“Plus the fashion history room with the mannequins, the chinoiserie room with all that embroidery, and the room with the porcelain. There was the yellow rose bedroom and Dot’s room at the end. Each of those bedrooms had an en suite.”
Wes poured the water into the teapot. “We should pick rooms, unless you want to camp in the salon,” he said. “Which is possible. It’s big enough to host a fun fair.”
“I’d like to be in the east wing.” Nadine instinctively wanted to give Dot some privacy in death, although they were here to rummage through the detritus of her life. “Also, I’d like us to be near each other.” That might sound insecure, but the house was big and empty.
To her relief, he didn’t mock her. “I agree,” he said. “You liked the Marie Antoinette room. Why don’t you take that, and I’ll take the blue one?”
“That’s surprisingly magnanimous of you.” She loved that over-the-top room, really more of a chamber, which fulfilled her every childhood princess fantasy.
“Trust me, it’s not.”
They took their tea back through the house to check the rooms’ habitability, which was perfect. Maria had kept them spotless and stocked with clean white sheets that smelled like thyme.
“Towels are fresh too,” reported Wes, coming back from his own room reconnaissance. He looked around, shading his eyes against the sun reflecting off the metallic thread that covered the bed canopies before looking over to where Nadine lounged on one of the many low chairs in the room, which was larger than her apartment. “Are you sure you can sleep here?” he asked, shading his eyes as he moved through a dagger of sun reflected off a golden pitcher.
“Sleep?” Nadine ran her hand along the velvet of the seat, reveling in the softness. “I couldlivehere. It’s sad though.”
“The fact that she’s successfully incorporated eighteen differentdecorating styles like a magician?” asked Wes as he closed the top to a rolltop desk painted ivory with delicate red poppies. “That’s more impressive than sad.”
“No, the fact that she had all this space and she was alone.”
Wes sat down on a tufted stool. Nadine carefully moved her eyes from where his thighs strained against the fabric of his chinos to what she assumed was the much safer visual landscape of the mural on the wall, which was a rather more explicit version of Apollo and Narcissus than she was used to seeing. She hadn’t noticed because the murals had faded into the background against the overall vibe of the room. She swept her gaze around, noting with horror that every wall portrayed seminude figures cavorting with each other. Wes watched with amusement.
“Looks like Dot loved Greek myths,” he said.
She hauled herself off the chaise, eyes down to avoid Leda and the swan. “Let’s look at your room.”
By the house’s standards, the blue room was peaceful and almost sedate with a nautical theme that included ships in bottles, oars, and green blown glass. The bed was plainly made, the corners pulled hospital tight, and it lacked the dozen embroidered throw pillows that covered the top half of Nadine’s bed. The chairs were brown leather, and in the corner stood an old coatrack covered with Panama hats. Wes sorted through them while Nadine opened the huge wardrobe, half expecting to see a snowy forest with a single lamppost in the distance.
“This is perfect,” he said with satisfaction.
“Excited for some Horatio Hornblower cosplay?”
“I’d prefer walking the plank to death by ruffles.” Wes joined her at the wardrobe. “How about lunch?”
Nadine grimaced when she thought back to the fridge. “She only had cat food.”
“Organic and farm-raised.”
“Still cat food.”
He adjusted the ship in the bottle. “If you’re too good for that, I brought us a picnic.”
She was about to make a joke about which tablecloth he’d matched it to but then thought of Wes planning ahead for what they would eat together and shut her mouth. For some reason, it made her wildly and inappropriately happy. Well, it stood to reason. She didn’t have to cook, which was a gift.
“Sounds perfect” was all she said, but there must have been something in her voice, because Wes looked suddenly shy. His mouth tilted in a little smile, and his eyes lowered. She hadn’t noticed how long his eyelashes were. Then he ran his hands through his hair and met her gaze before looking away again, that smile lingering but a little wider.
She liked the way it looked on him. A lot. She closed the wardrobe doors as if to trap the feelings in there. She didn’t have time for liking anything on Wes outside his ability to sort boxes. She had priorities, and admiring Wes was not one of them.
Eighteen
Wes took his time assembling lunch, setting up in the kitchen since the weather threatened rain. He liked cooking for people, even if his mother grumbled about his food. Unsure if Nadine was vegetarian, he hadn’t bothered with meat in the muffuletta, depending on the olive tapenade to provide a depth of flavor along with the vegetables and cheese he’d layered in the ciabatta bread. With a pasta salad and fruit, it would be enough to get them through the afternoon.
White dust speckled Nadine’s dark hair when she came in to wash up at the sink. “Wes, this looks incredible.” She sounded astonished he could cook, and he tried to take it as a compliment and not an insult.
She sat down, and he poured them water. “You have dust on your face.”
“Oh.” She pawed at the smear, making it worse, until he handed her a napkin.
