“That would be great. I figured we weren’t going to be moving them far. But this is better.”
“I can move this one, too, Duchess.” Roark hugs the plywood crate to his chest and follows Evander.
“Sure, great.”
With the last box moved, they’re both staring at me inthat awkward I-don’t-want-to-go-but-I-don’t-know-what-to-say way—yet I don’t want to leave.
Evander turns, looking at the space. “You’ve done a lot in a week.”
“Thanks. This is the part where it looks like progress is going to be made quickly. After things are in cabinets, that’s when the real work begins.”
“You hung a painting up by your desk.” Roark has his arms crossed over his chest, his feet shoulder-width apart, glaring at the painting with the little mushrooms on it. “Why this one? Out of all the ones in the collection?”
“It speaks to me, something about it. I know it’s quirky, like one of those artists that paints over paintings they find in the thrift store.”
Roark furrows his forehead.
Evander’s lips are twisted to the side. “I don’t have a clue what that means.”
“Oh, some artists, for fun, will take a painting they find at a... charity shop and paint a lighthearted scene over it. Like adding a spaceship and people with light sabers to a forest landscape. These mushrooms are original to the painting, but it’s fun. You know, whimsical. And there’s something about the mountains. Look at the depth. Lord knows I’m not a hiker, but they call to me. I want to walk along the little trails the artist has put in. It’s just given me a good feeling. A feeling of home. I can’t explain it.”
“I think you’ve done a pretty good job,” Evander says. “Have dinner with us tonight.”
“I... I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“The rumor is that you’re not eating dinner. You don’t have to be afraid, Kitten. It’s just dinner. Kieren’s not around tonight, anyway.”
I cock my head at being called Kitten. “I’m not afraid.”
Evander’s face softens in apology. “Okay, I didn’t mean to imply that you are. But have dinner with us,” he says.
“Please,” Roark adds.
When a giant tatted man says please like a little boy... how can I say no?
23
RAINE
Ismooth down the front of my sensible pants—trousers, as they call them here. I put on and took off five different shirts. I wanted to wear a sweater, but even in the cool castle it’s still warm. Or maybe that’s just me. I’ve got the jitters, like I’m going on my first date back in high school. Only this time there’s no glaring from my father to be had. And it’s not a date. It’s dinner, and I’m supposed to eat dinner.
Ugh, sometimes I hate my brain. It’s not a date. Just dinner. In the dining room.Stop it, Raine.Wren tells me all the time that my brain is a chronic liar. That I need to tell it to cut it out.
I step into the dining room. It’s set for three tonight. Guess Leo must think there’s no chance of Kieren showing up.
Roark’s here. He’s wearing a dark button-up shirt. And the sleeves are unfortunately not rolled up. I push back my lustful thoughts, trying to get his arm candy out of my brain.
Roark stands when I come in. “Good evening, Duchess.”
“Hi.” The candles flicker as Roark rounds the table and pulls out my chair for me. “Thank you.” I didn’t wait once, earlier this week, and it became a three-way tug of war with the steward, Evander, and me. Grandma always said if a man wants to help you with your chair, let him have at it. Win the big power struggles. Then again, she was five-foot-nothing and her feet barely hit the floor from a dining room chair.
“You’re always welcome.” Roark’s warm presence surrounds me and leaves me with a shiver as he moves back to his seat.
I nod to Evander’s empty seat at the end of the table. Not a date, I remind myself.
“He’ll be along shortly.”
I’m bobbing my head still. I’ve been thinking of ways to broach the subject. I wish I could just let it be. “Did you have a nice afternoon?” The steward fills my water glass, and I hope I’m not breaking an etiquette rule, but I decline the offered wine.
