Page 75 of Claimed At First Sight

That’s where I need to be.

I spot a side door sitting ajar. Well, that’s practically an invitation to explore the inside.

I slip through the opening, and heated, humid air wraps around me instantly, along with the rich scent of flowers and fresh earth.

I look around, stunned. The inside is even more impressive than the outside.

Towering glass ceilings arch high overhead, condensation gleaming beneath hanging lanterns tucked among the greenery. Flower beds curve through the enormous space alongside stone pathways, while climbing roses twist around black iron frames.

My gaze drifts toward the enormous citrus trees arranged around a sunken seating area filled with cream sofas, thick blankets, and a crackling stone fireplace.

I make a beeline for the sofa closest to the fire, dropping onto it with a relieved sigh and holding my hands toward the flames.

Painful pins and needles stab back into my frozen fingers.

Ow.

I curl deeper into the leather, letting the heat soak into my skin while I glance around the conservatory in awe.

The entire space seems to be designed to make winter disappear.

Whoever created this intended people to linger here.

The more I look around, the more details stand out to me. Somewhere nearby, water trickles from a stone fountain among the plants.

Fresh soil still darkens the flower beds beneath the lantern light. Young climbing vines curl around the iron frames, only beginning to spread upward, while other sections still wait for something to be planted.

Everything here looks new.

“You know, most women wearing couture don’t wander around gardens wrapped in tablecloths,” an amused voice suddenly says from somewhere behind me.

I jerk upright so fast I nearly tangle myself in the stolen linen.

My heart jumps straight into my throat. For one horrible second, I’m convinced I’ve been caught breaking into some secret part of Maximo’s estate.

Instead of security, though, I find a girl about my age leaning casually against one of the iron pillars nearby, amusement dancing across her face.

Dark pixie-cut hair streaked with copper catches the firelight, the messy strands somehow making her look effortlessly artistic instead of chaotic. An oversized charcoal sweater hangs off one shoulder above black jeans tucked into worn boots, and a camera rests against her hip on a leather strap.

“Oh my God,” I breathe, pressing a hand against my chest. “You half scared me to death.”

Her grin widens.

“Sorry. I thought you would’ve heard me coming.”

“No, I was too busy stealing tablecloths and trespassing.”

She glances pointedly at the linen wrapped around me.

“To be fair, they do elevate the look.”

A startled laugh escapes me, and just like that, some of the tension inside me loosens.

“I’m Rory,” she says, pushing away from the pillar and wandering closer. “My dad manages the grounds here.”

That explains why she seems so at ease.

“I’m Mia. I’m just visiting.”