Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
LARA
I lie on the bed staring at the ceiling. In shock.
I can still feel the imprint of his touch. I don’t understand what’s going on. We’ve only had sex twice and he’s already managed to get under my skin. Far, far more than I’d like to admit. It’s starting to feel like… God no!
I’m not falling in love with him. No way.
I don’t even want to be thinking about such a thing. That way lies madness.
I get up, feeling restless, and pace the room. Maybe I should go to the office. But I can’t face Dad, his guilt or misplaced anger. But I have to do something or I swear, I will go crazy. I feel like calling him. I feel like hearing his voice, but I know better to call him at work. I can still remember how cold and horrible he was the last time I called him.
But now that I have thought of calling him, I’m itching to pick up the phone and speak to him. I come to an abrupt halt and shut my eyes again. I am just being pathetic and clingy. No man wants a desperate woman. And yet I find myself walking towards my phone, my hand hovers over it. Don’t do it, Lara . But I pick it up and flick it open. My index finger hovers over his number. Don’t do it, Lara. You’ll regret it.
“Damn you, Ivan,” I mutter.
I bite my lip and just as I’m about to press the button, there’s a knock on the door. The breath I was holding comes out in a rush. Saved by the bell, it seems.
I open the door and find Muriel standing outside with a tray in her hand. “I thought you might want some scones hot from the oven and Chef’s raspberry jam,” she says, smiling warmly. “You barely touched breakfast earlier.”
Barely touched breakfast. I ate enough to feed two horses, but her kindness touches me. “Oh… thank you, but you shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.”
She steps inside and sets the tray down on the coffee table. “It’s no trouble. I know how overwhelming it can be when you’re in a new place.” The fragrance of the freshly baked scones fills the room and the comforting scent is just what I need.
I nod, eternally grateful for the distraction. “You’re very thoughtful. Thank you. Are you responsible for the fairytale garden on the roof?”
Muriel lights up as if the garden itself fills her with life. “I am. It’s one of my passions. I grew up in a squalid council estate in England, but I’ve always loved gardening so when Mr. Ivanovich has been generous enough to give me complete freedom with it, I went for it.”
I arch a brow, genuinely intrigued. “So you’re from England.”
“Yes.”
“Have you known Ivan for a long time?”
Her gaze softens, as if the memories themselves are as fragrant as the flowers she grows so beautifully. “Oh, yes. I’ve been with Mr. Ivanovich for eleven years now. He had just left Russia and was setting up his base in London. I was supposed to be based in his London apartment, but after a while he began to take me everywhere he went.”
“I see,” I say softly. “So he’s a good employer?”
“He is family. I’d trust him with my life,” she says simply.
“Oh!” I exclaim.
Ivan Ivanovich’s housekeeper regards him as family and trusts him with her life. Wow. I’m quiet, trying to reconcile this side of him with the man I’ve encountered. It feels like peeking behind a curtain, seeing a glimpse of a person I never expected. I thought he was just another powerful man who coasted through life, buying his way through everything. There’s more to him than I thought.
A small pang of envy flows into my body. She’s known him for so long, and she seems to have this unspoken bond with him. It’s effortless and pure, untainted by sex and wanting and resentment. It is something I’ll never have with him.
“I’ve always wanted a garden,” I say, more to change the subject than anything else. “But I’m afraid plants don’t like me too much. I tend to kill even the supposedly hardy houseplants I put on the windowsill.”
Muriel’s eyes brighten. “Well, you’re welcome to learn while you’re here. It’s late summer. I’ll be happy to teach you everything I know.”
I feel a buzz of excitement at the prospect “I’d love that. Can we… sorry if I’m being too forward, but can we start today? Like now…”
She grins and it lights up her whole face. “Of course. But after the scones.”
“Deal.”
She waits while I cut a scone in half, butter it, spread a generous amout of clotted cream and jam on it, then eat it in three mouthfuls. It’s delicious. Then I grab my phone off the bedside table and follow her out of the room, feeling a sudden lightness, like I’m breaking free from the weight that’s been sitting on my chest.
We walk down the grand staircase in silence, the soft patter of our steps echoing in the quiet hallways. The afternoon light filters through the windows, casting warm shadows as we head toward the conservatory, the tension I’ve been carrying since Ivan left eases off.
As soon as we enter the conservatory it’s like walking into another world again. This time, I notice the vines that have been skillfully trained to drape the walls. Sunlight pours through the glass ceiling, bathing the sofa where Ivan took me in a golden glow. I turn my head away quickly.
Muriel leads me deeper in. The conservatory is bigger than I first thought. Her steps are quick and confident like she knows every corner, every leaf. The garden stretches out beyond the forest-like plants, and I’m surrounded by a patchwork of flowers and herbs—small clusters of marigolds, basil, rosemary, and rows of tomatoes. I take a deep breath, inhaling the mix of fresh earth, and blooming flowers.
“When I first got my hands on this place,” Muriel says, her voice soft, “it was just sad, you know? They discarded all the gorgeous miniature trees and lovely greenery they had used for the showing and only left behind a few house plants that had seen better days. I had to start from scratch.”
She points at the marigolds, their fiery orange petals almost glowing. “These are my summer fighters. Late bloomers, and they just fill up the space with this burst of color. It makes everything feel alive, even when other flowers are fading.”
Her hands sweep toward the wooden box full of lavender. “Lavender’s my favorite. There are no bees so I pollinate them all myself with a brush. I love their calming scents so much that I use the flowers to make little sachets for the pillows. Keeps things smelling fresh.”
I nod. “Aha! That’s what I was smelling last night.”
She smiles. “Yes.”
“You’ve planned this place like a story,” I say, noticing how everything seems to flow.
There’s a twinkle in her eye. “That’s exactly it. It’s not just a garden; it’s an ecosystem. The basil grows well next to the tomatoes, and the rosemary keeps the pests away. Everything works together, and in return, it all thrives.”
I feel myself relax as we move through rows of flowers—dahlias, climbing roses, and these bright purple flowers. Each patch feels like it has its own personality, its own mood, and I’m getting lost in her stories about them. It’s not just flowers and plants to her; it’s her whole world.
I touch a velvety leaf, it’s like satin under my fingers. “It shows. You’ve put your heart into this, haven’t you?”
She laughs, a warm sound that feels as comfortable as the garden itself. “I have. It’s my passion, you know? It’s my little haven. A sanctuary—somewhere you can step into and the plants will heal you.”
I realize I’m not thinking about Ivan or the tension that’s been brewing since I met him. For the first time, it’s quiet inside my head. This isn’t anything like the chaos of the city or my small apartment with its half-dead cactus on the windowsill. This is something else entirely.
“Honestly, it does feel like a sanctuary,” I admit, a little surprised at myself for saying it out loud.
Muriel smiles, and I sense her pride and love for the truly marvelous space she’s created. “It’s my joy. So if you really want to learn and there’s plenty we can cover while you’re here if you’re happy to get your hands dirty.”
I find myself smiling back, a real smile. “I’d love that. This is more than I ever thought I’d get to learn.”
As we wrap up the tour, my phone buzzes in my pocket, pulling me. I take it out, and my heart does a little jump when I recognize the number that flashes across the screen. It’s Ivan’s coldly beautiful PA.
“Miss Fitzpatrick,” she begins, her voice as sharp as nails. “You’re having dinner at Le Bernardin tonight. The chauffeur will pick you up at seven sharp. Don’t keep him waiting and make sure you dress appropriately.”
My temper is immediately aroused. Where does she get off talking to me in that bossy tone, and making out as if I don’t know how to dress appropriately for dinner at a good restaurant? But I don’t betray my resentment. I keep my voice cool. “Dinner with Ivan?”
“Yes,” she confirms, her tone irritated. “He has a prior meeting so you will be joining him after. Please be punctual. Mr. Ivanovich hates to be kept waiting Oh, and I’ll call you tomorrow to discuss arrangements for the Gala.”
I’m almost amused by how annoyed she is with me. “Sure, whatever,” I say nonchalantly, knowing that my casual attitude is guaranteed to piss her off even more.
As I expected, the call briskly comes to an end and I stand there holding my phone, my nerves all a flutter. Dinner with Ivan. Like a date. Well, well. I slide my phone back into my pocket, trying to keep the fluttering in my chest at bay. Dinner is hours away, but knowing it’s going to happen makes me feel restless.
Muriel notices the look on my face. “Everything alright?”
“Yes, everything is just fine,” I say, a big, happy smile on my face.
“Good.”
Later on, as I return to my room, I can’t help but feel the thrill growing inside me. It’s ridiculous—just dinner, nothing more. I look at the time and realize I have only a couple of hours to get ready and I feel a sense of urgency. What should I wear? And why do I care so much? In order to keep myself in check, I go to my room and deliberately scroll through my Instagram to look for garden ideas so I can resist the urge to run to the closet and browse through the available options.