"It’s not—" I begin to deny it, then quickly stop myself. It’s good if they believe that’s the case. Lends authenticity to our arrangement.
"You got me there.” I raise a shoulder.
I’m not exactly lying to my brothers. But am I lying to myself? Nah. I’m not in love with her. So what, if I know her better than I know anyone else. I know how she scrunches up her features when she’s focused on her work. How she likes to put her hair up in a messy bun under the skull cap she wears. And how she keeps losing her hair ties when she runs her fingers through her hair at the end of the day to take it down. I know how she smells.
And I may have watched her as she naps in the car on the way home from work when she’s tired. My heart sinks.
I’m developing feelings for her. I’ve allowed her to get under my skin.
I’m going to have to put more distance between us.
But first, I have to find out where she is. I walk up to Geoffrey, Margot’s butler.
“Have you seen my wife?’
“She’s with Lady Hamilton, sir.”
45
Harper
"You should see the library. It’s amazing." Phe leads me up the luxuriously carpeted corridor lined with paintings of people I assume are ancestors. And others that seem to depict scenes from the English countryside. They are all originals.
First stop of the tour was of the dining room. It houses a long table that seats twenty, portraits of stern-faced Hamiltons lining the walls. Next, we visited the billiards room with its green felt table under a Tiffany lamp, leather chairs, and the lingering scent of cigars.
And there's an actual ballroom with high-gloss parquet floors that reflect the light from three massive crystal chandeliers. This must be where Margot Hamilton receives heads of state and CEOs.
Thankfully, we didn't use that room for today's family gathering.
I already spend every day obsessing over perfection in the kitchen. To spend the evening in that formal environment would have stifled me.
My first impression was right: power and old money.
But I'll add beauty to that list now. These rooms are undeniablybeautiful. The kind of beauty you admire from behind velvet ropes, not the kind you live in.
Except maybe, the drawing room, or withdrawing room as Phe informed me with a smirk.
It’s a large space that has sofas arranged for conversation, and bookshelves overflowing with books. It also showed signs of life; an indent in the sofa cushion, a half-finished chess game on the ottoman. A fireplace that’s been used. It gives the space a lived in feeling.
"Where’s the kitchen?" I ask when we stop in front of a massive wooden door behind which, I assume, is the library.
Phe turns to me with a wicked smile. "Downstairs."
"Huh?"
"Margot has a staff to take care of her, and they live in the lower ground floor, which also has a kitchen where the cook makes her meals."
"Oh. Right. Of course." She’ll have a retinue of people to take care of the place and of her.
"And she lives alone?"
"As far as I know." She shrugs. "Prepare to be surprised." She pushes open the door to the study.
I step inside. The first thing I take in are the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves which occupy the entire left wall. Only then, do I notice the woman sitting behind the massive desk.
Phe must notice Margot at the same time, for she stiffens; then recovers and flashes her grandmother a big smile. "Gran, I was showing Harper the library."
She’s the only person who’s called Margot, Gran. And given Margot hasn’t told her off, I assume, she’s fine with it.
