Chapter 10 Charlotte
Charlotte
White marble and bronze inlay gleamed on every surface of the huge checkerboard-tiled entrance hall.
Dramatic crystal chandeliers glinted overhead.
Light from the vast bay window fell in dazzling strips over a grand piano.
The effect was the most Instagrammable space in existence.
A room so bright I wished I’d worn sunglasses.
Cole took my suitcase from his driver and lifted it inside. “Mayfair is a very exclusive area.”
No shit. I scanned the luxurious space. “It’s not too shabby.”
He beckoned me to the window. “See the view of Green Park? Buckingham Palace is just behind that. I bought this from a duke.”
“Rubbing shoulders with aristocracy, huh? Did he know you’d be shacking up with Yorkshire riffraff in here?”
He cocked an amused brow. “Let me show you the rest. Four floors. Five bedrooms. Five bathrooms. It’s poky, but there’s a pool and gym in the basement.”
Poky? He guided me forward with a hand on my lower back.
It was the briefest of touches. He probably hadn’t realized he’d done it, but it sent a shock of heat through me.
A huge corridor with a gleaming parquet floor divided the first floor in two.
There was enough artwork on the walls to fill the National Gallery.
The reception rooms and kitchen were more of the same, a mix of old-world charm and stark minimalism.
I poked my head into a study brimming with books.
Everything was neat and orderly. Not a thing out of place.
The books that stuffed the many bookcases all looked heavy going: history, philosophy, and politics.
Just like Dad’s library. Probably a load of melancholic philosophers and depressing poets. Tiff would not approve.
“You should have a look through Dad’s books. See if there’s anything you like. I can’t throw them away, but I can’t read them either.”
He moved closer. His spicy cologne invaded my nostrils. “Why can’t you read them?”
Because Dad had spent a lifetime poring over those books, talking in raptures about the Anglo-Saxons and obscure medieval kings, and one by one each historical figure had evaporated from his mind, until one day he’d forgotten more than most people ever learned.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “Because most of them are medieval history.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s my least favorite time period. It’s always about men in codpieces and chain mail getting hard-ons about slaughtering each other.”
His lip twitched. “I hope they aren’t getting too many hard-ons. That’s probably quite uncomfortable in a codpiece.”
“Do you remember when Dad took us to the battlefield at Stamford Bridge and it was just a plaque on a housing estate? Other kids were smoking behind the bike sheds and we were being lectured about the end of the Viking era in a car park.”
Cole raised an eyebrow. “Technically, Stamford Bridge wasn’t the end of the Viking era. Even after Harald Hardrada was slain, there were a few further Viking attacks.”
My burst of laughter took me by surprise. “It doesn’t matter how well you scrub up in that suit, you’re still a history nerd.”
He raised an affronted eyebrow. “I’m not a nerd.”
“Of course you are. You just used the word ‘slain’ in a sentence. Embrace it. You’re still gaga for Edward the Confessor. No wonder you were Dad’s star pupil.”
“Edward the Confessor was a very underrated king.” His dark brows slanted. “And I wasn’t a star pupil. I wouldn’t go that far.”
“You were. I can’t imagine any of his other students spending their weekends translating Latin texts. That is a commitment to history.”
His expression was inscrutable. “That’s me. Committed to history.”
“Do you remember how Tiff got all worked up because the bakery was shut? An army defeated and my sister was crying over a sausage roll.”
Another small laugh bubbled up, but I stifled it. It felt wrong, like I shouldn’t have been doing it yet. Dad’s loss was still so raw. I hadn’t had many opportunities to laugh over the past couple of years.
I looked up to find Cole studying me intently. “You’re allowed to laugh. Even when you’re grieving.”
His closeness was so bracing, so masculine and powerful.
Cole wasn’t a loud person. He was often quiet and still, like a predator, but his presence commanded attention.
Butterflies flitted in the pit of my stomach.
I smoothed my expression into something approaching neutral, despite my pounding pulse. “Shall we carry on the tour?”
His eyes skimmed my face again before he gave a small nod.
I followed him in silence upstairs. In the largest bedroom, an enormous bed with a wall-to-wall headboard dominated the space.
This sparse, orderly room was the opposite of the home I’d left.
With so few lived-in touches, it was more like a show home.
The cream chaise by the window still had plastic covering on it.
Easy to wipe clean from the multitude of sex sessions this man was probably having in here.
It screamed playboy bachelor pad. He’d probably had sex in every room in this place.
How many women had seen the inside of his bedroom?
I didn’t dare imagine. I shouldn’t have even been thinking about it.
Cole was scrutinizing my face again. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s incredible. I just worry I’m going to be invading your space.”
“You won’t. My work means I’m hardly here, anyway.”
He stepped out of the bedroom. I followed him back downstairs, glad to be away from his bed.
“I have other properties. This is my smallest but my most convenient. I don’t spend much time here.
I’m always at the office or traveling.” He turned to face me.
“I’m sure you’ll be spending more time in the house than I will.
You need to love it. We’ll have a look at my other places.
You might be more comfortable in the countryside, or in Paris. I have a lovely place in Kyoto.”
“Japan?”
“Yes, or we can choose somewhere you like and you can have that if you don’t like it here.”
How could this actually be happening? It was so surreal to see Cole again, let alone touring the house I’d be living in with him.
I roamed the gigantic, gleaming kitchen and opened the fridge.
Tupperware boxes full of food lined the shelves.
We hadn’t even talked about the wedding.
How quickly did he want to do it? How many people?
I could only imagine the sort of people Cole would invite.
Would they all be looking down their noses at me because I only knew the names of the streets around here from playing Monopoly?
“Marco stocks the fridge every morning, but you can tell him if there’s anything in particular you like.”
I shut the fridge. “Marco?”
“My chef. The housekeeper will be here later. If you have any problems, phone my PA. She knows you’re here and I’ve told her to look after you.” He pulled out his wallet and passed me a black credit card. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate.”
“I can’t spend on your card. I feel weird spending money I haven’t earned.”
“You’re earning it. This is part of the deal. Go shopping. Eat out. Have fun. Spend as much as you want, then visit some museums. Most are free in London so it all evens out.”
I managed a faint smile. “That’s not how money works.”
“I’ve organized a spa day for you tomorrow.”
“A spa day? Why?”
“It will do you good.” He grabbed his overcoat from a peg in the entrance hall. “My driver will take you anywhere you want to go. It might be late when I get back. Don’t wait up. Make yourself at home. We can talk about the wedding tomorrow.”
He headed out of the door without looking back. Sure. The wedding. The part where we stand up in front of friends and families and lie about being madly in love. No biggie.