Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Chase
I would normally brush off my blush, since there’s very little my friends don’t tease me about, but seeing Noah’s cheeks pinken has a new protective instinct rising in me.
The result is me sending Gab a new kind of glare and her tilting her head to one side slightly when she catches it, like she’s simply cataloging my reaction as information.
I’m probably going to regret doing that later, but for now, I at least have something to do when Noah nods my way.
“Please,” he replies, his face relaxing slightly after he lets out a huge sigh.
I can’t blame him for feeling out of sorts, even if I’m right there with him. I still love—maybe way too much—the fact that he’s here, that he took my words as an invitation. I didn’t intend them as such, but I still feel like this might be a sign that . . .
That what?
That he might be slightly attracted to me and eager to be my agent?
That’s not exactly comforting, but for now I’ll take what I can get.
So I pour him a whiskey and watch him sit in the armchair I was using when Lance told me there was someone at the gate. I sit on the couch next to Gab, facing Harrison and Tristan.
Before anyone can say another word, Noah takes a sip—a big one—and nods to himself.
“I want to apologize for interrupting your time away,” he says, each word carefully enunciated.
Gab waves him off.
“No need,” she says simply. “You’re a delightful surprise. So, you’re trying to convince Chase to write his autobiography?”
“No, actually, I only—” A knock on the open door interrupts him and we all turn toward it as one.
Lance is there, doing an amazing job of hiding the curiosity he’s obviously feeling over Noah’s presence.
“Apologies,” he says in his crisp accent. “Gracie has made Chiquen en Cocotte for dinner and she told me she wishes for you to enjoy it fresh out of the oven.”
I smile at him as I stand, knowing our lovely chef probably used very different words.
“Thanks, Lance. This is Noah.”
They shake hands, and again, I can tell Lance is putting all his training in discretion to good use so he doesn’t show how interesting he finds Noah’s visit.
I’ve told him dozens of times that “proper” etiquette is beyond unimportant to me, but he won’t change his ways.
I know he plans on going to the kitchen and reporting back to Gracie, my cook, and Sharon, my housekeeper, about anything and everything he can surmise from Noah from this brief interaction.
Gab takes Noah’s arm and fits hers through the gap, then leads him out of the room and to the informal dining room—because of course the castle has a much grander dining room upstairs, but it’s all for decor really.
Just like this room is technically a drawing room, but I use it as just a normal living room—maybe slightly elevated by the grand fireplace and deep jewel-toned sofas and chairs.
Harrison’s hand clapping me on the shoulder has me looking to the side after I got lost in my head for a bit.
“She’s going to have you married off in no time,” he says conspiratorially, I snort and shake my head.
“I don’t know if even Gab could make this happen, not really.”
“But you didn’t balk at the suggestion,” Tristan says with a sneaky smirk. “That’s more than we’ve seen from you before, so as far as I can tell, it’s a win.”
“Let’s just go eat.”
The room is filled with the delectable scent of spices and salty meat. I see the big platter with crispy chicken breasts surrounded by potatoes, carrots, and more that I can’t discern from over here.
Gab’s situated herself and Noah right next to one another, no surprise there, but instead of sitting right next to the head of the table, she left that chair for Noah.
Which of course means I’m sitting next to Noah a few seconds later.
Dinner is relatively uneventful. Gab is more than happy to go ahead and explain the entire process she went through to write her autobiography—which has won awards for fuck’s sake, as if the woman needed an ego boost.
It’s interesting for me too, even if I won’t be admitting it to her.
She of course told me what she was working on a few years back, but now I’m paying attention to details.
Like the fact that a friend of her nephew is a writer and helped her out during the course of a summer to come up with what she wanted to tell and what she wanted to stay private.
Eventually it’s Tristan who shifts things around and starts asking Noah questions. About his job of course, but also about his family, and his life growing up in England.
“We’re going to knock out early tonight,” Tristan says once everyone’s sung Gracie’s praises and all our plates are empty. “But I’ll be needing your contact information in case any of my clients want to go the literary route eventually.”
“Ye-yes, of course.” Noah nods, and god, he looks so fucking good blushing and stuttering with excitement.
“I’ll go to my room too,” Gab says easily. “I’m going to go stalk my babies and see if they deem me worthy of a phone call.”
“God, she’s so dramatic,” I mutter as she steps out.
Then, I can finally look Noah in the eyes. Those big brown eyes are staring at me from behind his glasses in a way that’s definitely not conductive to me chilling the fuck out.
“Do you want to see the library?”
His face softens but the excitement from before is still there.
“The one full of ancient things?” he asks, and my heart starts to race at the fact that he’s teasing me.
“That’s the one.” I debate for a second but then decide it’s high time I start acting like the grown-up I am. I rise from my chair and hold out my hand for him.
I can see him thinking it through, and though I can’t know exactly what makes him do it, he takes it. He slides his palm against mine and even squeezes a little bit.
Years of learning how to control my facial expressions go out the window—I wouldn’t suppress my big-ass smile even if I could.
Noah takes his time inspecting the shelves. He reaches for a few books, but puts them back after reverently looking at the cover and first few pages.
I let him wander. There’s no need at all to hurry, and he looks so peaceful. I know there’s little else I’d rather be doing.
I know I’ll have to say something, though, when he finally loops back to the sitting area by the south-facing windows.
“I know it’s not as grand as the one at Ru’s estate, but it’s what I’ve been collecting since I first moved here after uni.
” His head tilts slightly to the side, those doe eyes compelling me to explain something that isn’t necessary.
“I moved here with nothing but my trust fund, which I know is a lot more than nothing,” I assure him.
“But every item I might’ve wanted to borrow from my family’s own home wasn’t available to me. ”
I finally clamp my mouth shut after that, even if it’s hard, even though it gets potentially harder the longer Noah stays silent.
“You’re not comfortable talking about . . . any of that,” he surmises correctly.
Inside me, it finally clicks. This is what I need to deal with before I can even begin thinking about an autobiography.
For now all I can do is sigh.
“Yeah,” I add, a bit helplessly. “It’s not only that I know how uncommon my life growing up was. It’s also the fact that there’s a lot I don’t want to share, and a lot that would annoy certain people enough to come back into my life when they’re not welcome.”
Noah nods along, and when I’m done, he slowly lifts his hand to pat my arm softly, and strokes comfortingly.
“I’m sorry. You’re right that your story is probably not something a lot of people can relate to. Not as a whole, but there are lessons in everything. And if you want, I can help you find those, and build something that won’t cross any of your boundaries.”
It feels like he means more than the book, more than my story.
But what?
He’s the one who turned me away.
He’s the one who set the boundaries.
I nod, done with the day all of a sudden and more than ready to have time and space to think about all of this rationally, every aspect, assess every decision and move Noah has made.
I need to figure out what he wants.
“Thank you. Let me show you to your room,” I say without preamble, and maybe a little bit rudely.
It’s fine, though, because tomorrow morning, we’ll once more have the buffer of my friends. We’ll go for a long walk as a group, and maybe by then I’ll know how to speak to Noah again.
But things rarely go as planned in matters of the heart—I really should’ve learned this lesson by now.
I don’t know if I want to curse or thank the universe when I wake up the next day to the news that Tristan, Gab, and Harrison left in the early hours of the morning . . . the assholes.