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He finally looks at me, but there's no recognition in his eyes. "Good. Make them spectacular. Nothing ordinary."
I think of all the times I rearranged entire garden beds just because he mentioned liking a certain color. How I memorized his schedule so I could "accidentally" be working near the path when he took his morning walk. God, I was such an idiot.
"Yes, Mr. Kean." I meet his gaze now, something I never dared before. He's still handsome, but the spell is broken. I seethe coldness behind those green eyes, the way his smile never quite reaches them.
I watch Ronan leave, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft whoosh. It’s almost like my childhood has left with him.
"Hey." Debbie squeezes my shoulder. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I just… It's strange. He’s not as appealing as I remember.”
She snorts out a laugh. “Blaise helped you take those rose-colored glasses off. Thank God.”
“I guess I was a silly girl. I used to think if I just tried harder, worked longer, made everything perfect, then he'd see me.”
“He doesn’t see anyone but himself. Have you noticed that whenever he passes a reflective surface he checks himself out?” She purses her lips and shakes her head.
“He does?” I’m not surprised. Ronan is vain.
“And you’re not silly. You were young. We’ve all been there. I remember crushing on my eighth grade English teacher and bawling my eyes out when I learned he was married.”
I give her a hug. “You’re the best, Deb.”
“Of course. Don’t forget it.”
“I’ve got to get to work. I’m checking the arrangements in the house first.”
“Will I see you for lunch or will you be fucking behind the old oak tree?”
My cheeks heat. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
I leave the kitchen, making my way toward the foyer to check on the large floral display on the entry table. The stems aren’t wilting and the flowers are bright and open, so I decide it can stay one more day.
I start toward the living room when Ronan approaches me. His eyes narrow, like he's trying to place me in his mental catalog of servants even though he just saw me five minutes earlier. "You're the gardener's daughter."
“I was. Now I’m the gardener.”
"Jenny—”
“It’s Jenna. Jenna Hart.” My voice is firm, not wistful like how I used to be around him. "I've been tending your gardens for three years."
"Right. The roses." He crosses his arms, actually looking at me for once. “This meeting on Saturday is important. Everything needs to reek of power and money, even the flowers.”
“Okay. I could sketch some arrangements if you’d like to see them first.” Already, I’m thinking I might have to order flowers, as we have a limited number of blooms in spring in Boston. Plus, ordering something exotic would help him reek of power and money.
Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe, or curiosity. "You sketch the designs?"
"Every arrangement. It helps visualize the final piece." I meet his gaze steadily now, where once, I would have looked away.
“Do that. Leave them with my mother or Keira. One of them will take care of it.” He glances at his watch, already dismissing me. "Just make sure they're impressive."
"Of course, Mr. Kean."
He's already turning away, phone in hand, probably forgetting I exist before he reaches the door. For a moment, sadness fills my chest, but it’s not at his dismissal of me. It’s for the girl who wasted so much time trying to earn his attention. Ronan was my first crush, my teenage dream.
But now I have something real, someone who doesn't make me question my worth or leave me wondering whether I matter. I have Blaise, whose eyes light up when he sees me. Who asks about the garden and actually listens to my answers. Who touches me like I’m a precious treasure.
I return to work, and I think of ways I can do something to make Blaise feel as special as he makes me feel. For the man who taught me the difference between dreams and reality.