Among The Tulips

He grabbed a bar of soap and lathered himself.

He wondered how his guest was faring.

Sean’s words about thinking he was attracted to the woman were ridiculous, of course, except that he had found her fascinating.

She’d been hurt and yet still, somehow, she’d come off sounding so innocent and sweet, so very young.

She reminded him of a young girl he’d known in school when he was still a gangly twelve-year-old. He’d been all legs and arms and the opposite sex had never been interested in him. His face had looked like a map of acne and he’d even worn glasses.

How things changed, he thought bemusedly.

Still, one young girl had become his friend back then. They’d been in Australia at the time, one of his many homes. His parents had been missionaries and had moved every few years. They never stayed in one place long.

The young girl had been sweet and had insisted that it didn’t matter what others thought. He had to listen to his heart. He had never forgotten her words.

That’s how he’d ended up in his present job.

Of course, the young lady probably hadn’t meant he should drop out of church in the process, or drift away from his parents. But when he’d chosen his career, his parents had disowned him.

And he’d gone wild in his life to prove a point to them—that he could do what he wanted and if they thought he was going to be wild and go to ruin, then he would.

Except that now he simply lived his life as he did, not in rebellion. He had no idea when the sense of rebellion had left. Or when that life started to seem normal.

Annie Hooper reminded him of another life, another time that had been quieter, a time when he could confide in friends and not worry about it appearing on the gossip shows across the globe.

Perhaps that was why he’d taken Annie in—because of a time she reminded him of. Still, there was the necklace.

When he finished washing, he stepped out of the shower and dried off. He pulled on the pair of jeans and the soft cotton top that were waiting and then combed his long hair.

Slipping in some conditioner and gel, he quickly scrunched it so it would hold the style before grabbing his electric razor and trimming his beard to keep that two-day-old look. He then brushed his teeth.

Slipping on a pair of leather loafers, he headed upstairs to start his day.

Passing the housekeeper he paused. Turning back around, he asked in Dutch, “Is Miss Hooper up yet?”

“Yes, sir. She was looking through her clothes when I left.”

“You didn’t stay with her?” he asked.

The housekeeper dropped her gaze. She was in her thirties and lived in a house about five minutes away with her husband who was the gardener here at the chateau. “She doesn’t speak the language, and she didn’t seem to want my help.”

Victor sighed. “She might not act like it, but she is pretty helpless even if she can’t understand you.”

He paused then added, “Go to the cook, ask her to write a note in English telling Miss Hooper that breakfast is ready, and I’d enjoy the company if she feels up to it. If she does, I’ll be glad to help her downstairs.” If she doesn’t want to use the service elevator, he silently added, thinking most of his guests would never be caught in the service elevator in a chateau.