Modern Romance March 2021 Book 5-8 by Carol Marinelli (desktop ebook reader txt) 📗

the black front door. She was shown across a foyer with a lovingly restored parquet floor and into a lounge of predominantly white decor. Three arched windows, tall and narrow and symmetrical, looked onto a garden where a topless maiden poured water from a jug into a fountain.

She looked at the figure and all she could think of was her walk with Luca the first day at his palace, when he’d confided in her about his father’s death. He’d been so hurt by the things his father had done, and she’d set him up for more of it.

She rubbed her sternum, hating herself for that.

“It felt like home the minute I saw her,” Luca said behind her.

Amy spun to find him leaning in a doorway, regarding her. Her heart leaped a mile high. She had missed him. So much. Then her heart took another bounce because he was so fiercely beautiful. And a third time because there was no anger in his expression. No vilification.

But no smile, either. The one that tugged at her cheeks fell apart before it was fully formed, but she couldn’t help staring at him. Drinking him in.

His neat, stubbled beard was perfectly trimmed across his long cheeks. His mouth was not quite smiling, but wasn’t tense, either. Solemn. His blue eyes searched more than they offered any insight to his reason for bringing her here.

He had the ability to wear a blue button-down shirt and gray trousers as though it was a bespoke tuxedo. A suit of gleaming armor. Whether he called himself a king, a prince, or a man, he could lean in a doorway and command a room. He projected authority and strength, and despite his intimidating and unreadable expression and the very unsettled way they’d left things, her instinct was to hurry toward him.

She touched the back of a chair to ground herself. To hold herself back.

They’d been apart only four days. Their relationship from “ruin me” to being ruined had been a short ten. How was it possible that her feelings toward him were paralyzing her? She was on a knife’s edge between hope and despair. There was no hope, she reminded herself.

But still he’d brought her here. Why?

“I—” she began, but had no clue what she wanted to say. Then his words struck her. “Wait. Did you just buy this?” She pointed at the floor to indicate the house.

“I did. Would you like a tour? It’s not a faithful restoration. It was gutted and modernized. I think you’ll agree that’s a good thing.”

He offered his hand.

She hesitated, then moved as though in a trance, desperate for this small contact. This was how miracles worked, wasn’t it? Without explanation? She took his hand, and the feel of his warm palm against hers as he interlaced their fingers nearly unhinged her knees.

“I thought you’d be angry with me,” she said shakily. “About the letter.” Each cell in her body was coming back to life.

“I am. But not with you. I’m angry that you had to write it. The kitchen.” He identified the room with a wave as they walked into an airy space of cutting blocks and stainless steel, pots and pans suspended from the ceiling, and French doors that led to a patio herb garden. “The chef has yet to be hired, but you remember Fabiana? I poached her from the palace.”

“Yes, of course. Hello,” Amy greeted the maid. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Ciao.” Fabiana gave a small curtsy before she went back to putting away groceries.

“You can access the stairs to the terrace out there. You’ve seen the garden through the windows. Staff quarters are downstairs. Dining room, office, powder room, you’ve seen the main lounge,” he said as he walked her through the various rooms, all bright and fresh and sumptuously decorated in a soft palette of rose and gray, ice blue and bone white. Shots of yellow and burnt orange, indigo and fern gave it life.

“It’s a charming touch to keep this,” she said as she paused on the landing to admire the window seat that looked over the road. “I can imagine callers waiting here to see if they would be allowed upstairs by the duke or—” Prince.

“There might have been a receiving room up here once, but it’s all master suite now.”

It was. There was a sumptuous yet intimate lounge with a television and a wet bar, a dining nook for breakfast and other casual meals, a beautiful office with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and a fitness room that would catch the morning light. The actual bedroom was enormous, and the master bath had a walk-in shower, two sinks, a makeup vanity and...

“That tub!” Amy exclaimed as she imagined stepping into what was more of a sunken pool. It was surrounded by tropical plants and candles, begging for an intimate night in.

“I thought you would like it. Look at the closet.” It had an access from the bathroom and was the size of a car garage. There was a bench in the middle and a full-length, three-way mirror at the back. Alongside his suits hung gowns and dresses and a pair of green pants with a mended fly.

It struck her then, why he’d bought this magnificent house. She’d seen the headlines since their breakup.

King’s Mistress Dethrones and Departs

Whatever magic had begun to surround her flashed into nothing. She was left with singed nostrils, and a bitter taste in the back of her throat.

She twisted her hand free of his and stalked through to the more neutral living area. Her adrenaline output had increased to such a degree that her limbs were twitching and her stomach ached. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to spit at him or run to Baz Rivets again.

“I’m not making any assumptions,” he began as he followed her.

“No?” she cried. “I won’t live here. I won’t be your—your piece in London, keeping your bed warm for when you happen to be in town.”

“Stop it,” he commanded sharply. “Think better of yourself.”

His tone snapped