Prelude to Us: A Kind Possessive Hero - Different Worlds Romance: Duet Book 2 (Belmont Manor Saga)
1. Isabel
Once the sun peeked over the horizon, dispelling the shadows and confusion of the night, I decided to woman up and return to Belmont Manor. No thanks to Meg, who was whispering in my goddamn ear like Satan’s cherub, urging me to consider Fate and Destiny and whatever buzzwords she could conjure up to entice me to follow the path straight into the Cave of Doom.
I found her in the kitchen where she was making coffee. Without missing a beat she continued interrogating me.
“So, you’re not going to like, have George turn back halfway, right?” she said, staring longingly as I placed the profiteroles inside the confectionary box. “This is you going for sure?”
“For the hundredth time, yes,” I sighed. “Do you want a profiterole?”
“Oh God yes, I thought you’d never ask.”
And while we were having our morning coffee, Meg polished off three profiteroles and had the nerve to criticize my fashion choice. “Listen I know you can literally wear a potato sack and still look pretty, but leggings and a top? How about something sexy, something that says Isabel Le Roche has arrived.”
“You have me going back. So give it a rest?”
Meg picked up from my glare that I’d been pushed far enough. “You know what, it’s your life not mine. The last thing I want to do is interfere… But just repeat after me -- I’m hot, I’m smart and I deserve to be loved.”
* * *
When I arrivedat Belmont Manor, I looked at it so much differently than I had before. Now it was the home of Roman Belmont, the man who might or might not be the custodian of my heart.
It was impossible to make sense of what I was really feeling. I still resented him for letting me wake up alone in the penthouse, and sending that soulless viper to interrogate me. How could I ever get over that?
But then Roman literally moved mountains to get me my job back at Le Petit Chateau. I was beginning to get the feeling that whatever future we apparently were not going to have was something out of his control.
Meg was of the opinion that it had to be about money and status. She thought it might be like the snooty royals who won’t tolerate a simple pastry-maker in their midst. Although I didn’t believe that was the issue. This was the 21st century, for God’s sake.
Maybe Roman just wanted a one-night stand, and he got himself one. On the other hand, there sure as hell had to be easier ways to get a woman into his bed. Especially for a man like him. So I had to give him credit for being the patient pursuer who left no stone unturned in his quest.
I also had to make peace with the fact that those consuming moments when our bodies were so entangled that it was impossible to tell us apart, and when I crawled into the safety of his arms and he held me like he’d never want to let go…were deceptively intoxicating moments that I was making way too much of.
Way too much.
I needed to move on, but it was difficult enough having to deal with the fact that Roman had entered my dreams with no plans to leave. The least I could do was evict him from my head during the hours I was awake.
Meg insisted I keep an open mind, whatever that was supposed to mean. It didn’t help when I brought up Steven, who at the behest of his boss made sure that whatever nostalgia lingered about the magical night was stripped bare. And who also said that whatever impression Roman left was to be taken with a huge scoop of salt, including the note that mentioned the possibility of seeing me again.
To Meg that was all to be ignored because me ending up working where Roman lived was nothing less than a bright, blinking neon sign screaming Destiny and Fate.
It was not realistic to expect I’d stay a secret, but in the meantime who said I couldn’t enjoy the idealistic prospect of him not being totally enraged if he found out I was working where he lived?
To make matters worse, just the idea of him being in that house caused a twirling sensation inside me, which was the last thing I needed, seriously. As my thoughts spiraled down this road, I came to the conclusion that Roman discovering me was probably not the best-case scenario.
I was however not going to analyze why I was secretly smiling like I’d just discovered fire.
So it wasn’t hard to explain why I made the profiteroles. I knew Roman would get a few because I’d seen Nelson preparing his tray. And I wondered if Roman would remember what I did with one of those in the penthouse.
There was the possibility that I was actually trying to seduce this man with my pastries, or that I was maybe subconsciously trying to tell him I was here. To what end God only knew. What was I hoping to get out of it? A small part of me wanted to believe this heartbreak was all one giant misunderstanding that would eventually be resolved.
And then there was the more rational part that urged me to take a reality check.
Perhaps it was time to face the fact that Roman had been intrigued with me for a split second, and now that he was done playing the all-encompassing god of love and passion, I was on my own. However, the tormented man I saw in the library yesterday did leave some doubt as to how much of a bastard he really was.
He might have been troubled by something other than me, but when I was the topic of discussion some tension crept into the air, as if his conscience was plaguing him. All things considered, if Roman was interested, I was pretty sure nothing would have stopped him from pursuing me. And he didn’t.
The worst part of my denial was hoping for the tiniest chance of seeing Roman again. Judging by the size of the house, I’d have to make peace with the fact that the probability of stumbling across him was slim to none. I had a hard time pushing away the sadness that thought evoked.
I delivered the pastries to the staffroom for our morning coffee. The normally stuffy staff greeted me cheerily, anticipating the delicacies I had in the box. I had even taken to doubling the amount I baked to make sure no skirmishes broke out.
Before anyone had a chance to get to the confectionary box, Nelson removed two pastries and placed them on a dessert plate. I knew they were going to Roman. How I would have loved to watch his reaction when he tasted my profiteroles.
Miss Leyland came to me, as always put together just so, and smiled. “Good morning, Isabel.”
“Morning Miss Leyland, so did Henry have a good night?”
She studied me with motherly concern. “He did, thank you. You, on the other hand, look a bit tired. Are you getting enough sleep?”
It was time to come clean since the last thing I wanted was Miss Leyland to think I was out partying every night. “Okay, so here’s the thing… I kind of agreed to help out as pastry chef at Le Petit Chateau until they find someone new. So I could probably do with more sleep, but I’m absolutely fine.”
Miss Leyland’s smile vanished. “Please tell me you won’t leave here and go back there again.”
“Oh God no. Who would play Monopoly with Henry then?”
Miss Leyland was still apprehensive. “As long as you know you are considered a part of us here now,” she said.
If only she had an inkling.
“Thank you, Miss Leyland, I appreciate it.”
“And it’s probably time you call me Emily.”
“That name suits you, it’s really beautiful,” I said breezily, trying to pacify her concerns. “I should be getting to Henry. He’s beating me badly in a Monopoly game and I plan on taking revenge today.”
This drew a laugh from Emily. “Oh please, show him who’s boss. I’ll see the two of you later then.”
As I left the staffroom I saw Nelson walking down the hallway in the direction of the south wing, carrying the tray with Roman’s coffee and the two profiteroles. And my heart along with it.
I wanted to follow Nelson into Roman’s haunt and just quietly climb onto Roman’s lap and put my face in his neck and breathe in his smell. And to feel those strong hands hold me one more time the way they did in the penthouse.
Nelson rounded a corner at the far end of the hallway. Then he was out of sight. A little later those profiteroles would be in Roman’s possession. As I walked in the opposite direction to Henry’s room, I couldn’t help but feel the desperation nesting in my gut.