He knew that Zara was curious. She looked at him, questioningly. “Yes, if it’s no trouble?!” she said, a little unsure of herself. He leaned forward and told the driver to turn around.
The car stopped in front of the stone house, the chauffeur opened the door and helped Zara step out onto the dark, quiet street. There were small trees in stone urns on the steps to the entrance door.
He probably has a housekeeper, Zara thought.
She noticed that the house was equipped with cameras and a security lock. Not unusual for New York.
Gregor opened the door and let Zara enter; she walked past him and looked around.
The foyer was now much larger and brighter; he had the contractors break through the roof and insert skylights, which allowed light to enter from above during the day. There was a furniture grouping upholstered in white, with brown accent pillows, in the enlarged entry area; everything was as Zara had imagined. She was more than disconcerted and kept quiet. She would have done nothing differently than he, or his interior designer, had done.
He went ahead and led her through the entire house in silence – on the last floor there was also a large living room with an enormous terrace overlooking the courtyard – and here the stone flooring was replaced with old, dark brown wood.
“So?” he asked her, and sat down in a chair, watching her as she looked through the large glass doors onto the terrace, into the darkness. She had said nothing so far; did the house appeal to her? He had no idea.
“I was so impressed by the stone- and wood-floors,” she finally said and looked at him briefly, as he sat there, observing her in the semi-darkness, with the fire in the fireplace the only illumination. She had to admit that her heart beat faster, and that she was nervous because she was alone with him. He exuded sex – and she hadn’t had any for a really long time, she thought, frustrated. “That’s also why I wanted the house,” he said, and placed his hand on the arm of the chair, supporting himself. “You snatched the apartment away from me,” she said, smiling slightly. He was apparently often quicker than she.
She saw that a few rooms were empty; the house was very large. “It’s very large for one person,” she commented. She wondered silently whether he was still with Catherine. Everything was so neat, so clean, so perfect, it didn’t seem lived in.
“That could change,” he said pensively and she looked at him, disconcerted. Was he planning to live here with someone in the near future? Was he being direct, or did she come too late? She would certainly find out presently.
In her tight, long dress, with her long curls, she seemed so fragile in the ray of light from the fireplace, like a celestial being. “She belongs in this house; no other woman belongs here,” he thought, and then said something that he had already had on his mind for a very long time but had never uttered.
“Marry me!” He could just as soon have said, “Jump out the window” or “Tomorrow the world will end” – for the effect it had on Zara.
Zara’s mouth fell open and she stared at him, aghast. At first she thought she had misheard. She saw him sitting there, his head inclined to the side, his legs crossed, calmly looking at her.
“I believe I just misheard,” she said slowly. “I don’t think so, I’ll be happy to repeat myself: marry me!” It sounded almost like an order. Zara felt a shudder running down her spine. Was he serious, or what was he doing? She shook her head, still flabbergasted. “What makes you think of something like that? I’m a conceited aristocrat to you, and I don’t love you; I don’t even know you!” This couldn’t be happening, it was like a dream from which she couldn’t wake up. Such an idea had never occurred to her and she had had her share of crazy ideas about him in the last few years. But marriage? Actually, one marriage was quite enough for her, and she didn’t
The car stopped in front of the stone house, the chauffeur opened the door and helped Zara step out onto the dark, quiet street. There were small trees in stone urns on the steps to the entrance door.
He probably has a housekeeper, Zara thought.
She noticed that the house was equipped with cameras and a security lock. Not unusual for New York.
Gregor opened the door and let Zara enter; she walked past him and looked around.
The foyer was now much larger and brighter; he had the contractors break through the roof and insert skylights, which allowed light to enter from above during the day. There was a furniture grouping upholstered in white, with brown accent pillows, in the enlarged entry area; everything was as Zara had imagined. She was more than disconcerted and kept quiet. She would have done nothing differently than he, or his interior designer, had done.
He went ahead and led her through the entire house in silence – on the last floor there was also a large living room with an enormous terrace overlooking the courtyard – and here the stone flooring was replaced with old, dark brown wood.
“So?” he asked her, and sat down in a chair, watching her as she looked through the large glass doors onto the terrace, into the darkness. She had said nothing so far; did the house appeal to her? He had no idea.
“I was so impressed by the stone- and wood-floors,” she finally said and looked at him briefly, as he sat there, observing her in the semi-darkness, with the fire in the fireplace the only illumination. She had to admit that her heart beat faster, and that she was nervous because she was alone with him. He exuded sex – and she hadn’t had any for a really long time, she thought, frustrated. “That’s also why I wanted the house,” he said, and placed his hand on the arm of the chair, supporting himself. “You snatched the apartment away from me,” she said, smiling slightly. He was apparently often quicker than she.
She saw that a few rooms were empty; the house was very large. “It’s very large for one person,” she commented. She wondered silently whether he was still with Catherine. Everything was so neat, so clean, so perfect, it didn’t seem lived in.
“That could change,” he said pensively and she looked at him, disconcerted. Was he planning to live here with someone in the near future? Was he being direct, or did she come too late? She would certainly find out presently.
In her tight, long dress, with her long curls, she seemed so fragile in the ray of light from the fireplace, like a celestial being. “She belongs in this house; no other woman belongs here,” he thought, and then said something that he had already had on his mind for a very long time but had never uttered.
“Marry me!” He could just as soon have said, “Jump out the window” or “Tomorrow the world will end” – for the effect it had on Zara.
Zara’s mouth fell open and she stared at him, aghast. At first she thought she had misheard. She saw him sitting there, his head inclined to the side, his legs crossed, calmly looking at her.
“I believe I just misheard,” she said slowly. “I don’t think so, I’ll be happy to repeat myself: marry me!” It sounded almost like an order. Zara felt a shudder running down her spine. Was he serious, or what was he doing? She shook her head, still flabbergasted. “What makes you think of something like that? I’m a conceited aristocrat to you, and I don’t love you; I don’t even know you!” This couldn’t be happening, it was like a dream from which she couldn’t wake up. Such an idea had never occurred to her and she had had her share of crazy ideas about him in the last few years. But marriage? Actually, one marriage was quite enough for her, and she didn’t
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