The property was walled in with tall brick and iron, and the security gate glided open with a hum, allowing the SUV to roll down a tree-lined path.
And then she saw it.
The house—no, the estate—came into view like something out of a historical drama.
Turrets flanked either side like gentle towers.Windows glittered across the facade.The massive double doors looked like they’d been lifted from a medieval castle and polished to a royal sheen.
Her lips parted in surprise.“Oh my God…”
“Let me show you around,” Saif said, reaching for her hand.
She took it before she realized what she was doing.
A year ago, he’d lived in a penthouse.Now this?
When had he bought this place?And why?
Jemma was too overwhelmed to pull her hand back.He led her through the doors, and her senses were immediately consumed.
Polished wood glowed beneath her feet.The iron chandelier above could have lit a cathedral.The sweeping staircase curved upward like a ribbon, its banister carved with delicate vines.Massive paintings adorned the walls—landscapes that looked real.
She stepped closer to one and caught her breath.Water lilies in soft, dreamy strokes.
“Is that…a Monet?”she whispered.
“I’m glad you approve,” Saif murmured, his voice rich with amusement.
She could hear the quiet amusement in his voice, that smug undercurrent that always made her want to throw something at him—or kiss him senseless.Sometimes both.
When she turned away from the impressionist painting of water lilies, she gave him a glare, but it was half-hearted at best.Her expression crumbled almost immediately, overwhelmed by the sheer magnificence around her.
There was just too much to take in.
“Let me show you the rest of the house,” he said, his voice deep and steady.Without waiting for her reply, he took her hand again and led her through a maze of beauty and luxury.
First was a handsome office with mahogany walls and a sleek, modern desk that looked like it cost more than her annual salary.Then a library, complete with a sliding ladder and tall windows that bathed the room in soft morning light.The sitting room came next—French doors opened out into a courtyard that looked like something from a romantic European film, with a bubbling stone fountain and meticulously arranged bursts of color from wildflowers and roses.
There was a formal living room, then a dining room large enough to seat twenty, and a gleaming chef’s kitchen with double ovens and a central island the size of her entire old apartment.In the kitchen, a warm-looking woman with salt-and-pepper curls and kind eyes introduced herself as Amara, the housekeeper.She was friendly and calm, and Jemma immediately liked her.
And there were other rooms—so many, she lost track.Music room.Lounge spaces.Sunroom.A wine cellar Saif showed her through glass flooring in one of the halls.
“I won’t show you all the bedrooms,” he said at one point, his lips curving into a wicked grin, “because I suspect you’ll freak out if we get anywhere near a bed.”
Jemma paused, narrowing her eyes at him.“You think I scare that easily?”
“I think you’re smart enough to know that if we end up near a bed…” He let the rest hang in the air, suggestive and dangerous.
She didn’t answer.Because, truthfully, a bed did feel like a line she wasn’t ready to approach yet.
Or maybe she was.And that was what scared her.
Before she could puzzle through the mess in her head, he led her through the back of the house and out onto a stone patio.
The fresh air hit her first—cool and crisp with the faint scent of autumn leaves and late-blooming roses.
The garden stretched out in layered tiers, overflowing with color.A wide path of hand-laid stone curled through beds of jewel-toned flowers, rustling shrubs, and ornamental trees that shimmered with early October golds and reds.In the center of it all was a raised platform draped in climbing vines and framed by two ancient oaks.
“And this,” Saif said, sweeping a hand across the stunning landscape, “could be the scene of our wedding.On Saturday.”
