“We should be there soon,” he assured me.
It was then that I realized we were driving through a remote area that looked like something straight out of the travel magazines I would flip through over and over at the library when I was a kid, dreaming of faraway places, sandy beaches, and breathtaking views of the ocean that stretched out endlessly.
We traveled for several more miles before Whit turned off onto a private road that wound through thick foliage until it opened up to a stunning three-story house. Although built in a style reminiscent of another time, it was clearly modern. Surrounded by palm trees, with a patio that spanned the width of the house and another deck in the second story, the house looked like it was meant to hostelegant Charleston parties where guests sipped mint julips and chatted about the weather and the latest society gossip. Yet as charming and welcoming as it was, the house still somehow seemedlonely.
“Where are we?” I asked as Whit parked in the circular drive.
He stared at the house for a moment before answering, “My house.”
I said nothing as Whit led me up the stairs, seeing the house with new eyes. When he opened the door, I gasped in awe at the grand spiral staircase, the crystal chandelier in the foyer, the art that was both modern and classic at once.
It was remarkable. And everywhere I looked, I saw touches of his personality.
“This is stunning,” I breathed, turning in a full circle.
“Come,” he said, grinning. “Let me show you around.”
Although all the other rooms were just as beautiful as the foyer, nothing compared to the view. Whit led me through a massive second-floor library to French doors that opened onto a terrace with a magnificent view of the ocean. I drifted toward the railing, my breath catching as the sunset painted the sky in an explosion of color.
Whit came up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.
“Whit,” I breathed. “This…”
“I thought you might like it,” he whispered near my ear.
“I’ve always dreamed of living close enough to the ocean to see a sunset like this, hear the waves crashing,” I confessed.
“I know,” he murmured. “You told me once.”
I turned enough to see his face. “I did?” I asked, frowning. “I don’t remember telling you that.”
He glanced down, caught my gaze briefly, then returned his attention to the sunset. “I remember. As soon as you said it, I knew I’d have to bring you here.”
I remembered what Henry had said about being happy at Whit’s house. Had he dreamed about Whit bringing me here? Or was it just a coincidence? “Don’t suppose you have a spire, do you?”
Whit looked at me curiously. “No. Not on this house. Why?”
I snuggled back against him, smiling contentedly. Even if this wasn’t the house in Henry’s dream, I was definitely happy. “No reason.”
As the sunset eventually slipped toward twilight, Whit stepped back and took my hand, leading me toward a small table I hadn’t even noticed. Candles in the center threw shadows onto the white tablecloth, the flames dancing eerily in the gentle breeze. Two plates covered by silver domes sat beside a set of delicate wine glasses and champagne flutes. From within the library, soft music drifted out to the terrace.
“Where did these come from?” I asked with a surprised laugh.
“Butler,” Whit said offhandedly, pulling out my chair. “He’s nothing if not discreet.” He then lifted the silver dome with a flourish. “Your dessert, mademoiselle.”
My eyes widened. On the plate were three exquisite desserts that looked too beautiful to eat. “What are these?”
“Dark chocolate torte with pistachio crumble,” he said, pointing to the dense triangle of chocolate. “Rhubarb and orange trifle there in the glass. And the last is my personal favorite—strawberry mille-feuille.”
He then poured wine and champagne for each of us. “I hope you like these,” he said. “I chose them myself.”
“I’m sure I’ll love them then,” I told him. I lifted my champagne flute and took a sip, closing my eyes to better enjoy the experience, delighted by crisp bubbles that tickled my tongue. I grinned and licked my lips. “Delicious.”
When I opened my eyes again, he was still standing beside the table, his expression a smoldering blend of pleasure and desire. “Indeed.”
We took our time with dessert, the wine and champagne making me a little bolder than usual. Questions I’d been hesitant to ask no longer felt off-limits.
“This house is beautiful,” I mused. “But it seems so sad, so lonely, Whit. Do you live here alone?”
