"What are you doing?" I asked him.
"Walking you home, of course," he answered immediately, fumbling as he pulled a shirt over his head and momentarily obscured his vision.
"Why? You do remember that I live right next door, don't you?"
"I just want to make sure you get home safe," was all he'd say, but he went out with me, made sure that I didn't fall in the two hundred feet that I needed to traverse to reach my front door, and then followed me inside.
Next thing I knew, he was sleeping beside me, his big, warm arm draped over me and the soft, deep sound of his breathing lulling me off to sleep.
We didn't talk about the relationship, about what exactly was happening between the two of us. I sensed that, if I pushed the issue, he'd back away and wouldn't want to commit to anything. But I also knew that the bond between the two of us was growing deeper, and that he couldn't deny that fact. Sooner or later, I told myself, something would happen to change the dynamic between us, and we'd need to talk things over.
But until then, I could relax, keep my mind clear, and just focus on enjoying myself.
The only thorn in my side was that I couldn't tell Della about any of this, as desperately as I wanted to spill the beans.
"So, what are you going to do when this is over?"
"What? It's going to be over?" I started, jarred back to reality by Della's words.
She frowned at me from where she stood on the other side of the counter. "Well, I'd hope so! After all, don't you want to collect that big paycheck? Usually, you need to finish a job before you get paid for it!"
Right, the job. Not my relationship, the part that Della didn't know about. "I guess I'm not sure what I'll do once I've finished the job," I said after a minute, shrugging. "I haven't really thought that far ahead yet."
"If I were you, I'd take a vacation," Della said, sounding like a seer announcing a prophecy. "After all, you've been stuck here too long, and you're not getting any younger - or meeting anyone new. Sanford was nice to you, but I just can't bring myself to advise you to stick around and hope that something happens between the two of you."
"What? You don't think that something could happen between him and me?" I asked, surprised that she'd devoted any thought to this.
"Aww, honey, I'm sorry." Della reached out and patted my hand. "But the man's probably got a long distance girlfriend or fiancee who's one of those skinny stick models from the big city, one who is dating him for all that money in his bank account. He knows what society expects to see next to him, now that he's successful, and that's probably what he's after."
I blinked, and Della pulled her hand back. "I'm really sorry if you didn't want to hear this," she said, looking concerned, like she might need to hurry around the side of the counter to come give me a hug if I broke down in tears.
"No, it's good to hear what you think," I said back to her. "And yes, maybe a vacation would be a good thing to do." For just a moment, I thought of Sanford and myself out on a private beach somewhere, far away from Truckee, Illinois, him kissing me on a towel beneath the warm tropical sun, the waves lapping at my toes...
"And maybe on a vacation, you could meet someone nice, too!" Della went on, glad that I hadn't collapsed from her harsh words of truth to me. "Someone who really appreciates you, who gets along with you and likes the same things!"
Sanford and I didn't like the same things. He'd spent more time out in his garage of late, where he had a frightening array of power tools. I didn't venture out to watch, scared off by the loud sounds of blades and grinding wheels cutting into things, but I assumed that he was probably working on a car or something. I'd tried to describe all the intricacies and history of some of the furniture in his house, but he just shrugged and grunted. History didn't hold the same allure for him as for me.
Did we get along? In our own way, perhaps. We weren't mixing like two cups of water, but neither did we stay separated like water and oil. No, if anything we were like oil and fire, explosive and hot when we came together, never content to just sit still. I couldn't see Sanford relaxing on a couch on a lazy Sunday, cuddling up and just loafing around beneath a blanket as we watched television together.
And that was what I wanted, wasn't it? That's how Della seemed to see me, at least. And that's how I'd always viewed myself, to be honest. I might go out and have fun every now and then, but in the end, I just would always end up at my house, sitting around on my couch and watching television, Whiskers curled up at my feet.
"Listen, I should probably get back - I've still got more work to do," I said to Della, pushing a few bills across the counter for my drink.
She slid the money right back to me. "Hey, you don't owe me anything. I'll call this 'cleaning out old supply.' Just come back once you return from your vacation, all tan and with your new man!"
At some point, Sanford and I would need to come clean to her, I knew. Briefly, I smiled as I imagined her reaction. Man, her eyes might pop all the way out of her head!
Chapter Twenty-Three
*
"Today's the last day - here we go!" I sang out as I woke up. Since Sanford wasn't here, I knew that Whiskers would be hanging out near me, trusting that I'd be willing to provide him with his normal breakfast in Sanford's absence.
Yesterday afternoon, Sanford had come upstairs halfway through my post-lunch work session, grabbing a suitcase out of his closet. "I've got a sudden matter that came up in the city," he explained to me as he dumped clothes into the suitcase. "I should just be gone for a couple of days. You've got keys to the place, and Winston will still be around to help out with anything you need."
"He can't help out with everything I need," I replied, leaning in and blinking soulfully up at the man. "Not unless he's got a much younger body under that tuxedo than he lets on!"
Sanford grimaced at the image that I had summoned up in his head. "Everything related to work. I'll be back pretty soon, promise."
So that evening, yesterday night, I went back to my cottage and made my own dinner, eating for one instead of for two. It felt rather strange, even though Sanford and I had only really been together for a couple of weeks. Already, going up to my bed, I missed the comforting warmth of him beside me, the relaxing, steady sound of his deep breathing.
Still, even without Sanford next to me, I felt a rush of excitement course through me as I sat up this morning. I'd finally tackled the last of the little antiques that cluttered up the upstairs bedrooms and the room that Sanford had turned into a study of sorts. Today, I could go over and do one last walkthrough of the house, making sure that I'd accounted for everything on my several-pages-long bill!
I'd need to wait for Sanford to come back, of course, before I could hand the bill over. I knew that he'd want to go through every line item on the bill with me, making sure that I wasn't daring to overcharge him anywhere, and he wouldn't be content to leave the bill to Winston to settle in his stead.
A little part of me wondered what might happen next. Would he want to have a serious talk about our relationship? I still could continue working for him if he wanted to sell off any of these pieces - and I suspected that he would be easily persuaded to do so, at least for a lot of the smaller little curios. That would equal more commission for me, plus more time to hang around with him. Maybe, instead, he'd be interested in Della's vacation idea, whisking me off to somewhere sun-drenched and exotic.
I climbed out of bed, got dressed, and gave Whiskers his usual bowl of cat food. In an effort to try and cut down on the amount of food that he ingested, I'd started dumping the can of cat food out into a bowl, and then putting a spoonful back into the can before placing the bowl down on the floor. So far, Whiskers hadn't noticed the slight decrease in serving portion, but hopefully it would help him shed a couple of pounds.
Making sure that my bill and laptop were tucked into my shoulder bag, I snagged the key to Sanford's house from the hook next to my front door and headed over to the mansion. I made my way up to the front door,
but I heard someone moving on the other side as I started to slide the key into the lock.
Winston? I pulled my key out of the lock, just in time as the door opened up from the other side.
But the person on the other side of the door, when it opened, was definitely not the elderly butler.
"Who are you?" asked the woman standing inside the Winterhearst mansion as she glared out at me, a slight Southern accent coloring her words.
I stared back at her, wondering the very same question. "Uh, I'm Elaine Dean, furniture and antiques appraiser," I said, reverting to my default greeting. "Who are-"
"Ah, the appraiser! Sandy did mention that he was hiring one of those," the woman interrupted me, her frown lessening. "And you must be the one who's put these sticky notes everywhere. I suppose he's just granted you the run of the house, has he?"
I blinked, still feeling like I was off balance as I tried to figure out who this woman was. She certainly didn't look like hired help. She'd called him Sandy??
I guessed that she stood close to six feet tall, possibly only an inch or two shorter than Sanford himself. A solid inch of that height was her hair, platinum blonde and rolling down in gorgeous, movie-star level waves. She looked like a movie star, I had to admit, or like she'd had several stylists working on her for hours to get her into perfect runway condition. She wore a tight little off-the-shoulder dress that I'd never be able to pull off in a million years, in part because it clung to her body like gauze and revealed the absence of a single pound of body fat. Sequins glittered around the hem, matched by the light glinting off of the diamond studs in the woman's ears, a gold necklace that wrapped around her graceful, swan-like neck, and a gigantic rock that dazzled from her ring finger.
Just standing next to her, on the doorstep, made me especially self-conscious. I'd chosen to wear a particularly stained tee shirt this morning, since Sanford wouldn't be around to see it, and my jeans had a big white splotch on the butt from where I'd once accidentally sat down on a bench that still had wet paint drying on it. Next to this blonde creature, I felt like a caterpillar looking up at a fully transformed and gorgeous butterfly.
"Um, what?" I asked, dimly aware that she'd asked me a question. "Sorry, but who are you?"
"Oh, of course! How silly of me, forgetting to introduce myself!" The blonde woman threw her head back and let out a laugh that seemed more for show than out of any real amusement. "I'm Valencia, of course." She held her hand out to me.
That didn't help. "Valencia?" I repeated, not yet moving to take the offered hand. Valencia, or whoever she was, held her hand out to me with the palm facing down, tilting her fingers forward as if she expected me to bend down and kiss them. That massive diamond ring glittered up at me, and I sensed that she'd held out her hand this way to make sure that I didn't miss the size of the gem.
"Well, yes - hasn't Sandy talked about me?" When my expression didn't change, she let out another one of those fake laughs. "Oh, he's so quiet and repressive. I'm Valencia O'Hara." She paused for an instant, as if to lend more impact to her next words. "His fiancee."
I felt as though she'd just socked me in the gut. "His what?"
"Why, his fiancee, of course!" she repeated. "I've been wrapping up most of the matters in the city, but he had to go up today to sign the last paperwork on closing up the old place. Now that we're moving in here, there's no reason to pay two sets of cleaning staff, is there?"
"Sanford is engaged?" I repeated, wondering if this was how it felt to have a stroke. My head hurt like crazy. "That can't be right - he never said anything-"
"Oh, he doesn't like talking about himself, thinks that he can play Mister Dark and Mysterious with everyone he meets," Valencia said, giving another little disparaging wave of her hand. From deep inside of me, I felt a petty and personal dislike of the woman growing bigger with each second spent in her presence. "I'll get him under control, though, don't you worry."
I didn't say anything, and an awkward silence fell over us for a moment. Valencia cleared her throat, frowning out at me, and I realized that I still stood on the front stoop of the Winterhearst mansion, right in her path.
"Do you need something else?" the woman asked after a moment, as I tried to get any sort of thought into my head, fighting the rising sense of overwhelming panic.
"Yes - no, I just have a little more review to do," I stammered out. "Really? You're really his fiancee? I swear that he never said he had a fiancee, that he was even seeing anyone!"
Again with the laugh. Sanford might be engaged to this woman, but I itched to hit her in the face after just a minute of speaking with her. "Afraid so, honey," Valencia said, in what sounded like far too patronizing of a tone. "But I'm sure you'll find someone out there for you, someone a bit more your... level."
"Anyway, head on in and take care of whatever else you need to do to finish up this whole appraisal business," Valencia went on, somehow not noticing how her words were making my fingers twitch as I fought to keep from tightening my hands into fists. "But before you go, do you know any good florists in this town? Good at the real bouquets, mind you, not just putting a half dozen wildflowers in a vase and calling it a 'custom arrangement'."
"No," I answered shortly, wondering if she even noticed the frost that rimmed my words.
"Oh, that's unfortunate. My normal florist told me that he doesn't do trips to set up for a wedding, and so I'll need to find someone in the area who can put this all together." Valencia sighed and smiled at me in what I suspected she thought of as a 'girly bonding' way. "Planning a wedding is so hard, you know?"
"I wouldn't," I said shortly, wondering what the real punishment was for assault, especially if it was only my first offense.
"Well, of course you wouldn't, but it's awful. Absolutely horrid. Anyway, I really should be going! So long!"
And with that, she skipped down past me, climbing into a flashy, shiny Mercedes that I somehow hadn't noticed in the driveway and pulling away with a squeal of tires.
I just stood there on the front step of the house, trying to determine whether this was just some sort of horrible hallucination. It had to be, didn't it? The idea that Sanford had been engaged all this time, that he was just using me as the side woman, was absurd.
Right? Wasn't it?
I mean, he'd taken me out (to a restaurant he chose, where nobody else saw us together), he'd flirted with me in public at the wine bar (although he insisted that we were just friends to anyone who asked), and he clearly let Winston find out about our little relationship (although really, who would Winston tell? The butler was clearly loyal to his employer, to the death). He hadn't made a single mention of a fiancee to me.
So he couldn't be married. He didn't have anything to do with Valencia. She had to just be a friend of his, stringing me along.
Right? Right? Please, oh please, let that be right.
I still had to do my walkthrough of the house, making sure that I had everything on my itemized bill accounted for, but I didn't feel up to looking at anything inside the dark and unwelcoming house right now. I could probably go and try to hunt down Winston, but would I really be able to believe anything that the old butler told me?
Finally, I dropped the bill down on a table just inside the front door, next to the keys and umbrellas and other items that someone might need to grab while on their way out of the house. I looked around for a moment, but then turned and headed back home.
Chapter Twenty-Four
*
I didn't stay long at home. Home didn't have any answers for me, and only kept me thinking about it by making sure that I saw the looming Winterhearst mansion whenever I glanced out one of my windows. Did the building really have to loom over me so much?
So instead, I headed to the one place where I knew I'd find an open, welcoming ear, as well as a soft shoulder to support me if I burst into tears.
Vini wasn't technically open this early in the morning, but Della was inside restocking some of the cabinets with fresh bott
les, and she opened the door immediately when she saw me pounding on the other side, a couple of tears rolling down my face as I unsuccessfully tried to hold them back with sniffles.
"Oh my god, what's going on?" she exclaimed as soon as she unlocked the door and pulled it open for me. "What's wrong? Come in, come in, Elaine, talk to me!"
"Wine," I blubbered out, probably looking like an awful mess.
Della was far better than any therapist. While a therapist might have tried to get me to open up and talk about my issues first, Della knew that a glass of wine couldn't possibly hurt, and would probably help. She had one sitting in front of me on the counter by the time that my butt (a respectably sized butt, not a tiny little yoga one like Valencia had, I thought miserably to myself) landed in the tall chair.
"Drink, then talk," she commanded, plopping the wine bottle down on the counter next to me. "Refill as necessary."
I nodded, drained half the glass of wine in a single gulp, and then groaned. "He's engaged," I said, a fresh wave of tears threatening to erupt from my eyes just from those two words.
Of course, Della didn't have any idea as to whom I was referring, but she still rushed around the counter to put her arms around me. She was wonderfully soft, and I again wondered why any man might choose a stick-thin woman over someone like her. "There, there, it's okay," she murmured as she patted my back. "Just get it out in your own time."
After a few seconds, I felt a little better, enough to let go of her and reach out for my wine glass. "Sanford," I said, as I lifted it up to my mouth again. "He's engaged, to this woman who's just awful. She only just showed up today, and I guess she's finally moving down from the city. He went up there last night, she said to finish making the plans to move."
Bad Boy of Wall Street: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance Page 31
