Have dinner with me.
I want to. After spending some alone time with him lately, I selfishly want more.
Every warning bell rings in my ears, but my heart is also fluttering.If I were being logical about the situation, I’d say it wasn’t a great idea. My brother warned me about him, and so did Louis himself, multiple times. He’s hiding something behind therequireddates and wanting me to leave. And deep down, I think we both need this excitement in our lives.
I write my response beneath his words.
Already can’t get enough?
“I’m going with the flow,” I mutter as I walk to the east wing to drop it off.
The stroll feels longer than usual. I leave my response and spend the rest of the morning working on his portrait with an unhurried excitement streaming through me.
After lunch, I stop by again and see the note has returned to my side.
Tonight. 8 p.m. East wing.
Follow the light.
P.S. Rain check on the sitting.
That’s it. No explanation, no real details, only the confidence that I’ll be there.
Arrogant bastard.
I scribble a message below it.
I never accepted. You’ll get my answer at 8 p.m.
I smile, knowing my oppositional defiance wants to keep him on his toes.
On the way back to my cottage, I’m giddy. When I return, I paint more of him until the room glows golden. If it weren’t for this dinner tonight, I’d probably work until I couldn’t keep my eyes open because inspiration has taken over.
Five hours later, I force myself to clean my brushes, then shower. I spend over an hour getting ready, changing in and out of almost all the clothes I’ve packed. When I slide on a cream dresswith pearl buttons running down the front, I know this is the one. It’s modest and elegant but still casual in aI’m not trying too hardkind of way.
At seven forty-five p.m., I slip out of my cottage into the summer night. After sunset, the palace is quiet and feels empty. Even though most of the staff have retreated to their quarters, the hallways are lit with amber sconces, and the glow makes everything seem vintage. I keep my pace steady, even though anticipation of tonight hums through my veins.
When I finally reach the east wing, I look for the light and see a lantern flickering at the end of the hallway. I move toward it, and when I turn the corner, I see the entire corridor is lined with them. The hallway seems like a never-ending optical illusion, but I move forward, following the light, as he told me.
During my daily strolls, I was never brave enough to explore this area of the castle. The nook with the chessboard was as far as I ever got.
My shadow dances against the wall with each step I take forward.
I pass doorways that look like they haven’t been opened in years, and other long hallways that intersect with this one. I start to wonder if I’m being led into some kind of medieval dungeon.
Light leaks from under the door, and the closer I get, the stronger the savory scent becomes. Music plays—jazz, the kind I sometimes listen to when I paint.
I suck in a deep breath, composing myself, then gently push the door open.
It’s a modern New York–style loft, hidden inside a centuries-old palace. The floor plan is open and even has exposed beams. Copper pots hang above the oversize stove. In the middle of the room sits a dark leather couch, facing a gigantic stone fireplace with a TV hanging above it. Bookshelves are stacked to the high ceilings, full of books that look like they’ve been read and loved several times. Then I notice the dining table is set for two with candles.
Louis stands at the stove with his back to me, stirring something in a pan. He’s wearing dark jeans and a gray T-shirt. The sleeves expose his muscular biceps and forearms. He looks comfortable in a way I’ve never seen him, like he could be anyone in the world.
“Enjoying the view?” he asks, not even taking a glance back.
“Wait, did you hear me walk in? I was as quiet as a mouse,” I say.
“You were,” he admits without turning around. “I could feel you.”
