Page 43 of Love in Bloom

Camille gasped. “I can hardly believe it,” her tone reverential. “The Turkish boudoir.” She took in the cream and gold tones while the guide explained about the furniture being emptied from the palace at some point in history. Camille suspected most of the furniture were recreations. What kind of furniture was built to last for eight hundred years? The detailed ornaments of turbans, cassolettes, perfume burners, and rows of pearls, moon crescents, and ears of wheat were almost too much to take in.

“Still want a bed built into the wall?” Tristan’s breath tickled her ear.

“It’s an option.” She nudged him with her shoulder. The idea of being alone back in her flat in London felt less appealing with every passing minute in her fake husband’s presence. In truth, her lonely life made her blood run icy. Now that she’d seen what her life could be like with a companion, a partner, the solitude she’d loved before became something to loathe. Maybe she’d get a cat. Though the animal would be a poor substitute for the fine specimen of a man next to her.

They were led to the queen’s second bedroom on the first floor. This one was themed by silver.

“I can see the wheels turning. You’re going to renovate your whole flat after you return.” Tristan’s scent wafted over her.

She could spend hours inhaling him. And kissing him. “I may need to buy a bigger flat after this trip so I can have enough rooms to make over in the French style.”

They laughed together, earning a warning look from the guide and Lisette and, of course, a sneer from Mrs. Chan.

“That mother of pearl must’ve cost a fortune,” Camille said.

“Too many coppers for my blood,” Tristan agreed. “But would you really want such an ostentatious home? Wouldn’t something cozier do?”

“I think I could live in a grass hut, if I had the right husband at my side.”

Tristan sucked in a sharp breath but offered no explanation as to the reason, and Camille opted not to pry. She wanted him to trust her with his life, not have to rip the details of it from him like a dentist extracting a tooth.

After all the opulence, they exited into a courtyard.

“This was the queen’s courtyard,” the guide explained. “Its central feature is the fountain of Diana.”

Camille let the sound of the water ease her frayed emotions. She felt as if she’d been on a roller coaster all day and suspected the ride was far from over. Tristan’s mood vacillated between happiness, worry, and regret. She wished he’d pick one, though she’d prefer happy.

They sauntered through the queen’s garden and made their way out to The Grand Parterre.

“This was created by André Le Nôtre, the famous landscape gardener, and by Louis Le Vau for Louis XIV,” the guide informed them.

“I’d say he did a brilliant job,” Tristan remarked as the couples were dismissed to explore on their own for an hour.

“I could spend a whole day here. Even a week, taking every tour. Strangely, the palace is more of the attraction here for me than the flora. The garden is so formal, there isn’t much to learn about exotic plants. It seems all the expense on the exotic was spent on the interior of the palace.”

“I’d say, you’re right.” Tristan’s hand captured hers, though his grip seemed stiff. “Perhaps a turn around the jardin Anglais would be more the ticket. The guide said it has rare trees.”

“Let’s explore it.”

They made their way from one garden to the other, skirting the large pond between.

“Oh, there’s a river running through it. That is certainly more the thing, probably because it’s what I’m used to at home.”

“Rivers and trees?”

“Well, we had a creek at least. When we were young, Clara, Connor, and I would throw rocks or try to catch frogs or fish in it. We’d watch the water bugs scoot across the top, and sail paper boats we made. The boats always sank. We’d race sticks in the creek, and climb trees. Well, Connor and I would climb trees while Clara fretted at the bottom that one or both of us would fall, and she’d be duty bound to report our injuries or corpses to our parents. Dirt and scraped knees were the fashion. I ruined so many clothes, and my mum never scolded me. I think she bought all my stuff secondhand for several years, until I started to care about what I wore. In the woods, I looked for new flowers each year, but it seemed the same ones always grew. No exotic plants in the countryside.” She shook her head.

“Did your parents encourage your study of the flora?” His grip relaxed.

“Mum would take me to flower shows, and I joined the local gardening club. Dad would occasionally bring me unusual flowers from London when he went on one of his work trips. Sometimes they were cuttings, and others came in pots, which I tended with great care. Some of the specimens lived, and others succumbed to the climate of England.”

“You have a green thumb?”

“For the most part. The summer before my sixteenth birthday, my father and I built a mini greenhouse next to the potting shed.”

“The potting shed you tried to blow up multiple times?”

“Every girl needs a hobby. Mine was botany and chemistry. Even then I was concocting a natural makeup line and dreaming about starting my own business with it. I’m sorry to say, many of my early attempts were disasters. The successes required skin tests.”

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