Page 42 of Late Harvest

“Arabella,” he whispered, placing his hand over her free one resting on the table and rubbing her satiny skin. “Angel, I am so sorry.”

She watched his hand for a moment, and he could see her struggling to pull herself together.

“Want to talk about it?” he offered.

Arabella pulled her hand away and her head shot up, her regular mask shifting into place. “No. I don’t.”

Bash paused and then nodded, her walls already lowered more than he’d expected and not wanting to upset her further. “Ok then, my queen.” He pointed to her notebook. “Next rule, please.”

She swallowed hard and nodded. Back to business.

“As we mentioned yesterday, it would make sense for us to ‘date’ for at least a couple months before we get married. If we move too quickly, people might not believe us. I suggest we start this week with a series of dates.”

“No can do, Arabella.”

Her eyes flew up from her notes to catch his. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that I leave town tomorrow. It’s why I was in such a pants-on-fire hurry to meet with you. I’m recording a voiceover for an animated film. I’ll be in LA for a little more than a week. But then I’ll be back and at your service, my queen.”

“Oh, tomorrow? Ok, right. Ok.” Arabella turned back to her book, scribbling some illegible notes. “Next thing—living arrangements.”

“I’m happy to stay at your place, Arabella. Or, if you want, I can find us something larger.”

Her eyes widened, nose crinkling adorably. “That seems wasteful, Sebastian. My home will do us just fine. While you’re away, I’ll get furniture for my guest room and⁠—”

“Nope. Nada. Nyet. Nein.” Bash made an X with his arms. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. I’m sleeping in your bed.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“While I’d love to hear you beg more than I need the very air I breathe, my queen, no pardons here. I always immerse myself in a role. I have to be able to speak from lived experience or it won’t be authentic. I want to know what side you sleep on. If you snore⁠—”

“I don’t snore!” Scrub Angel was adorably in her umbrage.

“—if you sleep in adorable jammies or in the nude⁠—”

“Not nude, Bash! And you won’t either,” she yelped and then looked around, realizing how loudly she’d spoken. Arabella leaned closer. “I don’t need to see your naked body sleeping in my bed,” she added in a means-business tone, this time much quieter.

“Ah, so you agree on the sleeping arrangements. Excellent. I don’t have a side preference, and I’m happy to wear pajamas of some sort, though I prefer to let the air flow around my twig and berries. Or shall I say, branch and coconuts? This is coming together nicely.” He rubbed his hands, flashing her a winning smile.

She opened up her mouth, no words coming out, and then snapped it closed, a mutinous set to her jaw. Arabella glared at him and pointed her pen at his face. “I will order furniture for the guest bedroom. In the meantime, you can have a trial of sleeping in my bed, on the other side and not invading my personal sleep space.”

He mouthed ‘personal sleep space’ with an accompanying funny face, nearly falling into laughter at her small growl of annoyance.

She leveled a glare at him. “If you can behave, we’ll see about extending the trial. But we will have separate bathrooms. I won’t share that space.” Arabella scrawled a note that looked like ‘trail mix’ before pointing the pen again. “I don’t like sloppy. No dirty dishes in the sink. God made dishwashers for a reason. We take turns emptying that, plus the trash and recycling. And don’t leave crap everywhere. A place for everything and everything in its place. I get up every day at four-thirty to swim laps, and I’m in bed by nine. So no loud television or music, and so forth. Put your dirty clothes in the hamper and you’re responsible for your own laundry.”

“When I’m at one of my homes, I use a laundry service. My assistant, Jared, will be putting that in place here—assuming it’s available—and I’m happy to have him add you to my account and cover the cost. It’s the least I can do. Speaking of,” seeing her about to interrupt, he raised his voice just a bit and continued, “I insist on contributing to your mortgage and utility bills, because I’m assuming you’ll fight me if I offer to cover it all. I also love cooking, so I can manage our meals the nights we aren’t out. And I plan to help with Chicane.”

Arabella just sat there, transfixed, her pen paused over the notebook. Bash smothered a smile. She hadn’t written a thing. “How, um, how many homes do you have?”

“Three right now.” He ticked them off on one hand. “In the last year, I purchased the Hollywood Hills home that belonged to my grandfather. My father held the deed, but never visited, so it felt like a fair way to keep it in the family. I also have a condo in Gramercy Park in Manhattan. And my agent, Slash, and I own a small resort in Maui, where we each have a residence.”

Her mouth was open, and he reached over to gently tip it closed with his finger. While he found her lovely all the time, he didn’t want her to be upset if that particular reaction were captured digitally if someone was sneaking photos.

“Three. Ok, uh…that all sounds…nice. I just own, the, uh, one home. My house. That you saw.” She tucked her hair behind her pretty ears, obviously flustered. “Um, thank you, Sebastian. For the laundry and…all,” she finished haltingly.

“My pleasure, Arabella.” He tipped his head to the side graciously. “We’re a team now.”

“A team,” she repeated on the barest of whispers. “Right, good.” She inhaled deeply, letting it out in a rush. “Another thing. As we ‘date,’ it’s going to be really important to learn some things about each other, just in case we’re asked. We don’t want to be caught flat-footed.”