Page 69 of Your Coffin or Mine
I like that idea, and I do need more content. Enough to hopefully bury whatever bullshit Chad will try to pull in the unforeseeable future.
Hours later, I find myself unable to leave George’s presence. After depositing Fifi in his room to nap, he insisted on exploring. He is so easy to talk to. I was instantly smitten with the man, so I offered to show him the stone path that curves around the moat of the castle. I can just imagine how pretty it is in the spring, although right now it’s frozen. Birds chirp overhead and fly away to nearby bare trees. I grin up at the sky, feeling content, which is nuts considering what’s currently happening on the internet.
The camera flashes, and when I look over at George, he’s wearing a mischievous look.
“Couldn’t resist,” he says. “You look like a picture in that scarf and hat.”
I crack a smile and kick at a rock with my booted toe, sending it careening along the cobblestone path that wraps around part of the castle. I suck in a hard breath and tilt my head back, letting the light sprinkling of snowflakes kiss my cheeks. “I love it here, George.”
And I really do. I stare across the paved bridge toward the forest that Vlad took me to just yesterday, warming at the thought of how he had kissed me.
“Mmmhm. I gotta say it’s one of the nicer castles I’ve stayed at, and of course the company helps. Fifi hates the snow, but I’ve always loved the colder months—means hot chocolate.”
I smile at the last bit, and we walk along the driveway, our boots crunching the gravel under our feet. I’d have to agree with George’s opinion, as I am beginning to really adore this castle, and all the people in it.
“So, are you going to tell him?” he finally asks.
He means Vlad. I scoff and shake my head at the little man. George seems to be one of those wizards. A person you meet and somehow instantly end up telling them your life story for reasons you can’t explain. The eccentric man knows everything from what Chad has done, to the flight over, and everything that happened in between. Minus the sexy bits since George doesn’t need to know Vlad can lay pipe like a Mariokart game on steroids.
“What?” My lips twist into a cringe. “Tell him that I’m a twenty-six-year-old woman and my dad is trying to force me to go home and marry someone I can’t stand?”
“Well, what is it you want to do?” He tilts his head and regards me shrewdly, the poof atop his beanie waving at me as he does.
“I don’t know, George. I’ve only just met him, and I’ve never done anything like this.” I breathe in the fresh air and sigh heavily, shrugging before I rest against a stone pillar near the bridge. “I don’t really know what to do. Hopefully help make Doyle’s party a success? I’m just waiting for the whole social media drama to die down because I can’t even think. I didn’t want Vlad dragged into that part of my life.”
“Are you looking to vent or get some advice?”
“Both, probably. I have no idea what I am doing with anything at this point.”
“This social media situation is not going to die down, but all you really need is a new narrative.”
I shove my gloved hands into my pockets, frowning down at the pavement. “So what do I do?”
He pushes his brown scarf—that’s somehow worked its way out of his winter coat—away from his face and wraps an arm around my shoulder. “Sugar, baby, you’re already doing it. We just need to think bigger.”
“Bigger?”
He pulls me away and we walk closer to the moat, his hand in mine. “What happens when you look at Vlad?”
“Ummm...” Just the thought of him and my body goes warm. I can practically feel myself begin to melt where I stand.
“Exactly. And that happens to everyone else. That man looks like sex and sin on two legs, and he can fix your little dilemma, lickety-split, plus add in some Doyle. Honey, you don’t need anything else.”
“They wouldn’t go for being in the spotlight.”
He lets me go and his hands plant on his hips. “How do you know if you don’t ask? Oh, sweetheart, I used to throw these galas and soirées when my ex-husband and I were together. Here I’ll show you.” He whisks his phone from his pocket and even though his hands are gloved as well, my phone pings whenhe tags me in the comments from an event that happened over a year ago.
Fifi is there in a rhinestone—surely it’s rhinestone—collar, and a handsome man is staring coldly at the camera over George’s shoulder. There’s a good twenty people around him and they’re all wearing obviously expensive suits. The whole theme screams money, but fun. Colors of green and purple are everywhere, even the small champagne glasses. Maybe Doyle is onto something.
“Oh, I love that.”
“Right? Girl, you just need to get Vlad on board, and we could make this thing the talk of Europe. I mean, look at this place. Not to mention the scenery.”
I frown when a large shadow moves below the moat’s frozen surface. “What was that?”
“Where?”
“Aubrey.” Vlad’s voice comes from behind us.
