“If he shouldn’t have—”
He shakes his head and the topic away. “Did you have a pleasant afternoon?” he asks, his tone uncharacteristically mild. “Is something funny?”
“No, nothing.” I duck my head, hiding my lingering smile. For some reason, I feel like skipping. Maybe just because he’s here. Or maybe because of the way he’s behaving, like he’s making some concession. Or trying to, at least.
I know it’s ridiculous. Except for the bit about him trying. Because Lord knows the man is trying.
“Yes, I had a very pleasant afternoon, thank you. Although it did turn a little disastrous toward the end.”
“How so?”
“Hugh didn’t tell you?” My gaze slices his way. “You haven’t seen Griffin?”
“No?” The way his brows twitch together suggests he’s telling the truth. Plus, I guess Hugh wasn’t exactly chatty Cathy when he left, and Griffin is probably still rolled in a ball somewhere.
“Well, I’ll just let them tell you all about it.”
“Was the photograph for your Instagram page?” he asks, directing the conversation back to me. “Isla says you have quite the following.”
I find myself immediately on the defence. “I haven’t posted anything about the castle. Nothing to link me to being here.”
“That’s not why I’m asking, Holland. It’s true I don’t relish the idea of finding my face on your Instagram page, but—you’re laughing again. You don’t think I’m photogenic enough?”
“No, that’s not it.” I try to fight my amusement, thinking about the one photograph of him I did take back in London. Where this madness began. It seems like a lifetime ago. “I promise, I haven’t posted any photographs of you. Or your family.”
“An interesting distinction,” he murmurs. “Posted versus taken.”
“Huh. So you do know social media.” If my words sound arch in their delivery . . . well, good.
“I’m not a relic.” His mouth quirks, his gaze slicing my way at the same moment as a huge drop of rain splats against his cheek. He lifts one laden arm, wiping the tiny stream of water away with the back of his wrist as he glances up at the sky. “We’d better make a run for it,” he says, his eyes widening in surprise. “It’s about to really come down.”
“But—” That’s as far as I get before a crack of thunder sounds and the heavens open, rain beginning to lash down. I squeal a little as the raindrops the size of golf balls begin to hammer my head. I begin to jog after Alexander.
So much for him doing the gentlemanly thing.
“I told you we were about to get a soaking.” His eyes dance as he glances over his shoulder at me. “Come on, this way!”
While never the best thing to run in, my flip-flops are more flip-flaps at this point, the moisture making it increasingly difficult to get any traction. I kick them off, grabbing them up from the ground and dash after Alexander. Sweeping the fallen wet strands of my hair, I watch as he cuts across the grass, heading to what looks like an abandoned building built from grey stone and kind of ramshackle from this vantage point.
“Oh, my!” I’m breathless and shivering as I step between a row of columns that support a rickety-looking roof. “How is the rain so cold? It had to be nearly eighty degrees out this afternoon.”
“The clouds will have come in over the North Sea.” Alexander puts down the basket, pointing vaguely over his shoulder. “Norway is just that way.”
I fail to overpower a shiver as I place the bottle down and fold my arms over my chest. And not just to hide my chilled nipples. “What is this place?” I swing around, feeling his eyes on me and liking it more than I should.
“It’s a folly, I suppose you’d call it. Romanesque. Or at least, that’s what the intention was. You’re freezing.” He comes up almost silently behind me, his hands resting on my upper arms. “I don’t have a jacket to offer you this time.”
You could offer me your shirt, I don’t say as he begins to slide his hands up and down vigorously.
“I have an admission to make.” I keep my eyes ahead. Turning to face him would only make trouble. “What we were talking about before the rain. I might’ve snapped a quick pic.” I take a cautious glance his way. “Of you, I mean.”
He doesn’t answer though his hands slow.
“That night in London. I took it while you weren’t looking. It was to send to my sister just in case, in her words, you might’ve had it in mind to practice your taxidermy skills on me.”
Alexander’s laughter reverberates off the stone walls, his hands falling away. Judging it safe to do so, I turn. I don’t want to miss this because the man is pretty when he gives in to spontaneous amusement.
“And if you say anything about stuffing,” I add, “remember I have an empty champagne bottle.”
“I wouldn’t dream of saying such a thing.”
“Uh-huh.” I just about manage to refrain from mentioning his jam/jelly moment comment, obviously. Besides, he’s not hitting on me but instead being companionable.
Like friends?
I ignore the pinch in my chest, forcing a bright smile to my face.
“Don’t get bigheaded. I deleted it afterward.”
“You didn’t keep it? To remember me by?”
Is it still a lie if you don’t speak? I did delete it. And not five minutes later, I moved it out of the virtual trash and back into my saved images.
But I’m not admitting that.
“Well, I know it didn’t appear on your Instagram page.”
I narrow my gaze. “You’ve seen it?”
“I may have visited.”
I don’t know whether to be happy about that or not.
“It has a very attractive aesthetic,” he says consideringly. “Though I must admit to not quite knowing what the purpose of Instagram is. I see the benefit for business, of course. And for those who want to share their life with their friends, but you’re not in your posts very much. Obviously, the words are very you. But there’s a distinct lack of images of Holland Harper.”
“There are some.”
“If there were more, you might have even more followers.”
My cheeks begin that telltale sting as I bluster on. “Well, people like the platform for all kinds of reasons. It can be very pretty.”
“True. But so are you. And I don’t desire sharing you with the world.” My heart makes a little pitter-pat. So maybe we haven’t moved on quite as much as all that. “What’s your aim?” he asks suddenly. “What is it you aspire to? A million followers and a deluge of free stuff?”
“Like sponsorship?” I scrunch my nose. “I mean, who would say no to free stuff? But that’s not it. I just like it. I guess I must be a very visual person.” His eyes seem to track over my face, and I find myself hurrying on, not sure what I’m saying but the words spilling anyway. “The beauty of the visual. And I aspire to travel more. And yes, I like owning nice things, and if they’re free, then I’m not going to turn them down.”
“You want people to envy you.” He stares down at my bare feet, a frown marring his brow. “For women to covet your life. For men to desire you?”