Page 46 of The Scent of Intuition
Alfie gripped the edge of his wooden counter and squeezed until his knuckles turned white and his fingers burned.
Impossible.
Yes, he’d start to keep his eyes open for more than just a fling over the summer or an affair in the gardens.
No, I don’t want just flings anymore.
Bitterness crept up his throat and spread in his mouth.
He had never been like this about any woman. Not even back at university. But all his previous encounters were forgotten now that he knew the veiled girl in India was Bea. She had been an unknown he couldn’t chase, and now she was a known he mustn’t.
He brought a hand to his forehead. Not feverish.
Selective amnesia was a condition he’d heard much of and not one he had any cures for—not that he wanted one, really—though it was known to happen after a blow to the head.
But a blow to the heart?
No matter what, it was the future that counted and not the past.
He’d never have a wedding to plan like Nick and Pippa one day. He’d never take his bride cake-tasting like Nick had done with Pippa. If his bride wasn’t Bea, he didn’t want any of it.
He’d imagined his wedding, with the veiled girl, and how he’d carry his bride over the threshold into a newly appointed bedroom with elegant silk sheets and the curtains drawn shut. There would be water pitchers, trays of biscuits, cured meats, sparkling wine, fresh fruit, and anything else they’d need for a few days of sustenance. Because once he could, he’d take a very long time to worship her body as much as he did her heart.
Now, he could imagine every detail as if the future had been painted clearly before him. His bride had long, curly hair in the exact shade of a drop of molten copper falling into gold, swirled to create a rich hue of rose gold. And she had the perfect alabaster skin, rosy cheeks, and a narrow waist that he’d grab just firmly enough to bring her into the ideal position beneath him. When he’d kiss his way from her navel up toward her perkybreasts, Alfie’s imagination stumbled as if there’d been jagged rocks in the way. He looked up at the face of his bride and saw Bea. It had always been Bea.
*
In the kitchenat 87 Harley Street, Bea turned the teacup between her hands and stared at the barely-eaten cakes. After several hours of wedding planning, embossed wedding invitations and an open bottle of wine remained on the table.
“The drapes will be delivered to the new house around the corner. I should go soon,” Pippa said.
“Will you ever forgive me for failing to meet you at the dressmaker?” Bea had a bad conscience for leaving her dear cousin alone at the fitting for her wedding dress, but she had such a heavy heart that she’d forgotten. Pippa’s wedding planning from Nick’s practice was as unconventional as their union but it also made perfect sense, because between his patient appointments Nick came in to be with Pippa.
Pippa looked at her with understanding, yet there was a spark of a question in her gaze. “It’s him, isn’t it?” Pippa whispered barely audibly.
Be nodded and deflated. “It’s just that I cannot stop thinking about him. My chest feels constricted when I think about him, but when I’m near him, it beats so wildly that I fear it’ll jump out of my body and into his arms.”
“Because that is where you wish to be?” Understanding colored Pippa’s voice.
Bea clasped her hands over her chest and nodded. She mustn’t feel that way, and she wished she could cure herself of the incessant longing to see him. She’d even contemplated staying in the sun too long and then seeking his help withan ointment against sunburn, a paste to cover the freckles, or perhaps just a scented soap—any excuse to speak with Alfie.
“Did you tell him how you feel?”
“Of course not!” Bea jerked her head back.
“If you want the prince to take you with him to his castle and away from here, as much as I would miss you, dear cousin, you’ll have to tell him how you feel.”
Oh, Pippa thought she meant the prince.
Then why did she drag out the word “prince” so much?
Bea’s heart plummeted even further.
It ought to be the prince; he was everything she needed.
Just not what her heart desired.
“I don’t think he cares, and he has to leave in four days.”
