Page 19 of How to Belong with a Billionaire

“You don’t?”

She cast me a look of mingled exasperation and fondness. “Yes, yes, you’re a very special mushroom. Now, I’m sure I must have something around here somewhere.”

“Um, what do you normally eat?” I asked.

“Lemon juice and broken hearts.” There followed a series of clashes and clatters as she began opening doors seemingly at random and peering at whatever lay within. “Actually, I usually stay in London, where I eat out or order in. I’ve never quite got the hang of domesticity.”

That figured. I couldn’t have imagined George cooking. But then, I’m not sure it would have occurred to me to imagine us in our jammies in her kitchen either. Though more fool me for that, because it was actually really nice. And George was still very George—sardonic and sexy and far kinder than she’d want anyone to know—it was just the new setting shaping my perceptions. Like when you hold a prism to the light and let it turn through all its colours.

“You should see the places I’ve been living,” I said. “They’re where domesticity goes to die. Trust me, you have nothing to worry about.”

That earned me one of her low chuckles. “I like certain aspects, but not others. If you need a bookshelf building or some cushions buying or a lawn mowing, I’m one hundred percent your huckleberry. If you want fresh milk in the fridge, not a chance. Probably this is God’s way of telling me to get married.” She paused, putting a thoughtful finger to her lips. “Or a housekeeper.”

“Well…youcouldget married?”

“In order to have my kitchen cared for? Arden, I’m not Don Draper.”

“No, I mean. If you there was someone you liked.”

“Dear me.” She turned, with a merciless grin. “A little rimming and you’re anybody’s.”

I went red. All the red. Forever. “Ohmigod, not me. But theoretically.”

“Theoretically I could play Maria in the next revival ofThe Sound of Music. It doesn’t follow I’d be any good at it.”

“Why don’t you think you’d be good at being married?”

“My preferences revolve around encouraging others, not forsaking them.”

“But with the right person, you could not forsake others together?”

“Why the sudden interest in my marital status?” She paused, leaning her hips against one of the counters. “Do you have five unwed daughters you haven’t told me about?”

I heaved a sigh. “And the family estate is entailed as well.”

“Seriously, though, where’s this coming from?”

“I don’t know.” I suddenly found I couldn’t quite look at her and became very interested in the cuff of my dressing gown. “I was just remembering what you said in Starbucks.”

“I said a lot of things in Starbucks.” Her voice had gone a little cool.

“You told me you…you were in love with someone. But that doesn’t mean you have to be alone.”

“At the risk of sounding unnecessarily Garbo about it, Iwantto be alone.” She made a derisive sound at the back of her throat. “Do you really think I’ve spent the last twenty-something years eating my heart out for Mara Fairfax?”

I choked on air. “Mara?”

“Well, obviously.”

Announcing Arden St. Ives: winner of the prestigious, much-coveted Most Oblivious Doink Award. Now I gave the matter half a second’s thought, it all made perfect sense. The way they talked and looked at each other. The trust between them that seemed like second nature. To say nothing of the fact that Mara was six different kinds of scary to pretty much everyone who wasn’t George. I opened my mouth, realised I had no idea what I was going to say, and panic blurted out an “I’m sorry.”

George’s too-mocking brows dipped into the slightest suggestion of a frown. “What for? Even if Mara wasn’t straight and I wasn’t a woman, I wouldn’t be with her. She wants the house in the country, the two-point-four children, the stable full of horses. And she has it. I could never give those to her and I would never take them away.”

A weird noise was coming out of my face. I briefly thought I had the hiccoughs. And then discovered I was crying. Again.

Boo.

“Ah.” A whisper of silk and George was at my side, her fingers moving gently through my hair. “This wasn’t about me at all, was it? Love isn’t a bus during the rush hour. You don’t have to let people off in order to fit more on. Probably you’ll always love Caspian a little bit. But that doesn’t mean you won’t love someone else.”