Growing bored and slightly annoyed at trying to see through all this darkness, I rise and move toward the window, yanking the tapestry to the side. The room floods with light and specks of dust, sending a quick sear to my eyes. I squint, shielding my eyes with my hand, and turn back toward the doorway.
And then the first thing I see is her hair.
Golden red. Lustrous.
“That tapestry is an Auclair. Sixteenth century. It’s called Hunt of Pegasus. But by all means, please, put your hands all over it.” Her voice slices through the thickened air.
And then I see her eyes.
Bluest blue. Lit from within.
“Serena.” I move toward her, my hand extended as I struggle to breathe at the sight of her. “Derek Rosewood. Your conservator. Pleasure to meet you.”
“My financial conservator,” she corrects me. Our hands meet, and hers are delicate, unworked. “I don’t need a minder. In fact, I don’t need a financial minder either, but apparently, you make a string of bad decisions, and the next thing you know, your father is cutting you off and sentencing you to life in this dungeon and your stepmother is ringing her attorney on speed dial.”
“Shall we?” I point toward the sofa and let her take a seat first.
Eudora appears from around the corner, placing a small tray on the coffee table before us. A steaming porcelain tea kettle and a sachet of tea rest on one end, and a glass of iced tea in a crystal chalice rest on the other.
“Sugar?” Serena’s eyes meet mine.
“Please.”
She lifts one lump with a tiny spoon and deposits it in my glass, giving it a quick stir. When she’s finished, she clinks the spoon on the rim three times and places it to the side before handing me the glass.
I watch as she prepares her drink with slow, deliberate movements, like she has all the time in the world.
And I suppose she does.
“Mm.” She brings the teacup to her mouth, taking in a careful sip, and I realize I have yet to touch mine. “This sofa once belonged to Wallis Simpson, Duchess of Windsor. She was a family friend of my great-grandparents. You know, King Edward the eighth abdicated his throne for her. Which is insane. And romantic.”
“I think I heard that once. Yes,” I lie. I know zero about British royal history, but I can bullshit with the best of them.
“The Queen Mother hated Wallis. Drama knows no social status.”
“Or some people are drawn to it. Moths to flames. Can’t help themselves.”
Serena rolls her deep-set eyes.
“Do you know why I’m telling you these things, Derek?” she asks, blue eyes alert and eyebrows raised.
Her pink lips are pulled into a half-smirk, and I can’t help but feel as if she’s two steps ahead of me, testing me, feeling me out. I can’t imagine growing up with this kind of wealth and privilege, but I can imagine what it might do to a person.
Regardless, I can’t read this girl to save my life. She’s spinning a web of intrigue, and I’m completely drawn in. Most of the time, I can figure someone out in under two minutes. A few words, some body language observations—you tend to uncover an agenda or modus operandi.
But Serena’s not so simple.
“I have no idea, Serena.” I mirror her in tone and posture. She’s particularly guarded, and I need to soften her if I can.
“Because I’m bored.” She rises and exhales, running a hand down the front of the silky lavender robe that wraps her lithe body. “When you live in social isolation in a damn museum, you become a vat of useless knowledge.”
And apparently, intensely bitter.
“And you’re not helping anything.” Her blue eyes snap into mine.
“Me?” I try not to laugh. Instead, I remind myself that she’s not of sound mind. If she were, I wouldn’t be here.
“Just staring at me like that.” Her perfect nose wrinkles, and she releases the faintest little sigh before taking another sip of tea. “Staring is rude, Derek Rosewood.”
“I’m not staring.”
“But you are. You should’ve seen the way your mouth hung when you saw me standing here a minute ago.”
She’s a beautiful woman. Deeply attractive. Blindingly so. Looking at her is like staring into the sun. If I stare too long, I won’t be able to see anything else. From head to toe, she’s exquisite. I’ll give her that. But this conceit is knocking all of that down a few levels. Vanity isn’t a good look on anyone.
“What are you talking about?” I rise, but I don’t go to her.
“You were staring at me like I’m some . . . crazy person.” Serena’s eyes fall to the thickly piled rug at our feet.
And then I understand.
This isn’t about her beauty at all.
She tucks a smooth, shiny red wave behind her ear. Her hair is deeply parted, and the full side hangs over her shoulder. The coppery red plays off her pale purple robe, and the warm afternoon sun makes her milky complexion glow.
“Serena.” I clear my throat, moving two steps closer. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I don’t know you. Not yet, anyway. I’m just here to do my job. I’m here to protect your assets and see to it that your funds are appropriately allocated until the conservatorship is over. That’s all. I’m not here to judge you. I’m not here to be intrusive or invading. I want you to be comfortable. You are my priority.”
Her blue eyes lift to mine, and her expression softens. Serena’s heart-shaped lips relax, but only for a split second.