Page 56 of Ardently Yours

She shakes her head. “I’m trying to help both of you. There are things you don’t understand. He was burning with anger when his wife died. Then the war beat him into tempered steel. If he loved you, he wouldn’t just expect to know where you were every second of every day, he’d have guards on you because he couldn’t sleep at night if he didn’t. He’d expect you to learn how to use a firearm and pull the trigger if someone makes it through those guards. If someone hurt or insulted you, he would make it his mission to defend you, whether you want him to or not. He’ll hold you to his own standards, and they’re ones no one could live with. His love will feel like control. You’ll suffocate under the weight of it.”

Her mouth tightens. “When he offers you a job, and he will, I suggest you take it. It’ll make you both feel like this wasn’t a waste of your time. When lunch is over, get back in your car, drive away, and forget about whatever dream you have of playing happy family.”

I haven’t let myself dream, but that’s none of her business. “You and I have a very different idea of what constitutes loyalty.”

“I’m protecting him. If he gets involved with you, and you can’t take the pressure, one of you is going to break. If it turns out to be him”—she points her knife at me—“I’ll kill you myself.”

“Are you done?”

She lifts her chin. “I’ve said what I needed to.”

“If I ask Arden to stand down, he’ll do it or he’ll find a way that works for both of us. If he wanted to assign me a guard, then we’d talk about it and figure out which one of us was right. Neither of us will ever break because we respect and support each other.” I move closer and dip my chin, but she refuses to make eye contact with me. “You call yourself his stray andneed him to lead you. He calls me his confidante and asks for my advice. You don’t know him better because you know him differently.”

I reach for my cup and saucer and carry them to the sink, then I turn back to face her. “If you ever threaten me again, you should know I was raised on a farm. I’ve fed an animal on Saturday and eaten it for dinner on Sunday. I don’t need Arden to teach me how to use a firearm. I can field dress a buck, alone, with nothing but a hunting knife, then drag it back to my daddy’s truck with a smile on my face. I respect nature. I’m grateful that it keeps my family fed. I love deer. Imagine what I could do if I were threatened, instead of hungry.”

She remains unmoving as I walk toward the door. Steps sound in the hallway, then Arden appears, his face lighting with one of those movie-star handsome smiles when he sees me.

He cups my face and kisses me slowly, then smooths my hair across my forehead and behind my ear. “I heard you might be in here.”

“Just getting to know Phyllis better,” I say.

He turns his head as though noticing she’s in the room for the first time. “Oh. Hey, Phyllis. How are you today?”

“Very well. Thank you,” she says stiffly.

“I’ll need you to serve four today and move lunch back by an hour.” He glances at his watch, then gives me a crooked grin. “My parents have decided to join us.”

Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me

Arden

Charlotte holds her headhigh as she looks back at me, but a pulse beats too quickly in her neck and her eyes show too much white.

She huffs a laugh in an octave that sounds like a lie. “If you can convince your security I’m not a cat burglar, I’d love to get a closer look at the exterior elevation of the mansion.”

I frown. “Of course.”

She nods, her smile unnaturally bright. “How about now? I could use some fresh air.”

Warily, I guide her through the house, and we emerge through the same door she entered last night.

After we’ve put the entrance twenty feet behind us, she stops walking, closes her eyes, and tips her face back to the sky. When she shivers, I shrug out of my suit coat, tuck it around her shoulders, then use my hands to warm her biceps.

For a split second, I’m struck by deja vu.Charlotte, needing air. Shivering in the cold.She’s escaping my home the same way she did the funeral.

I’ve been pushing too hard. Rushing to her the moment I got home. Kissing her in front of the staff. Wanting her to meet my parents.

I’ve never seen my own father do more than touch my mother’s hand or guide her with a touch to her back. Ariana only allowed me to put my arm around her in public to protect her from the press. I never had the desire to rush home to her with a kiss and a smile, but if I had, she’d have told me to act like a man, not a needy child. I’d have agreed with her.

Removing my hands, I put a socially acceptable distance between us, and arrange my features into something attentive but dignified.

She fidgets with the jacket’s lapel. “Will you be cold without it?”

“Not at all,” I say truthfully.

Kissing her would be the most natural thing in the world. Her face is tilted toward me at the exact right angle. I prop my hands in my pockets and pretend to be interested in our view of the grounds.

She slides my jacket off her shoulders. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

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