Page 43 of Fated Love with You

“If we were talking about moving you intomysuite, yes,” he says. “You have your own. You’re free to slip into mine whenever you like though.”

“I don’t have any experience nannying children, and I?—”

“Please…” The soft tone in his voice catches me off guard. A flicker of vulnerability flashes in his eyes.

“I wasn’t planning on asking you for help in this department at all,” he says, “but it’s too late for me to vet anyone else who works for me, and even then, my supply of trust is low.”

Silence.

“Can you help me with this, Autumn?” he asks, stunning me again. “I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you,” he says, threading his fingers through my hair. “I appreciate this.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Do you need to grab anything from your Airbnb, or would you like me to get you a new wardrobe?”

“I’ll take you up on the new wardrobe.”

“Good.” He smiles, and I remember the binder Kylie gave me, still safely tucked in my purse. “You’ll get a call from someone soon about the type of clothes you want.”

“Will the business trips you take be long?”

“A couple days here and there,” he says. “I always give Adeline the departure and arrival times.”

“Noted.”

He slips an arm around my waist and pulls me close enough to kiss me, looking like he wants to fuck right here and now, but his phone sounds in his pocket.

Letting me go, he pulls it out and glances at the screen.

“I need to take this,” he says. His voice isn’t soft anymore. “Adeline is in the practice room, Miss Jane.”

The whiplash is instant, the boundary drawn up without any lead-up—like I’ve gone from lover to employee in a single breath.

I walk away before I can think too much about the way he’s so easily able to shut himself off—or why I’m starting to think I’ve just been locked inside a gilded cage.

End of Episode 14

Formata

EPISODE 15

Autumn

The long and lush notes of Bach’sChaconnepull me closer as I walk down the west wing of the estate. The strings from the violin sing as if they’re being tamed by a professional—perhaps Adele’s teacher—but when I peer into the room, the teacher is staring at the sheet music.

Adele is standing near the window, playing the piece without even looking at the printed notes.

I lean against the doorframe and listen in awe, letting her precision lure me out of my thoughts. I’m falling into the story, feeling my fingers itch to play along, when suddenly the teacher taps a ruler against the stand.

“Very nice,” she says. “Let’s stop for today.”

“Bravo!” I clap from where I’m standing. That doesn’t even begin to describe what I’ve just heard.

The two of them look toward me, and I clear my throat.