bikinis gleaming under the lights, and Julian didn’t flinch. He didn’t look. Was he really a gentleman? One thing was for sure, he wasn’t a hookup, clubbing, player type of guy, Vanessa knew that. He had a crumbling estate, a legacy that was losing the race against time, and maybe that weighed heavily on him. Or it could simply be jet lag. It had been a long day.
“Let’s get you back,” she said.
On the way she checked the number of responses to opening the ball with Julian. Three hundred and fifty-one? She had initially thought twenty, maybe thirty women would respond.
She also no longer felt impartial enough to judge the contestants.
When she unlocked the door to Aunt Ella’s condo, she heard a shrill noise and fear ran up her spine. She hurried in and found, there in the kitchen, the teakettle on the electric stove, boiling and whistling without water in it. She twisted the burner to off, tossed the kettle into the sink, where it made a sizzling sound, and barreled into her aunt’s bedroom.
Her aunt lay sleeping soundly in her bed, her ample chest rising and falling regularly, thank God. Vanessa would have to tell the doctor about this tomorrow—what luck that they were going so soon.
When she closed the bedroom door, she backed right into Julian, who stood directly behind her. His strong, tall body took her at first by surprise. Then she felt only palpable relief. He put his hands on her shoulders and slowly turned her around.
“She’s safe,” he whispered. He led her to the living room and took her in his arms. “You mind her so well. But some things are out of your control.”
She fought back the tears welling in her eyes. It felt so good, so right, to be comforted by him. Then again, she might have felt the same about any man there at that moment, right? It didn’t have to be a Mr. Darcy from England, did it? She didn’t want to become . . . attached . . . or had she already? Would he try to kiss her again? She didn’t want a kiss. No, she didn’t want the
possibility
of a kiss and the possibility of a changed mind. He was a client, after all.
She broke away from him with a smile. “Aunt Ella isn’t the only one causing me problems at the moment.”
“Who else is?”
“You.”
“Me?”
If he only knew. “Yes, you.” She pulled out her phone and got an updated tally. “There are three hundred and fifty-seven women—and two men—who would like to open the ball with you tomorrow night. One of the women is Lexi. Some of the people who responded aren’t even at the conference!”
He watched as she scrolled through the litany of responses. “Vanessa. Whatever have you done out there in cyberspace? You are being cautious, aren’t you?”
“Cautious? This is the kind of stir we want to create.” She sighed. “Mostly. But now my aunt has her heart set on my opening the ball with you. Any suggestions, Mr. Darcy?”
* * *
L ater that night, propped up with her laptop in bed and her phone by her side, she replayed his response to her in her head.
He had brushed her cheek with his hand and said, “You need to tell them all, and that includes Lexi, that I’ve made my choice, and I’ve chosen you.”
He had said it so quickly, and with such determination, that, under different circumstances, she might have thought he was flirting with her. But why would he flirt with her when he had chosen not to kiss her?
As she stared at her eBelieve in-box in the glow of her laptop screen, she convinced herself that he probably chose to open the dance with her simply to please Aunt Ella.
Vanessa told him she didn’t quite feel comfortable communicating the news to everyone, and he said he would post the message himself tomorrow. Julian on social media?
That
she couldn’t wait to see.
She clicked on her eBelieve in-box, but none of the men nor their messages appealed, and she soon found herself doing an Internet search on Julian. She had done this before she put together his
“Let’s get you back,” she said.
On the way she checked the number of responses to opening the ball with Julian. Three hundred and fifty-one? She had initially thought twenty, maybe thirty women would respond.
She also no longer felt impartial enough to judge the contestants.
When she unlocked the door to Aunt Ella’s condo, she heard a shrill noise and fear ran up her spine. She hurried in and found, there in the kitchen, the teakettle on the electric stove, boiling and whistling without water in it. She twisted the burner to off, tossed the kettle into the sink, where it made a sizzling sound, and barreled into her aunt’s bedroom.
Her aunt lay sleeping soundly in her bed, her ample chest rising and falling regularly, thank God. Vanessa would have to tell the doctor about this tomorrow—what luck that they were going so soon.
When she closed the bedroom door, she backed right into Julian, who stood directly behind her. His strong, tall body took her at first by surprise. Then she felt only palpable relief. He put his hands on her shoulders and slowly turned her around.
“She’s safe,” he whispered. He led her to the living room and took her in his arms. “You mind her so well. But some things are out of your control.”
She fought back the tears welling in her eyes. It felt so good, so right, to be comforted by him. Then again, she might have felt the same about any man there at that moment, right? It didn’t have to be a Mr. Darcy from England, did it? She didn’t want to become . . . attached . . . or had she already? Would he try to kiss her again? She didn’t want a kiss. No, she didn’t want the
possibility
of a kiss and the possibility of a changed mind. He was a client, after all.
She broke away from him with a smile. “Aunt Ella isn’t the only one causing me problems at the moment.”
“Who else is?”
“You.”
“Me?”
If he only knew. “Yes, you.” She pulled out her phone and got an updated tally. “There are three hundred and fifty-seven women—and two men—who would like to open the ball with you tomorrow night. One of the women is Lexi. Some of the people who responded aren’t even at the conference!”
He watched as she scrolled through the litany of responses. “Vanessa. Whatever have you done out there in cyberspace? You are being cautious, aren’t you?”
“Cautious? This is the kind of stir we want to create.” She sighed. “Mostly. But now my aunt has her heart set on my opening the ball with you. Any suggestions, Mr. Darcy?”
* * *
L ater that night, propped up with her laptop in bed and her phone by her side, she replayed his response to her in her head.
He had brushed her cheek with his hand and said, “You need to tell them all, and that includes Lexi, that I’ve made my choice, and I’ve chosen you.”
He had said it so quickly, and with such determination, that, under different circumstances, she might have thought he was flirting with her. But why would he flirt with her when he had chosen not to kiss her?
As she stared at her eBelieve in-box in the glow of her laptop screen, she convinced herself that he probably chose to open the dance with her simply to please Aunt Ella.
Vanessa told him she didn’t quite feel comfortable communicating the news to everyone, and he said he would post the message himself tomorrow. Julian on social media?
That
she couldn’t wait to see.
She clicked on her eBelieve in-box, but none of the men nor their messages appealed, and she soon found herself doing an Internet search on Julian. She had done this before she put together his
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