Page 48 of A Forbidden Arrangement
I look down at the half-full bucket, suddenly a lot less motivated to keep cleaning. My stomach growls loud enough to echo, and I take it as a sign to call a time-out.
I redo my ponytail, fingers slipping through damp strands, and tug my shirt straight like that’ll somehow fix everything. It doesn’t.
My hands still their fussing, and I force myself to stand tall. So what if I look a mess? Who am I even trying to impress?
A perfectly pressed white shirt under a tailored black jacket comes to mind. My lips twitch at the thought of how pissed Xander would be if I ever smeared dirt on it. He’s always so pristine and composed, not a hair or crease out of place.
He’s meticulous in everything he does. It’s armor built for boardrooms and high-rises, not a room full of cracked pots and dirt. The contrast almost makes me laugh. Him, spotless and collected. Me, more at home with soil on my skin and dirt under my nails.
The small smile fades before I can stop it. I swallow the tightness in my throat, rinse my hands in the bucket, and head for the hall in search of something to eat.
Chapter 23
Dahlia
I stopat the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen, but it’s too late. Marco’s seated at the table and already spotted me. His grin widens as he takes me in.
“What the hell happened to you, kid?”
I open my mouth, ready to ask him about getting supplies for the greenhouse, but I stop myself. There’s something about that place that feels like mine, and I’m not ready to share it yet.
He seems to read my thoughts and lets it go, pulling out the chair beside him. “Come help me out. She’s been bleeding me dry for the last hour.”
The blonde woman across from him laughs, rolling her eyes as she stands and holds out her hand. “Hi, we didn’t really get to meet at breakfast. I’m Becca. It’s nice to meet you.”
I recognize her now as Xander’s chef, but she looks different like this. Relaxed. Sleeves rolled up past her elbows, apron tossed over the back of her chair. There’s a warmth to her that makes it easy to smile back, even through the awkwardness, as I take her hand.
“I’m Dahlia,” I say automatically.
Becca laughs, giving my fingers a light squeeze. “Yeah, I know. Xander held an hour-long meeting telling us all about you.”
Heat creeps up my neck, but it fades just as fast at the ridiculous image of Xander standing in front of everyone explaining how he married his unconscious wife.
“Hmm. I bet he left a few parts out.”
“I doubt it. Xander’s nothing if not honest. Probably too honest,” she says, still smiling.
“Now, stop that. We’re supposed to be helping him,” another voice chimes in. The housekeeper walks in, carrying a large tray, her tone too kind to sound like a real scolding.
The smell hits me first, grilled cheese sandwiches, buttery and warm. My stomach growls loud enough to make all three of them laugh.
Marco taps the back of the chair again. “You coming or what?”
“Yeah…sure.” I slide into the seat, the tension in my shoulders easing when I see how relaxed everyone looks.
Mrs. Price sets a plate in front of me. “Glad to see you’re finally well enough to leave your room.”
We both know hiding in there had nothing to do with being hurt, but she’s kind enough not to say it. Instead, she slides another plate my way, this one piled with cookies. “Eat up. You’re still too skinny.”
I do as I’m told, taking a bite of the sandwich. Melted cheese and toasted bread hit my tongue, and a hum escapes before I can stop it. All three of them are staring, so I cover my mouth and mumble, “It’s good.”
“Of course it is, dear.” She gives me a satisfied smile.
Becca explains that Mrs. Price usually handles lunch because she’s only around in the mornings to pack meals for Xander.
“Pack?” I ask, lifting a brow.
“Oh, he’s not normally here much,” Becca says. “He stays in the apartment building beside his office. But this house is closer to mine, and I like this kitchen way better. So I cook his meals for the day here and drop them off in the morning.”
