I have ideas, but I need to see the space first. It’s hard looking online as I can’t always tell the dimensions, but I could also completely change my mind and come up with an entirely new concept when I get there.”
“I’m sure whatever ideas you come up with will be brilliant.”
“You have that much faith in me?” she asks.
“You don’t?”
“Oh, I do.” She smirks.
“Love the confidence,” I say, raising my pint at her.
“You wouldn’t have hired me if you didn’t think I was good enough.” She’s not wrong, but she also doesn’t need to know what lengths I’d go to, to spend more time with her.
The waitress places my plate of food in front of me and it’s like a tower of food. There are thick-cut fries on the bottom, a bowl of mashed peas, two big beer-battered fish sitting on top, and a bowl of white sauce with a couple of lemon wedges on the side. Rosie has the same.
“It reminds me of home, and I wanted to share it with you.” She shrugs as if it’s no big deal, popping a fry into her mouth. She wanted to share a bit of who she is with me, she could have chosen anything off the menu, but she chose home. “You’ll like it, trust me.” She grins happily, taking a lemon wedge and squishing it all over her food.
I do the same. “What’s the white sauce?” I ask.
“It’s tartar sauce, it’s mayonnaise with things in it. It’s nice,” she explains, dipping her fry into the concoction. I follow her lead and try it and it’s not as bad as it looks. “Growing up, we had seafood most nights, fresh from the ocean. I think that makes me a snob when it comes to seafood,” she confesses.
“Nothing like fresh seafood.” I grin, then take a bite of the battered fish. Oh my god, this is amazing. It’s crunchy and light on the outside and the fish on the inside disappears on my tongue. I moan as I take another bite.
“Told you, you would like it.” Rosie grins.
“It’s delicious.” I continue to stuff the food into my mouth.