Page 23 of Make Me Want it Too

“Ms. Greene.” An older vested man appears out of nowhere. “You’ll be staying upstairs in the east wing of the home. Follow me.” He stops abruptly halfway up the steps and eyes Wood behind me. “You brought a guest.” It’s not a question.

“Uh, yes. It was kind of last minute. Sorry.”

Cheese and crackers.

He glances back slowly from Wood to me. “We’ve only prepared the room for one guest, but it is not a problem. I’ll make sure extra linens, towels, and toiletries are brought up while you’re out enjoying the cocktail hour.”

Double cheese and crackers. I meant to call Bex and tell her, but I’ve been so caught up, and honestly, not sure if I’d be able to lie to her convincingly enough. She’s been my best friend since freshman year of college—almost eight years. I never lie to her.

We follow the man up the wood stairs lined with a thick, oriental runner in shades of rich reds and gold and black around to the far end of the house, Wood still insisting on carrying both of our bags.

My heart lurches in my chest as he takes us right to Spencer’s room—at least, it was when he lived here.

No, no, no.

He stops at Spencer’s door. “And here are your accommodations.” Then he steps forward and opens the door directly next to Spencer’s room.

Air gushes out of my lungs. Oh thank baby Jesus.

“You have a private ensuite and lovely water views. As I said, we will bring more linens and essentials this evening.” He gestures for us to go inside while he waits at the threshold. “My name is Walter. I am in charge of the house and waitstaff for the week. Don’t hesitate to ask any of us for anything you may need. We are happy to help you. The evening’s festivities begin in approximately three hours. Feel free to roam around the gardens and the main living areas of the house. Mr. and Mrs. Hayes ask that you don’t go down their private wing on the main floor, and the pool is closed.”

With that, he nods and excuses himself.

“Shall we go roam around the gardens, then?” Wood asks in a faux British accent.

I appreciate the levity, but I can barely even muster a smile. I’m very familiar with the gardens. Over Memorial Day, which also happened to be my birthday this year, when we came here for their barbecue and big celebration for the opening of boat season, Spencer took me for a walk through the rose gardens.

I was sure he was going to propose to me there.

“I think I’m going to lie down and rest for a little while. I have a bit of a headache.”

Wood’s eyes go wide. “Do you need some pain killers? Water? A snack?”

“I’m okay, really. I just need to lie down.”

He puts his hands on his hips. “Mace.”

“What?”

“Let me help you. I’m here for you. I’m yours all week.”

I’m not really sure what to say to that, but my heart rate speeds up for no reason whatsoever.

“I’m going to go find you something for your head. Lie down, I’ll be right back.”

The room is nice and airy. The walls are white with minimal décor—there’s a landscape oil painting above the bed and a mirror with an intricate wood frame across from the bed, above a dresser. The bed is dark wood with detailed spindles, queen sized with a fluffy white duvet and several white and beige pillows. There are two nightstands that look antique, each with brass lamps, and a velvet chair in the corner in a deep olive green color.

Three large windows with wood grids overlook the lawn, a private, rocky beach lined with quaking aspens, and then the water beyond.

I sink into the bed. What am I doing?

When I wake up, Wood isn’t in the room, but the nightstand has a tall glass of water, three different bottles of pain killers, two granola bars—the chocolate chip ones I like, and an entire fruit basket.

I glance at the time and—oh boy—I need to get ready.

My black dress is simple, form-hugging. I never know what to do with my hair, so I put in a little styling mousse to tame the curls and pin it back. I attempt a black wing liner and fail. So, I wipe it off and just put on mascara and lip gloss. My cheeks are already rosy from being flustered so I skip the blush.

On the dresser is a framed itinerary for the week:

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