23. Isabel
This morning when I was wearing my new dress, hair up in a messy bun, and ready to leave the apartment, I found Meg at our small dining room table.
She was hung over from our Silver Spoon excursion last night, greedily slurping coffee from a giant mug that said “Opposing Counsel’s Tears” and mindlessly scrolling Instagram on her phone. When I walked in, she dropped her phone with a clang.
“Holy Mother of sweet baby Jesus sleeping in his tiny straw crib. The lady is a vamp! You look ridiculously fabulous. Talk about a dress clinging to all the right places. And I must ask how you manage to look as fresh as a fucking daisy when I feel like a bus hit me, backed up and ran over me again.”
I laughed. “Maybe, and this is just a wild guess, it’s because for every one drink I had, you had three?”
Meg contemplated me. “Well shit, I hope this guy doesn’t have a heart condition. ‘Cuz you’re about to significantly shorten his life if he does.”
She helped me carry the confectionary box with the madeleines to the Navigator since I had the picnic basket to deal with.
Naturally George noticed when Meg stumbled toward the Navigator, shrinking like a vampire from the glaring sun.
“Rough night, Meg?” he asked, suppressing his laughter.
“You know it, George,” she replied. “But let that not diminish your high regard for me. I got sucked into it. Drinks were on the house. And they had vodka that didn’t taste like rubbing alcohol. Know what I’m sayin’?”
George’s baritone laughter echoed through the neighborhood. “You know what they say is the cure? To have a little of the hair of the dog that bit you.”
Meg almost gagged. “Dunno George, if I had any booze right now, you’d see the lunch I had last week.”
From there the conversation deteriorated into a recipe for “hair of the dog” and Meg asking for a ride to the store so she could get vodka and tomato juice.
George smiled and waved her over to a small console in the back, which opened to a minibar. Meg’s eyes went wide.
“Ohhhh, may I?” she asked and before George could say yes, she hauled out six small bottles of vodka and a few mini cans of mixes. And for good measure, she scooped up whatever else her free hand could hold. “You’re the best, George. Funny how you didn’t say anything about this treasure trove of booze last night. We could have had a party on our way to the other party.”
We parted with Meg waving hands filled with small bottles of booze. The neighbors emerged from their home with two small kids, the dad shaking his head disapprovingly. The mom, though, looked back longingly and winked at Meg.
I glanced briefly out the back window when George and I left, and watched Meg discreetly slip the mom a couple of mini booze bottles.
* * *
When I slipped outof the Navigator at Belmont Manor, I glanced, up and sure enough Roman stood at the window on the second floor in the south wing, wearing a bespoke suit, his hands casually resting in his pants pockets.
My heart stuttered into an erratic pulse. And I wondered about all the events that had to delicately weave themselves into their preordained timeslots for this moment to fuse into place in my life history.
Roman wearing a suit made this lunch a little more formal than I’d anticipated, and I was extremely glad Emily had given me this dress to wear. At least I had my lovely coat buttoned up so as not to show off the dress too soon.
I flashed Roman a small surreptitious smile, full of promises. And the look he gave me, restrained and spellbound, turned my blood to lava, sending heat to the ends of my fingers and toes.
Nelson came to help carry the confectionary box inside, and raised a brow when he saw the picnic basket. On our way to the staffroom, he couldn’t help himself.
“Picnic basket? Something I should know?” he asked. “And let’s not talk about those heels.”
“The basket is just stuff for lunch, that’s all,” I said, refusing to explain the heels. “You weren’t kidding about Mrs. Sheldon’s cuisine.”
Nelson let out a peal of laughter. “Thank God Albert makes my lunches. I don’t know what I’d do without him. But you know we have a kitchen full of food, you hardly have to bring your own.”
“Now you tell me,” I joked, desperately trying to steer the conversation in another direction. “And by the way next Friday I’m making chicken paella. So don’t have Albert pack you a lunch.”
“Ah, you’re a saint. Perhaps you should just take up permanent residence at Belmont Manor, Isabel. God knows we have more than enough room.”
What was it with everyone telling me to move in here?
I deployed my most sincere smile. “I can barely find my way to the library. Imagine the chaos if I needed a glass of milk in the middle of the night. I might end up in the dungeon.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Nelson replied wickedly. “Let me tell you about our dungeon.”
It was my turn to laugh. At the same time I wondered what Nelson would make of Roman and me. I internalized a shudder.
The last thing I needed was to alienate the entire staff because I was involved with Roman. How did I even begin to explain the situation to them? But that was probably not my biggest problem in the grand scheme of things. My immediate dilemma was sneaking around the house in this dress. It might raise questions I didn’t want to answer.
For now, all I needed was to find edible flowers for my ravioli. I figured I could just keep my coat on whenever I left Henry’s room.
In the staffroom I watched Nelson prepare Roman’s tray with his morning coffee and a few of my madeleines on a pretty plate. I would have loved to be the one to take the tray to Roman, but talk about upsetting the applecart if I casually suggested doing that.
It did make me smile though, imagining the shocked glances and outraged gasps this would cause. Gladys alone might have an onset of the vapors. She was the gatekeeper of the south wing, and I gathered she was the one responsible for keeping Roman’s quarters in the south wing neat and orderly.
Which made me think that I would have to make absolutely sure to remove any trace of me ever having stepped over that threshold. The last thing I needed was Gladys to get a sniff in the nose.
While she was nibbling on a pastry, Mrs. Sheldon cornered me near one of the French windows overlooking the estate. “You’re wearing heels today, dear. Are you going somewhere fancy immediately after work?”
Mrs. Sheldon didn’t know it, but she had just given me an excellent excuse to use for wearing this outfit today. Wait till she saw me sans coat. The whitest of lies burst past my lips. “Yes, I am Mrs. Sheldon, how did you guess?”
“Well, I was young too, once,” she giggled. “I remember the lengths us girls would go through to look pretty. Although, how you girls today can balance yourself on those heels goes beyond me. So you are going on a romantic date, I presume.”
Yes, yes I was going to have ferocious, breath-stealing and very sweaty sex with the lord of the manor. And lunch. Whichever came first. If you wanted to call it something as innocent as a date.
“Sort of,” I said, avoiding more white lies. “But more importantly tomorrow you, Sophia and I are making choux pastry.”
“Oh yes, I have certainly not forgotten about that,” Mrs. Sheldon chirped. “Sophia and I will have all the ingredients we need ready. I might only be speaking for myself but I’m very excited. You’re never too old to learn new things.”
Emily intervened, elegantly dragging me away from Mrs. Sheldon, who was settling in for a nice long chat.
“Thank you for the rescue,” I whispered to Emily as we walked to Henry’s room. “Mrs. Sheldon is a sweet woman but she does like to talk.”
“If only she paid as much attention to her cooking as she does to gossiping,” Emily noted tersely. She stole a glance at the picnic basket I was carrying. “Should I even ask?”
“I convinced Roman to cancel the Japanese catering. So, I’m cooking lunch. All I need now are edible flowers which I hope to find in the garden next to the kitchen.”
“Edible flowers,” Emily said. “All you had to do was ask. Years ago our chef kept a small greenhouse in the north wing courtyard for his food creations. The gardeners still maintain it. You’ll find lavender, squash blossom, day lily, dill, cilantro and so on. Take whatever you need.”
“That’s great, thank you. So Mrs. Sheldon wasn’t always the chef?”
“Oh goodness no, when we stopped entertaining so much and many of the kitchen staff left including our wonderful French chef, Mrs. Sheldon put herself in charge of whatever was happening in the ktichen. At least her responsibility is limited to continental breakfasts and lunch for the staff. Our dinners are catered by the Belmont Hotel. Every evening we get our delivery, and I for one can’t tell you how grateful I am for that.”
“Apparently Mrs. Sheldon is retiring soon,” I said. “Maybe it’s a good idea to send Sophia to cooking school. She’s interested in becoming a chef.”
“I didn’t know that. Thank you for letting me know, Isabel. I’ll definitely look into it.”
When we entered Henry’s room I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before rearranging Francis the bear closer to his chest. “Good morning, Henry. You’ll be happy to know that today we start a new book. One I’m sure you’re going to love since the housekeeper is up to some saucy stuff.”
Emily assessed me with a gentle smile. “Are you excited about lunch today?”
I took a deep breath, probably looking as anxious as I felt. “Yes, definitely. But I’m probably a little more nervous than I’d like to be. It all still feels a little unreal.”
“If it gives you any comfort, Roman deals with extremely difficult matters every day and it took the prospect of a lunch with you to make him nervous. But I can assure you, the minute you see each other it will all work out perfectly fine.”
* * *
At exactly noon,I took my picnic basket and walked to the library, my heart thrumming in my throat.
Once outside the library door I stopped, unsuccessfully trying to steady my trembling fingers. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, quelling the annoying doubts that all of this might not be real.
Of course it was real, I soothed myself. Roman was as enamored with me as I was with him. I carefully smoothed out my dress and entered the library.
Roman was standing at the window, looking out over the estate.
And if I thought he was devastatingly handsome before, that was nothing compared to this moment. I watched him in his bespoke suit, hands casually in his pockets, his regal profile etched against the gloomy sky outside.
I put the picnic basket down on the floor as he turned around. His gaze traveled over me. Calm, intense, a confident half-smile clinging to his lips. The talking vein throbbing. “Isabel,” he said, his voice a little ragged as he greedily lapped up the sight of me.
I smiled and took my time walking to him, every nerve ending inside me coming alive. When I stood before him I looked up, our close proximity erasing the last vestiges of doubt I held. We were enclosed in this warm cocoon of hope and desire. “Happy Birthday, Roman,” I said softly.
“And what a happy birthday it is,” he replied, his eyes never leaving mine. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you look?”
I held my mouth to his for a kiss, a hot trickle of lust rushing down my spine as he simply curved his head down to mine and claimed my lips, his tongue sweeping inside my mouth and sliding against mine.
It was a deep, smoldering kiss, the kind of kiss that could only lead to one thing. And unless we ditched lunch, this was not the kind of kiss we should start off with at the beginning of our date.
When we separated his breath was a little shallow, his eyes burning into mine. And still his hands stayed in his pockets, almost as if he was restraining himself from touching me. Which he apparently was.
“If I touch you now, there will be no lunch,” he stated unapologetically.
A small laugh escaped my lips. “I appreciate your restraint. We should go and have lunch then. The icepack keeping my cheeses cool will be warming up soon. And the cheeses won’t keep.”
A disarming smile slipped into his eyes, and I realized the unfathomable things I was willing to do to see him give me that smile every day. “Well Miss Le Roche, then please allow me to accompany you to the south wing.”
I waited for him to lead us out of the library. “Mr. Belmont, rescuer of damsels in distress and delicate cheeses. Show me the way and I will follow where you go.”
He slid his hand to the small of my back, and he undoubtedly felt the tremble skating up and down my spine, induced by his touch.
As we reached the door to the library, he lifted the picnic basket off the ground before I could and pressed his mouth to my hair. “Allow me. As long as I’m by your side, you’ll never have to lift a thing.”