Page 63 of Valentine Nook
Damn Miles and his exceptional hearing. “Nothing?—”
“And what did you call her?”
“Nothing—”
“But you did call hersomething.” Miles’s finger points right in my face, and his mouth drops open. “Oh my god, have you guys gotnicknamesfor each other?”
“What’s going on?” Alex asks, his head appearing in the gap between the two of us.
“Nothing,” I repeat for the third time.
Except third time’s not the charm in this case, and Miles turns us all to where Holiday and Clementine are slicing up her apple pie and placing it on plates. This time his finger is less accusatory, but no less pointy.
“Our big brother has a thumping great crush on our Hollywood starlet,andthey have nicknames for each other.”
Alex lets out a low whistle. “Nicknames? Does this mean?—”
“It does, Alexander. It means Lando might be happy again,” he says, before adding, “and that stick up his arse is finally loosening.”
Ignoring the identical guffaws from both my brothers, I take a long sip of my wine.
I don’t know what’s worse—having a crush on my tenant . . .
Or that Miles is right.
CHAPTER 12
Holiday
“And I’m confirming Paris for next month.” Marcy scribbles more notes onto my contract.
I nod, which turns into a yawn. “Do they know I don’t speak French?”
“Yes, everyone speaks English.”
“Which I’m sure theylove.”
Maybe I should learn.
I’ve always wanted to speak another language, and if I sign a five-year contract with a French company, now’s the perfect time. Plus, I’ve always heard that the French hate Americans. Or hate people who don’t even try to speak French.
And I don’t want to be one of those.
I mindlessly reach for the afternoon tea tray between us and take a macaron, breaking it in half, only to put it down again.
I’ve already eaten three, plus all the sandwiches. Not the self-discipline L’Oreal would expect before the start of a beauty contract. It’s right there in the fine print that Marcy’s finalizing—I’m required to look after myself.
Instead of the sugar from a macaron, I signal the server fora strong cup of coffee. Less carbs and more effective at keeping me awake.
Why am I tired, you ask?
Because the goddamn English countryside has ruined me.
A month in Valentine Nook and it seems it’s impossible to sleep without my windows open, listening to the sound of the stream running through the village.
Last night, I opened the patio door of my suite at Claridge’s, and all I could hear were sirens. Even with the doors shut, and after I’d called down to the concierge for a set of earplugs, I didn’t get to sleep until after two a.m.
I planned to stay two nights in London, returning to the city I’ve always loved visiting.
