13. Roman
Ineeded to leave the library. Now. She was standing at the glass railing on the second floor looking down at me, head tilted, morning light spilling in from a window and washing her in an ethereal glow.
It was the kind of grace the Pre-Raphaelites immortalized on canvas. The kind of beauty that could start a war.
Even from the first floor I could see her breathing was shallow, and I knew that if I placed my finger in the hollow of her throat I’d feel the quickening of her pulse. All my good intentions were balanced on the edge of a very thin blade.
It would take less than five seconds to get up to the second floor, promises be damned. And this was just looking at her. I didn’t want to imagine the effect if she were closer. Her scent, and her warm supple body coiling up against me like a cat while she begged for my touch.
I didn’t dare look at her again as I left. My hand was on the door handle as I counted down the seconds it would take to be out of the room and away from her. All in the name of protecting her virtue. And fulfilling my promise, of course.
“Roman, wait.”
Fuck.
My hand slipped off the door handle and I paused, glancing up with as much insouciance as I could muster. “Yes, Isabel.”
That soft, exquisite mouth was trying to form words, but she reconsidered them and pushed out a smile to cover her thoughts.
She whirled toward the spiral stairs, then stopped on the top step. Our gazes locked for a second, or perhaps an eternity. Then the same thought came rushing back to her and she decided to spill it, her voice on the edge of breaking.
“Maybe it’s just a sex thing and we’ll get over it.”
I didn’t know if she was speculating to comfort me or herself. But at that moment I set all thoughts of carnal gratification aside to consider what she was saying.
Isabel’s eyes were begging for assurance that this insatiable desire we shared would quietly go away and everything would get back to normal in our lives. Whatever normal meant for us from here on out.
There was no point pacifying her for the sake of giving her hope. Brutal honesty was the best course here. “It’s not just a sex thing, Isabel,” I said. “And I don’t want to get over it.”
I left the library before the impulse to drag her into my south-wing lair became all-consuming. She had to be in a place of acceptance before anything happened again. It had to do with forgiveness, sure, but it also had to do with her realizing what she was getting herself into.
There was nothing ordinary about my family or the world we lived in. Common sense dictated that Isabel should go back to her world, away from all these challenges she was about to face. But I didn’t want to consider that, even as some feeling of guilt swept over me for drawing her into this without her knowing what lay in wait.
I kept assuring myself that if anyone could handle it all, it was Isabel.
When I arrived at the entrance to my office, Emily was placing a dessert plate with a slice of mille-feulles on the small table outside the iron gate.
“Emily. Good morning.”
She turned and smiled maternally, examining my face to see if I was well-rested or in need of nourishment. “There you are. I thought I should save you some of this incredible pastry Isabel brought us today.”
I punched the code into my phone to unlock the gate. “I had one with my coffee this morning. Nelson has made it his mission to provide me with these delightful pastries every chance he gets. But I’ll have this one too, thank you. Our reader has quite the baker’s touch. Would you like to come inside?”
Emily shook her head. “I know you’re busy. I just wanted to thank you for taking care of the pastry chef situation yesterday. Isabel looks so rested and happy this morning.”
Anything to keep my honey badger under this roof.
“My pleasure.”
“And apparently she’s showing the kitchen staff how to make lasagna today, so I’ll have a tray sent to you for lunch.”
“There seems to be no end to her talents,” I said.
“Indeed. You should meet her, Roman…”
“So you’ve said.”
“Anyway, message me if you need anything.” Emily made her way down the long hallway.
To my complete shock, I called out to her. “Why don’t I join you and Isabel for lunch?”
I could count on one hand the times I’d seen Emily surprised. She swiveled around, hands clasped in front of her, eyebrows raised. “I can’t even remember the last time you’ve ventured out of the south wing for lunch or dinner, Roman.”
“Nobody’s offered me homemade lasagna before,” I said.
Emily tilted her head and studied me. “You know, I can’t quite put my finger on it, but somehow you seem different. Dare I say, happier? I like you better this way. It reminds me of the young Roman again.”
“As long as you don’t tell anyone I do business with. Let them believe I’m the terror my father always wanted me to be.”
Emily pursed her mouth in an effort not to laugh. “Fine. Isabel has been insisting we start having lunch in your father’s room, so he’s surrounded by people more often. I’ll have someone set up a table there for the three of us. And then you can meet her. That’s a lovely plan. We’ll see you at one.”
As I walked into my office I silently scoffed at my flawed logic about having lunch with Isabel. Being around other people would make it easier to enjoy her company, without the usual distractions in the way. Wouldn’t it?
Andy messaged with the good news that there was an overnight delivery from France. I wanted it here at Belmont Manor before noon. It was another perfect reason not to miss this lunch.