Her dark green eyes dart to the bedroom door and then back to me as she asks, “Do you want me to get ready?” Another yawn creeps up on her, and from the look in her eyes she’s obviously embarrassed by her exhaustion.
“You don’t have to,” I say and my voice is strong, slightly harsh perhaps.
“Are you sure?” she asks me sweetly. “I don’t mind… I know you probably don’t want me in here...” Her voice trails off as she picks at the comforter and then laughs a little, this sweet little sound that’s so pure.
My smile softens and I’m moving toward her before I even realize it, my strides easy and comfortable. I have the urge to sit on the bed, she even scoots slightly, making room and straightening a little, although the comforter sags slightly in front of her. Just a glimpse of her cleavage is showing, modest, but tempting. Just like my sweetheart.
I almost sit with her, but then I remember. Her gift.
It was meant to be a thank you for attending last night.
“I got you something,” I tell her without thinking. Instantly, her expression softens. Those sweet lips slowly turn up and her eyes sparkle. I run my hand through my hair, wondering if it’s stupid. All the while I'm going to the closet and gathering the small bag to give to my sweetheart. Her eyes flicker to the empty side of the bed, a warm red hue filling her cheeks. My spot that she made for me.
Utterly gorgeous. A huff of air leaves me as I look at her. She really doesn’t get how tempting she is. How a woman like her could ruin a man like me. Losing control, coming undone all because of her. It’s already happening. And she doesn’t even know it. My feet remain planted where they are, even though my body wills me to sit next to her. I have to hold back.
I clear my throat as I hold the bag out to her. At the faint sound, Arianna finally looks at me. I watch her face as her slender fingers pull the paper away.
The thick wrapping paper crinkles as she pulls the package out of the bag and tears it open from the seams.
The moment she realizes what they are, her eyes brighten and a wide smile makes my chest fill with confidence. She’s so true to her feelings, her reactions so natural.
And she loves the gift.
“Brushes?” she asks me with that smile still on her face. Her eyes aren’t on me though; she’s peeling the last bit of tape from the package of paintbrushes. I had no idea such a thing could cost so much.
“I thought you’d like them,” I answer her simply.
She tilts her head, focusing all of her attention on me as she puts it all to the side and rises to her knees, pulling the comforter with her and planting a small, chaste kiss on my lips.
My eyes stay open the entire time and although her lips are pursed, I swear she doesn’t stop smiling. She pulls back quickly, that beautiful red flush all over her skin and says softly, “Thank you. I love them.”
I stare at her a long moment, realizing how genuinely happy she is with such a small gift. But the clock from the nightstand calls my attention with the faint click of the hand.
Late. I’m late.
Reality sets in, and I give her a nod. “I’m happy you like them. I’ve got to be going now.”
An awkward tension settles between us.
“Do you want me to go?” she asks, the warm color fading and a wall of armor slowly rising around her. The small moment is over, enjoyable though it was.
“No,” I say, but even I can hear the hesitation in my voice. I strengthen it as I add, “You can stay for as long as you like.”
I lean forward, my legs pushing against the bed making it groan and a hand bracing myself on the bed. I cup her jaw with my other hand to kiss her quickly, pulling back slightly and staring at her lips for just a moment. She doesn’t open her eyes until I let her go.
Chapter 22
Arianna
I run my fingers over the paintbrushes, my gift from Zander. They’re the most beautiful brushes I’ve ever seen, with high quality mahogany handles, exquisite markings and fine, durable bristles. I press them to my chest, a fuzzy feeling swirling in the pit of my stomach. I feel like a stupid little girl, but I don’t care. It’s nice to be given something that means so much. Even if it didn’t mean much to him.
These are even better than the gown Zander gifted me. And I can see myself putting them to good use, already thinking about the masterpieces I’ll paint. I’ll cherish them long after this contract is over.
When this is over.
The thought makes me sick to my stomach. I’m getting used to Zander and his charming personality, and I feel like I’m just starting to get to know him.
But do you really know him? says that annoying voice in the back of my head. This is all supposed to be fake, a make-believe courtship. You can’t really know a man who is hiding behind a facade.
I chew my lower lip, dropping the brushes into my lap.
I don’t want to believe that everything Zander says or does is inauthentic. When he looks at me, fire burning in his eyes, it looks real. Each time I’m with him, I can feel the emotion emanating from him. I feel the connection we have between each other. It can’t be fake, can it? Why would he ask me to stay as long as I like, if it was make-believe?
Because he wants you to believe it’s real.
I don’t know what to believe at this point. I feel so many conflicting emotions. I want Zander. And I want him to truly want me, too. But I know less about him than I do about Danny. And that doesn’t sit well with me.
The voice resurfaces with, Well, you have the whole house to yourself, why don’t you find out?
For once, I agree with the voice. I set the brushes aside and roll out of bed, my feet causing the floor to creak as I slip on one of his shirts and walk out of the bedroom and into the hall.
I take a tour of the house, going room from room looking around for anything untoward, taken in by the opulence. I’m really impressed with the house, every room filled with expensive furniture and superbly decorated. It’s large, luxurious and beautiful. But after a while, it starts to feel empty. There are too many rooms for just one man. Zander has to be lonely living here.
But he has me now.
I huff out a chuckle at my wishful thinking as I run my hand over a painted glass vase in one of the extra bedrooms. I bet it costs more than what I make in a month. For how long will he have me? A month? Two? I shake my head. It might be not much longer than that.
I make my way back into the hallway, my bare feet padding along the gleaming hardwood floors. I try to get rid of the overwhelming feeling that I don't belong here, but with each step the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach grows and grows. I'm about to turn around and go back to the room to grab the gown and my purse to get out of here, when I see a picture frame on a small dark stand near the entryway to one of the common areas of the house.
I pick it up out of instinct. It doesn't belong here either. I already know it. While everything else in Zander’s house is expensive and each item holds an air of luxury, this picture frame is common. And the photo inside it, just a snapshot.
It’s an old family picture with Zander, maybe ten years old, with his father and a lady who I presume to be his mother. She’s a beautiful woman, with long, flowing blonde hair and a shapely figure. I can definitely see where Zander got some of his looks from.