—Come here, little one —Killian ordered, and I swear, friend, I have zero defense against him.
His voice, the strength in his hands… I take a step forward. He grabs my waist. Here comes my first kiss. Here comes his mouth. I tilt my head up, look into his eyes.
And then… I hear it.
A door slams somewhere down the hallway, making me jump.
Ursula's footsteps are coming fast—straight toward us.
Killian reacts instantly. He lets me go, presses a finger to his lips, and whispers:
—Shhh.
He slips into my room and closes the door with his foot, slowly, without a sound.
I'm shaking as Ursula's steps slow down and stop right outside my door. I can hear her breathing deeply, like she's sniffing the air…
This is it.
I'm going to lose Mary Garden.
Killian moves fast. He turns off his phone. A few seconds later, we hear Ursula sending a message, then her footsteps hurry away as quickly as they came.
He smiles.
—She's sharp. She smelled my cologne like a damn bloodhound. When I turn my phone back on, I'll have a message from her. I know her too well—she sent it and stayed to listen if my phone rang in here.
I'm still in shock.
He turns around and looks at me, confused. He sets the glasses and bottle down and takes me by the shoulders to calm me.
—You're trembling. Hey, don't cry. Breathe with me. She's just a bitter woman, that's all. My father gives her too much power around here. It's best to avoid her… I've got you, okay? Breathe.
Killian tries to hug me, but I step back.
I grab the contract that's still lying on the bed, and all the passion I felt a moment ago turns into courage. I look him in the eye, teeth clenched, voice dripping with irony.
—You're going to protect me, Mr. Clause 7? You don't understand why I'm here. I made a promise, and I'm not going to break it. Five years and I'm out—that's all I was thinking a few hours ago. But then you showed up with those green eyes and that charming voice, and you know it. You know exactly what you do.
I take a breath.
—Want me to say it? Fine. You're perfect. You're gorgeous. You don't have a single damn flaw. Congratulations! The word "beautiful" was invented just to describe you. What are you even doing here with me? Can't you see I could lose everything? I don't want to be just another one of the thousands of women you must have, because that would destroy my life.
My voice tightens.
—This is my first night here… and listen to me, please, and wipe that smile off your face because I'm dead serious: this is my first night and I don't know you. If I'm just a thing to you, an object, say it and leave. Because I don't understand what you could possibly see in me. I repeat—I don't know you, and that makes me feel like I'm in danger of losing everything by playing a seduction game you clearly dominate.
He grows serious.
—Come on, little one. Look at me.
I refuse.
—Look at me —he insists.
When I finally do, he says with a playful grin, pretending to be offended:
—I'm so sorry for not being uglier. My bad. Apparently my mother made me this way, while my idiot brother took after Dad. I just decided to be born looking like her specifically to torture you. Really, I'm sorry.
Oh, my friend… I couldn't help but laugh.
I know—I acted like a helpless little orphan giving an angry speech… and he handled it perfectly.
Ursula's footsteps return down the hallway. This time she doesn't stop at my door and keeps going.
I hold my breath, thinking I might lose the house.
I look at Carol's portrait and my chin starts to tremble. I realize now that I haven't cried for her enough. I miss her so much…
In the mirror, I see him walking toward me.
Killian stops beside me. I avoid his eyes.
His hand settles on my waist.
I won't lie to you, friend—when he gets close, my body reacts. Has that ever happened to you? Tell me yes, and that you know how to control this electricity running through me.
I rest my head on his chest.
It feels so natural, so necessary, so relaxing.
I try to calm down.
He wraps his arms around me, and I stop crying.
Killian speaks softly:
—Now it's my turn. You're right, we don't know each other. But when I saw you alone in the garage with your suitcase, I realized you were the new gardener and that you were lost. I was just going to be nice, point you toward Ursula, and keep walking. But then you turned around and I saw those unique eyes of yours… your mouth looked like a perfect little triangle.
He pauses.
—And I felt it—a deep pull. I tried to hide it, so I called my brother just to make sure you were real. When he joked about sharing you, I hated it.
—I felt like a chocolate bar you two wanted to split —I say, still angry—. I think I already hate Lucius. If I could, I'd tell him a few things, but that's probably forbidden in the contract too.
He smiles slightly.
—It's not what you think. I know it hurt you. I saw how angry you got. But he wasn't calling you a thing to be divided. It was an inside joke between us.
He explains:
—When we were kids, we both had a huge crush on our language teacher—a beautiful woman with short hair like yours. When I turned seven, I realized we were competing for her attention all the time. I didn't want to keep fighting with my brother, so I told him we could just share her. That silly phrase became a family joke. That's what Lucius was referencing. He was just messing with me.
—I get it, but he still walked right past me like I didn't exist and then made me feel like trash. Lucius is not exactly my favorite person right now.
He laughs.
—Look at me, little one. I just want you to know you're beautiful, and the second I saw you I wanted to see you again as soon as possible. That's why I rushed to write you that note for the wine cellar.
Then, more serious:
—But you're right—we don't know each other. So I want to propose something. Three nights. Give me three nights, three dates to get to know each other. If after that you decide the risk of being with me isn't worth it, I promise I'll try to stay away.
—I don't see how we can have dates, Mr. Clause 7, with Ursula creeping around like a Gestapo spy —I answer.
And don't judge me, friend—I said it to buy myself time.
He takes my waist again.
—The first thing you should know about me is that I was born in this manor and I know it better than anyone. So I'm inviting you right now on our first date. There's a place I want to take you. I promise Ursula will never find us there.
He leans closer.
—Follow me. You're going to love this.
He opens the door, grabs the bottle and just one glass, and we slip out.
At the end of the hallway, we enter a huge sitting room. Moonlight pours through the windows.
We step outside.
The gardens stretch toward the lake.
I'm amazed.
Everything looks perfect… like a movie set.
We walk past the tall trees until we reach an old wooden dock with iron details and a huge lounge chair overlooking the water.
I smile.
He was right.
—I love this place.
—I want you to relax —he says—. This area is for family use only. Not even Ursula can come here.
He looks at the lake.
—When I was a kid, my mother made it that way… just us, at least for short moments, the four of us without staff or guards. Like a normal family.
A pause.
—After she died, I was scared to come here. I thought I'd see her ghost…
He chuckles softly.
—Now I can laugh about it.
Then he looks at me.
—Tell me… what are you afraid of?
—That's easy. I'm afraid of old, ugly, broken, rusty cars. I'm afraid of being forgotten…
I swallow.
—I don't remember my childhood. Just flashes. My parents died in an accident… and I was in that car.
Silence.
—My aunt once told me: "Sometimes not remembering is a blessing."
I shake it off.
—Wait… how are we going to open that bottle?
Killian hits the bottom of it with his palm. The cork pops. I laugh. He pours. We drink.
—Do you have scars? —he asks.
—Yes. On my back. What about you? Did you fall on one of your dad's gold bars?
He laughs.
Then he takes off his shirt.
Friend… I had never seen anything like it.
He guides my hand to a scar.
—Three ribs. Fight. Military school.
—It feels smooth…
He puts his shirt back on. We sit. He pulls me between his legs.
—Lean your back against my chest.
Silence.
Breathing.
His hand slips under my shirt. My body betrays me. Fire. Slow. Gentle.
Too much.
And then—
—Hey, little one…
I bite my lip.
—Yeah?
He orders, softly but firmly:
—Take off your blouse.