I sway side to side in my seat. “Yup. This is like traditional folk Christmas music. Let Daisy’s voice enter your soul.”
My lips feel dry. I unclip my seat belt and reach to the backseat to get my lip balm from my handbag.
“What are you doing, Noelle?” I ignore him; he doesn’t have to know everything. I get another whiff of his intoxicating scent. Lord, he smells good.
I lean back and apply the balm on my lips.
“Seatbelt, Noelle!” he screams.
“Yes, Daddy.” I lower my head and clip my seatbelt in. I know he’s tense.
Roman laughs out. “I regret this already.”
I ignore him as I sip my coffee and sing to Daisy’s voice. The further up north we get, the colder it becomes. Flurries of snow drift outside my window.
Roman’s face is stoic, unreadable. His knuckles are white. Maybe he is nervous about us going to his parents’ home. I reach over and tap his leg.
“What?” he asks.
“Nothing.”
“Rule #1: No touching unless it’s necessary.”
Right. I move my hand away and sway to the music. This is about to be an interesting Christmas.
Chapter three
RULE #1: No touching (Unless it’s necessary).
ROMAN
“Wow.” Noelle leans forward as the wrought iron gate opens. Through the trees, we can see hints of the house.
“The manor is sitting on twenty-five acres of land.” Am I excited to be here? No. In fact, I should have stayed my ass home. But fuck Cole for inveigling me to get an escort to act as my fiancée. Look at me now: four hours driving and listening to mind-numbing music, a fake fiancée who has no idea that she is going into the lion’s den. I should turn back.
“Don’t worry. I will follow your rules. We got this,” Noelle says as she gives my arm a little squeeze.
Don’t worry? The rule is “no touching,” and here she is, squeezing me. Even when I stopped for food, she squeezed by me to get to the bathroom. At the florist, she touched my arm,thanking me for paying. The problem is, I don’t mind it. In fact, I want her to squeeze me some more. I like how she smells when she is close to me—cozy and vanilla-ish. Maybe this is the effect of hiring an escort. She is trained to seduce me. But the truth is, she is coordinator not an escort. I keep forgetting that.
“Look at that,” Noelle says under her breath.
“Welcome to Voss Manor.” The stone monstrosity always takes people’s breath away. It was designed to intimidate the average man, or so my grandfather would say. The French manor is a perfect balance of limestone and has a slate grey roof. The house stretches as far as the eyes can see, with large, perfectly balanced windows.
The pale yellow lights in the house shine from many chandeliers. The driveway splits into a circular courtyard. Well-manicured green bushes, shaped into round topiary, are covered in flurries of snow. At the heart of the driveway sits a marble fountain.
“This is beautiful. Cold, but beautiful,” Noelle says as I bring the car to a stop.
“You’ve seen a lot of manors in your time?” I ask. It’s like I can’t stop myself from being a dick.
She shrugs and smiles.
“Trust me, it’s a beautiful house with a malignant foundation,” I reply.
Noelle looks at me like she wants to ask questions, and I’m happy that she doesn’t.
“We will be fine.” I don’t know if I am reassuring myself or Noelle at this point. This was a fucking mistake. Maybe I can turn back. The front door opens, and I realize it’s too late. My mother and dad stand at the door.
Sometimes I forget that despite her shortcomings, my mother is so excitable.
