Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
T he next morning, Cherry spent an extra fifteen minutes on her makeup.
Not for Ruben, she told herself hurriedly; men never appreciated winged liner.
She was just in that sort of mood. She studied herself in the bathroom mirror, the spotlights in the ceiling casting rather unflattering shadows across her face.
But at least the light was good: white-ish, rather than yellow or orange.
And her liner was razor-sharp. She was most definitely ready.
She swept out of her en suite, pointedly ignoring her bed. The bed where, just last night, she’d actually talked to Ruben. Touched him. Comforted him.
Also, where she’d thought about fucking his brains out. But that, she reassured herself, was a natural urge when faced with a painfully attractive, domineering arsehole. Well, for her, anyway.
A weakness isn’t a weakness so long as you accept it.
For the first time since she’d arrived, Cherry left her room without a feeling of overwhelming dread.
She wasn’t afraid of bumping into Ruben in the halls, or sharing a meal with him.
She wasn’t dreading the moment she’d have to push down all the feelings he caused in her gut and replace them with a show of disdain.
Yes, she’d needed to be miserable for a while, if only for her own peace of mind.
And yes, she had resented him. Because despite the fact that she had agreed to all this, it still felt like a trap.
But this was her reality, and would be for the foreseeable future, so she might as well get something out of it.
Like… flirting with a man who was gorgeous enough to make her heart stutter. Yeah, that felt like a solid benefit.
And the money, of course. But currently, her parents were being awfully stubborn about taking it.
She entered the kitchen in search of breakfast, her anticipation spiking when she heard someone rooting around in the pantry.
But then the pantry door opened, revealing Agathe, not Ruben, inside.
The older woman’s face split into a smile when she saw Cherry.
It was almost sweet enough to make Cherry forget her disappointment.
“Good morning!” Agathe’s voice was rough, her sing-song accent soothing. “How are you? Did you sleep well?”
“I did,” Cherry smiled. She studied Agathe’s face for echoes of Ruben’s and found a few; the hawkish nose, the thick brows—though Agathe’s were blonde.
“Sit down, sit down. I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay.” Cherry was sure that she’d put on five pounds in the week since she’d come here. Which would be fine, if her clothes weren’t so… tailored. Then again, she was ri ch now. She could buy more clothes. “Actually, that would be great. But I can make it.”
“No, no, don’t be silly!” Agathe cried.
“Really, I like to cook.”
That gave the woman pause. “You do?”
“Yeah. I mean, mostly baking, but—”
“Oh, you bake?”
“Yeah, I—”
“ Demetria !” Agathe bellowed, her raspy voice suddenly strong as a herd of elephants. Jesus Christ. Cherry resisted the urge to cover her ears as the woman shouted again, “ Demetria ! Come here!”
There was a pause. Then the soft sound of feet padding down the hall. “What?” Demi cried, rushing into the kitchen. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing, nothing. Calm down. Cherry just tells me that she likes to bake.”
Demi exhaled. “Agathe, we’ve talked about this. When you shout like that, people think something is wrong.”
“Oh, hush. Your nerves are so delicate. Young people.” Agathe clucked her tongue and rolled her eyes heavenward. “Anyway, I know you want to learn how to bake, yes? But my baking is a steaming pile of horse shit.”
Cherry blinked. Okay; so Ruben’s elderly grandmother, with her floral apron and love of cooking, had a potty mouth. Sure. Why not ?
“You girls,” Agathe said, “neither of you have any fun. You should have fun together. Bake, ja ?”
“Um…” Demi winced down at her watch. “I’m kind of—”
“Oh, stop. All my grandson does is pander to children all day. You cannot have so much work.”
Children? Cherry realised that she’d never actually asked about Ruben’s so-called occupation. When he first mentioned it, she’d been desperate to get away from him—to end their conversation before he did something utterly adorable or unbearably sexy and ruined her decision to hate him.
Maybe I can ask him about it tonight.
But her mind didn’t envision their standing dinner date when it thought about ‘tonight’. It envisioned darkness, and the heat of his body and the low, smoky hum of his voice.
“Fine,” Demi sighed. “I do want to learn how to bake.”
Cherry shook her head slightly, pushing her highly inappropriate thoughts aside. The man’s grandmother was standing right there, for Christ’s sake. “Bake, as in?”
“Cake,” Demi said. “I love cake. So I thought I should learn how to make it, but… Well, I’m not good at following instructions.”
Cherry found that rather surprising, considering how great Demi was at giving instructions.
But the prospect of having something to do other than play with Whiskey or text Maggie or avoid calls from Rose—who was much harder to lie to than Jas and Beth—made Cherry’s day seem brighter.
“Okay,” she said. “I’d like that. When do you want to start? ”
Demi studied her watch. It was black and sleek and expensive and it had no numbers whatsoever on the smooth, shining face. “An hour?” she said.
“Sure. An hour,” Cherry smiled.
As she left, Agathe slapped a plate of bacon and rye bread on the table with a grin. “There. Is all good, ja ?”
“Yeah,” Cherry murmured, something happy and hopeful blooming in her chest. “It’s all good.”
Ruben came home in a foul mood.
It was funny; he’d been so worried about Cherry for the past week, he hadn’t even noticed the fact that Hans was still pissed with him.
But now that Cherry didn’t want to kill him anymore—he hoped—his eyes were being opened to all sorts of things.
Like the fact that his best friend was still on the edge of fury.
“Will that be all, Your Highness?”
“Stop Highnessing me,” Ruben growled, yanking off his hat and scarf and tossing them by the door.
Hans sent the scarf a speaking look. “If you leave those there, Agathe will tidy them up.”
“I keep telling her to stop fucking cleaning.” Ruben glared down at the pile of wool. “I live here because I don’t want people tidying up my mess.”
“Then you shouldn’t have given her a key. ”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He snatched the hat and scarf from the floor and hung them up by the door. “Happy?”
Hans simply sniffed before letting himself out.
Something had to be done. Bickering was one thing, but Hans was clearly still furious. Which was fair enough. If Ruben had listened to him from the start, none of this would be happening.
He wandered down the hall, forcing his mind to focus on simpler topics—like the meeting he’d just had with a local headteacher. He didn’t want to speak too soon, but he rather thought he’d found another partner for his scholarship scheme here in Helgm?re.
His trust had six international branches—so far—and he’d started offering scholarships nationally just last year. It was going well and growing fast. So he’d turned his sights to the U.K., his second home…
And found Cherry. Cherry whose laughter floated down the hall like music.
Ruben’s focus danced away, and his mind became a whirlpool of fantasy and memory, the two intertwined like lovers.
Cherry in the dark, touching him out of kindness, became Cherry in the daylight, touching him because she simply couldn’t stop.
Her laughter sounded like the ocean used to, when Ruben was a kid and his parents would take him to the coast. He’d roll down the window and listen eagerly for that distant, soft rush to grow louder and more powerful, excitement humming through him.
His feet followed the sound and his mind didn’t bother to argue .
She was in the kitchen, her back to him, an apron tied around her waist. The bow at her back draped over the swell of her arse and her curls bounced as she laughed. Ruben crossed his arms and leant against the doorframe, taking the opportunity to watch her undetected.
At least, he thought he was undetected. He hadn’t even noticed that Demi was in the room too, not until she said, “Hi, Ruben.” Her tone was slightly mocking, slightly smug, and when he finally placed her, standing over by the fridge, her smile was sly.
Who needed little sisters when they had uppity personal assistants?
“Hi, Demi,” he sighed, just as Cherry turned around.
God, she was so fucking beautiful. She flashed him her perfect smile, the beauty pageant one, with just enough teeth and the hint of a dimple. If he’d wondered how she’d react after last night, he now had his answer: she was nervous.
Good. He was nervous too.
“Hi,” she said, sounding slightly breathless.
Which, he told himself, could have nothing to do with his arrival.
There was a huge mixing bowl clutched to her chest, and she was stirring its contents with alarming vigour.
So maybe she’d been standing there, stirring and laughing and talking to Demi and now she was out of breath.
Or maybe she was remembering the way it felt to touch him in the dark.
“What are you doing?” he asked, trying to sound casual. He thought he managed it. So why did she look down at her bowl instead of meeting his eyes? Was that good or bad ?
“Baking,” she said.
“Baking…?”
“Nothing exciting. Fairy cakes, you know.”
“Cupcakes,” Demi supplied.
“They’re not cupcakes!” Cherry smiled at Demetria, really smiled. Her cheeks plumped up and her dimples flashed and everything about her relaxed. “Fairy cakes are smaller. And less sweet. And just… better.”
“How can less sweet and better come up in the same sentence?” Demi sounded outraged.
“Subtlety is everything,” Cherry said pertly. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“I will put icing in your hair, you know. I’ll do it.”