Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LEXI
Oliver points at the gold chaise longue at the foot of the dreaded bed. “I’ll sleep on—”
“Sh.” I cut off Oliver with a raise of my palm.
This place—the castle, the parents, the snippy superior private secretary—is a giant red flag with flashing lights on it.
Pair it with Oliver’s stories of the press finding out all kinds of personal things about him and, well, let’s say this doesn’t smell good.
And I’m not referring to the general aroma of nineteenth-century furnishings.
“This is an amazing room.” I make my voice crisp and loud and clear. “Such beautiful things in it.”
“I guess.” Oliver looks at me like I’m losing my mind and sits down on the chaise.
I wander over to the left wall and the long dresser that has four columns of drawers.
It’s littered with a series of lidded pots in a variety of sizes, some mismatched bowls, a row of little wooden animals you’d expect to see on an African safari, and other ornaments I can’t imagine Oliver would have chosen himself.
“Has all this stuff always been in this room?” I ask. “Like, since you were a kid?”
“This wasn’t my room when I was a kid. I was given this one when I came back from university and was moved into an adult room.” He makes air quotes around adult. “It’s the way things are done here.”
I pick up a white pot with a painted green vine winding its way around it. “So none of this stuff is yours?’
“None of the furniture or the knickknacks, no. They’ve all been at Glenwither for forever. I mean…” He gestures at the four-poster and rolls his eyes. “I realize you’ve not known me long, but it’s not exactly me, is it?”
“None of it is.” And I’m not only talking about the furniture. I’m talking about the whole thing. The castle, the people in it. None of this fits with the person I might barely know but feel I instantly got a good handle on.
I take the lid off the pot and peer inside, then flip it over to check the bottom.
“What on earth are you doing?” he asks as I put down the pot and move on to the bowl next to it.
I press my finger to my lips to persuade him to speak quietly. “Does the decor ever change? Is there like a collection they rotate things around from? What I’m asking is, is there anything new in here since your last visit?”
“Why are you so inter—”
I silence him with my palm this time and go back to my loud, clear voice. “It’s fascinating to me. All these really…old things.”
Oliver sits straighter and gazes around the room with a sigh, clearly humoring me. “I don’t know. Don’t pay much attention to this stuff. Or any attention at all, to be honest.”
I work my way along the dresser, checking the bases and the insides of every little trinket.
“Oh, now you mention it.” He gets up and walks over to the nightstand that’s between the bed and a door that’s presumably to the bathroom. “Don’t think I’ve seen this before.”
He reaches for a small vase with a pink silk rose sitting in it. Of course. Fake flower. No water required. And placed right next to the bed where all the sweet secrets would be whispered.
He reaches for it.
“No,” I spit out in a sharp whisper.
“What?” He furrows his brow and shakes his head with increasing bafflement.
“Don’t touch it,” I say so quietly that almost no sound comes out, but I exaggerate my mouth movements to get him to catch on.
He rests his hands on his hips and tips his head to one side. “Are you serious?”
I nod at a speed slow enough to indicate my level of seriousness.
“Do you need a nap? Jet lag and all that,” I say loudly, walking around the bed to meet him. “Wouldn’t want you to be too worn out now, would we?” I add in a flirtatious voice without looking at him, my eyes fixed on the vase the whole time.
“Oh…I see.” I can hear the sound of the penny dropping in his voice. “You know it doesn’t matter how tired I am, my little newsflasher.” His tone has changed to match my suggestive one.
Great, he’s caught on. It’s convenient that we seem to have this unspoken way of communicating. That’s something it usually takes years of knowing someone to achieve.
“Newsflasher?” I whisper, now looking at him.
He shrugs and whispers back, “Best I could come up with on the spur of the moment.”
I reach for the vase and carefully lift it up high enough to look underneath it.
Nothing.
So I pull out the silk flower with the care of a heart surgeon performing a life-saving operation and peer inside.
Motherfucker.
There it is.
I’d hoped I was wrong.
But no.
These bastards.
I point the vase toward Oliver and nod for him to look inside at the small square black plastic audio bug.
“F—”
I slam my hand over his mouth before he can get beyond the first letter of the word.
His eyes are bulging, piercing me with surprise, while his lips are soft against the palm of my hand, a contrast to the stubble around them.
I’m as shocked at the intimate nature of this contact as he looks. Even more shocked that my belly flips. But that’s more likely due to the nerves of what we just found.
I pull my hand back and make an exaggerated yawning sound as I ease the stem of the flower back inside the vase and carefully replace the whole thing back on the nightstand.
“I’m definitely feeling the time difference,” I say. “How about some fresh air to wake me up? The garden looks beautiful. Want to show me around outside?”
“Yes. Right this fucking second.” Oliver’s face is like thunder as he charges toward the door.
He swings it open and there’s Giles, holding my bags. And he doesn’t look like he just got there.
I rush to Oliver’s side. “Thank you, Giles.” Asshole. “I didn’t realize you carried out portering duties too.”
“Not usually.” He strides into the room without being invited. “But I thought I should check with you that everything’s okay.”
Oliver makes a scoffing sound. “I wouldn’t exactly say—”
I grab his hand exactly the way he grabbed mine earlier and squeeze it hard.
“Bit jet-lagged.” I step through the door. “Going to take a walk in these stunning gardens.”
And I pull Oliver after me.