CHAPTER 39
Emma
While Jasmine is at school and Finn is out working at a job I know very little about, I do a quick tidy of the house and gather cleaning supplies to deal with Finn’s master suite. I’m a little uncomfortable.
I don’t know what I’m going to find in there, what I’ll learn about him that I’d rather not know. I’ve cleaned a lot of people’s houses over the years, and it’s a strange feeling to be touching things that don’t belong to you in a room that is most private to them.
You tend to get a really good sense of a person when you’re picking up everything to dust it, organizing things, taking out the trash, and changing sheets.
I stand in front of his closed bedroom door, put my hand on the knob, and open it.
This is not at all what I expected, because I expected the bedroom version of the refrigerator. And this isn’t that.
It’s tidy and generally organized. Yes, it needs a good vacuuming and dusting, but this is the bedroom of a man who likes things orderly. It’s probably his military background. And it’s the opposite of how I found Jasmine’s room and the downstairs when I arrived.
Interesting.
It’s another professionally designed space. A perfectly coordinated color scheme of creams earthy greens, and dusky blues. There’s a stunning antique Persian rug, a massive mirror-topped fireplace mantel, and a king-sized bed.
The bed is a showstopper. It’s made of an exotic wood, dark and hand-carved, and it’s obvious it’s been shipped here from some far-away land. Probably an antique. Maybe from a Moroccan palace or someplace equally extraordinary.
I stroke my hand along the footboard, noting the heavy, solid feel of the wood, wondering about the artist who made it. It’s a masculine bed. The bed of a single man—a very wealthy one. And it suits Finn—dark and mysterious and strong.
I like it.
I wonder if I’ll ever get the chance to lie in this bed. With Finn.
Snap out of it, Emma.
I check over my shoulder to make sure no one is looking. All I see is my cleaning cart and the vacuum. So I do it.
I fall face-first onto the duvet, stretch out my arms, and inhale. It’s like I’m swimming in a sea of Finn MacLaine. This bed is heavenly, and my nose is filled with the scent of wild land, fresh air, and warm male skin.
After a few moments in my private fantasy world, I flop over and sit up. My eyes immediately go to a framed photograph on the bedside table. I reach for it and hold it near.
I stare.
It’s her, of course. Finn’s wife. And she’s absolutely lovely. She has light blue eyes and wavy blond hair, and I instantly get a feel for who she was, just from this casual snapshot. Finn happened to take this picture just as she looked over her shoulder, laughing.
She was a lighthearted and joyful woman. And it’s obvious from the look in her eye that she loved Finn with everything in her.
I realize that in Jasmine, her mother’s light happiness shines from a halo of dark MacLaine hair.
I find I’m crying, my heart bursting with the pain Finn must feel.
As I sit here on the edge of this magnificent bed and stare at this beautiful young woman in the photograph, I think I’m beginning to understand what Finn’s gone through, and what a miracle it is that he’s come out the other side.
I pull myself together and get to work, my mind spinning. And for the next two hours, I clean the living daylights out of this master suite. I organize the closet. Wash the windows and wipe down the sills and baseboards. I leave the wood floors gleaming.
I scrub the already clean bathroom from ceiling to floor and inhale the scent of Finn’s expensive body wash and shampoo.
And all the while my heart travels down that path I swore to avoid. The one that just might lead to a place for Finn and me.
I hope I’m brave enough to see where it goes.