“I love it,” I say to appease him, because maybe that’s all he has, juststuff.
“I do too.” His voice is fond and amorous. “Your room is down this hall and mine is there at the end of the opposite hallway. I’ll leave the door open for you but do knock before you enter. I have a few matters to deal with the Singapore companyand it would be a conflict of interest if you heard.” He was suddenly stern and business-like.
“Of course,” I say and we part ways.
The guest room is just as beautiful as the rest of the house. There are a few more feminine touches in this room with large floral prints on the bedspread and a light mint color on the walls. There's also a wardrobe with the door open to reveal several silky garments tucked within. I do need to use the restroom so I walk into the ensuite and I find a parade of high-end hygiene products lined up. I couldn't afford a sample size of some of these items and he's got full size shampoo, conditioner, hair mask, hair oil, face cream, face wash, shower gel, lotions, and potions; all to beautify the woman who spends the night in this room.
I open the medicine cabinet to look inside and there I find several boxes of emergency contraception, condoms, feminine wash, and three or four different bottles of lubrication from warming to flavored. It’s very clear who stays in this room and now I'm embarrassed because Jacques knew who I am to Marcel. He’s the one who made sure this room was ready.
I have an impulse to run but I can't leave because there’s no way to get back to Rhode Island tonight. I either have to confront Marcel about the number of people who have slept in this room or ignore it because he never once said he wasn’t a man with a revolving bedroom door.
Chapter Eighteen
Marcel
Juliet walks into my room after about forty minutes and the look on her face twists something deep inside me. Her expression is shuttered and I know instantly she’s seen the neatly hung robes, the unopened boxes of condoms, and the discreet array of lubes and more. All of it is my efficient and soulless effort to be prepared for amorous company. I’ve never thought twice about it before. Now it feels like a glaring neon sign over my head:Serial Womanizer.
I’ve never cared before if anyone liked my world or wanted to be in it, but with Juliet, it matters. And for the first time in a long while, I wish the walls weren’t so high between us. She looks scared, and a little sad and I know it’s because she’s seen what's in the guest room. I’ve had many women stay a night or two and there’s no secret about why they were here. I like women who appreciate nice things, but also understand that I’m a man who makes no commitments. The best way to uphold that reputation is to provide the finest things, in bulk.
This way there’s no specialization, the items are for anyone who stays in that room, not for any particular woman. For Juliet, though, I don’t want her feeling like one of the many and so I understand her sad expression. She knocks before she enters and I close my laptop.
“Just finished,” I say as she walks in wearing her own clothes; a sexy pair of satin shorts and a V-neck white T that makes her tits look huge. No bra, of course and I know I’m going to be wrangling her out of that in minutes.
“I’m not disrupting your Grinching?” She gives me a tiny smile and it's a relief.
Her gaze flicks to mine, guarded. It slices through me more sharply than any accusation.
“I can explain ...” The words sound pathetic even to my ears.
“You don’t need to.” Her voice is quiet, too calm. “It’s none of my business.”
But it is, and we both know it. I step closer, hands shoved into my pockets to keep from reaching for her. “Juliet ... you’re not like the women who’ve stayed here before.”
She lifts an eyebrow, her mouth twisting in something halfway between a smile and a grimace. “Aren’t I? I slept with you without knowing you within the first hour of our meeting, actually. That doesn’t make me special.”
Her words strike a chord, even though I can’t deny them, it doesn’t make her sentiment valid. “While true, it doesn’t change how I feel about you,” I mutter, but the protest is weak.
She sighs and wraps her arms around herself. “I’m really tired, Marcel. I just want to sleep. If you’d rather I stay in the other room, I can. I’m not up for anything tonight. I’m sorry if you were hoping for me to have sex with you. You flew me out here and all.” She looks like she’s almost in tears.
I take a breath, choosing honesty over pride. “I’d rather you sleep with me.” Her head jerks up, startled, and I rush on, heart hammering. “I’d love to give you a good-night kiss and wake up with you in the morning, something I don’t often offer others.” Oh I am fucking this all up in the biggest way. “I don’t mean that. I mean. I’d like to sleep next to you and wake up with you ... usually, I ...” What I usually do to the women is kiss them ‘goodnight’ and send them back to that room with some excuse or another about not being able to sleep with others in my bed.
I’m offering Juliet the opposite, but it feels like, ugh ... it feels like I’m throwing scraps to a love starved creature, when she’s the one who’s surrounded by more love than I will ever know. The second the words leave my mouth, regret slams into me. “Damn it. Sorry. That came out wrong.”
Her eyes narrow, wounded. “Maybe I should sleep in the other room or get a hotel? I don’t think I can get on a flight back to Rhode Island this late. We’ve already taken this too far.”
I close the distance between us until I’m just close enough to feel her warmth. “You’re right. It has gone farther than I ever expected.” I let the truth settle between us. “But I can’t pretend I’m ready to let you go. Not yet. We’re ... living in this moment, Juliet. And right now, I’m enjoying every second of it with you, even if I don’t deserve to.”
For a beat, neither of us speaks, everything feels unsteady, fragile, terrifying, and impossibly precious. Juliet hesitates, her eyes flicking toward the guest room, then back to me. I can see the storm of thoughts behind them—the doubt, the hurt, and the tiny spark of trust still flickering.
Finally, she exhales. “I’ll stay. But ... just sleep.”
Relief washes over me and I nod. “We could both use a good night’s rest.”
I lift the duvet to welcome her in and she gives me a smile.
“Rich people have very comfortable looking beds,” she says, perhaps referring to the tiny bed we slept in last night.
“People with uncomfortable beds are sometimes richer ...” I say referring to the love Juliet has in such abundance. “Besides, in my bed, I know you’re going to sleep on yours side, but in yours there were no sides, just us. I like that better.” And I truly did.
