Page 52 of Bombshell

“Yes, of course. I knew it was familiar.” She turns and beckons us to follow her into the grand foyer.

Inside the traditional English style gives way to an eclectic, but warm interior. The walls are papered with a lush floral print flocked with raised velvet in brilliant jewel-tones. Dozens of paintings hang in gilded frames along the corridor. The hall continues with a diamond patterned marble floor until it reaches a sweeping staircase. Everywhere I look there is something beautiful and expensive, but somehow despite the opulence, I feel completely welcome. It’s the opposite of the mansions where we’d grown up in Valmont.

“I have you each set up in a guest cottage. I assumed you might want your privacy.”

“Each of us?” Cyrus says. “That’s—” he cuts off when Poppy shoots him a warning look. “Very gracious of you.”

“I’ve had some refreshments laid out, but perhaps, you’d like a moment to rest after your trip?” Her keen eyes turn to me, and I wish I could shrink and disappear into the flocked wallpaper of the foyer.

“That would be lovely,” Poppy says. “Then we can stay up late with you.”

“Yes, us girls can visit,” she says airily. “I’ll have Max bring trays to your rooms.”

“Thank you,” Cyrus says, but Aja merely shrugs and goes to speak with a maid.

“I’m sorry. I should have warned you that she’s very old-fashioned,” Poppy says in a lowered voice. “I thought she might see me as an adult, but…”

“It’s okay,” he says, waving off her apology. “It’s only a few days and then we’ll be off on our own in Italy.”

“About that? I’ve been reconsidering Cannes,” she says.

“I think I will lie down,” I say loudly before I get caught playing the third wheel again.

Aja appears next to me. “Let me show you your cottage. Poppy can take her boyfriend to his.”

Cyrus looks relieved to get away from her dissecting gaze. Aja guides me through a dining room and out a pair of French doors.

“We’ve modernized,” Aja tells me as we walk toward a small, white cottage past a hedgerow. “It took me forever to convince my husband and then it took forever to actually get anything done. The English are never in a hurry to change something. He passed away before it was finished.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, knowing exactly what it feels like to lose someone with business unfinished.

“Don’t be. I miss him, but I finally have a modern kitchen,” she says with a wink. She opens the cottage door and moves to the side, allowing me to enter. “After all these years, I feel certain I know you. I thought you would find this one the most comfortable.”

The cottage, like the house itself, is a surprise. Most guest houses in Valmont are decorated to suit any one who might use the space. This one feels like it serves a distinct purpose. Built into each wall, bookshelves cluttered with hundreds of books greet me. Comfortable old chairs and beautiful Tiffany-glass lamps are shoved into every corner.

“My husband had a writer friend who would descend upon us to write his latest masterpiece every year or so. Some of the books are his, some my Thomas placed here for him. We started calling it The Bookery.”

“It’s amazing,” I say honestly, unable to tear my eyes from the spines on the shelf.

“I knew you would approve,” Aja says. “My priya’s other friend maybe not so much.”

“Cyrus?” I say absently.

“I think he’s quite put out to stay in a separate bed from my granddaughter,” she guesses.

“Oh, I don’t know. We’re very traditional in Tennessee, too.”

“So I hear.” Aja smiles, but her eyes skim over me and linger at my waistline for just long enough that I stop breathing. “But one can never be too careful with a boy like that. Unless I’m wrong about Mr. Eaton?”

She waits and I’m not sure what to say.

“I’ve known Cyrus since we were kids,” I say lamely.

“I don’t think you need to say any more.” She pats my arm. “I’m sure he’s fine, but there’s something of the wolf in him. Not a good match for my lamb.”

“A wolf?” I repeat. I can’t pretend that I’ve always thought kindly of him, but calling him a wolf feels like an overestimation.

“In his eyes,” she says, tilting her head. “You can’t see it?”