Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
I disregard the obscene amount of money I’ve just blown, and the reason I’ve blown it, and sashay down the familiar alleyway. I’m smiling . . . until I emerge into the peaceful tranquillity of The Haven’s courtyard and see Mrs Potts waiting for me. My feet stutter to a halt, and I stand quietly while she takes in me and my new attire. Heck, I’ve made too much effort, and it’s not escaping her notice. Has Becker spoken to her about Countryscape? And if he did, is she pissed off?
‘You look lovely, dear,’ she says, stunning me. ‘You’ll fit right in.’
Oh? I brush down my new mac. ‘Thank you.’
She smiles sympathetically. She thinks I’m trying to impress him. When she’s out of sight, I drop my head back and look to the skies in exasperation. No, I’m not. I just want to . . . fit in.
‘The grumpy face kind of ruins the elegance.’
My head snaps down, and I find Becker in the distance, regarding me closely. I come over all restless and start faffing with anything I can lay my hands on, starting with my scarf. Oh, good God, he looks magnificent in a brown tweed suit, with navy brogues and matching tie and hanky poking neatly out of his top pocket. His hair has been manipulated to the side. His glasses are gracing his perfect face. His jaw is peppered with stubble.
I’m fucking doomed.
‘Will you just stand still for a moment?’ he calls, halting my fidgeting.
‘Excuse me?’
‘You look perfect. Stop fiddling.’
I force myself to obey and push my shoulders back, my breasts jutting out as a result. I didn’t mean to do that. I was trying to stand tall and elegantly.
‘Better,’ he says on a smirk, wandering over, his eyes sparkling in pleasure. ‘You didn’t need to go to all this effort, princess.’ There’s humour in his tone, and I leap to my defence.
‘You said it’s posh. I didn’t want to feel uncomfortable.’
‘And do you feel comfortable?’
I wriggle my shoulders on a little grimace. ‘Kind of.’
He laughs as he reaches forward and affectionately pushes a stray lock of my red hair over my shoulder. The gesture is soft, sweet, and way too inappropriate, and it has me freezing, looking out the corner of my eye to his hand that’s hovering close to my cheek. Becker’s frozen too, and silence falls as I watch his eyes shimmer, the green shining through. I don’t know what to do. Shy away?
He bites his bottom lip. I swallow as a result.
Oh God.
A loud clatter from across the courtyard makes us both jump back, widening the space between us. We both look to the same place at the same time, finding Becker’s grandad poking at an old beam outside the Grand Hall with his walking stick.
Becker curses and shoots over. ‘Gramps, what are you doing?’
Old Mr H totters around at the sound of his grandson’s worried tone and smiles the brightest smile I’ve ever seen. It warms me to the bone. ‘Becker boy.’ He accepts Becker’s offer of support, linking arms with him and giving his cheek an affectionate pat with his old, deformed hand. ‘Just checking for woodworm.’
Becker rolls his eyes. ‘There’s no woodworm, Gramps.’
‘I know that because I just checked. Can’t be too careful, Becker boy. If those little buggers find their way into the Grand Hall, we’ll have a catastrophe on our hands.’
I chuckle to myself as I wander over to join them, watching their exchange fondly. ‘Good afternoon, Mr H.’
‘Afternoon, Eleanor,’ he says, flicking his eyes to me and doing a double take. ‘Oh, I say.’
I sag and wait for it.
‘Do you have another date?’
I turn tomato red. ‘No, I’m going to Countryscape with Mr Hunt.’
Now Becker rolls his eyes at me, and I shrug, giving him a what? look. If we don’t tell Mr H, Mrs Potts will. ‘Thought she would learn a lot,’ Becker sighs, flicking his grandad a wary look, like he’s waiting for the backlash.
Mr H is looking at his grandson like he’s lost his mind. ‘You’re taking Eleanor to Countryscape?’
Becker nods decisively.
‘But . . . what . . .’ He does a damn fine rendition of Mrs Potts, who was equally as stunned by Becker’s proclamation. What’s the big deal? The old man gathers himself and flicks me a cautious look before returning his attention to his grandson. ‘You work alone, Becker boy. No distractions.’
Oh, I get it. When you’re spending God knows how much on precious things, you need your wits about you. But I suspect that’s not the only thing concerning Becker’s grandad. He’s worried about us being alone.
‘Trust me, Gramps,’ Becker says. ‘My focus can’t be hampered. Not by anything.’ He tosses me a deliberate dirty look, highlighting that anything means me. I have no intention of distracting him. I’ll be still and quiet and take in this new experience. He won’t hear a peep from me. I take my pinched thumb and forefinger to my lips and pull an imaginary zip across, making Becker’s filthy look disintegrate fast. He shakes his head on a small smile. ‘Come on, you old fool.’ He redirects his attention to his grandad. ‘Let’s get you to your suite.’