Page 26 of Accidental Groom
I nod. “Okay. Good, that’s good, that gives me time to sort out the guest house.”
She watches me, her breathing even now, her hair a bit of a mess from where my hands had held on.
“I do have to go,” I say carefully. “But I’ll send a car for you tomorrow. Call me if you need anything.”
She nods.
I take a step back, and then another, hating myself less this time — but the temptation to stay still gnaws at me.
I won’t touch her again, even with her in my house. I have to tell myself that I won’t.
I have tobelieveI won’t.
Chapter 9
Elena
Highcourt Hall takes my breath away.
I stand at the edge of the circular cobblestone drive, my luggage sitting on the ground by the moving truck, and try to absorb the sheer magnitude of what Harry calls home. The estate rises before me like something out of a goddamn fairytale — all weathered gray stone and soaring windows that catch the mid-afternoon light. Ivy creeps up the walls in elegant patterns that look intentional, the slate roof’s peaks and valleys illuminated against the Hudson Valley sky.
It’s not just a house. It’s a legacy carved in stone, one far bigger than my family’s.
The front entrance sits beneath a grand archway, heavy wooden doors securing the house, strong enough to withstand a siege. Wings of the house extend on either side, creating a sprawling U-shape around the courtyard where a fountain bubbles quietly in the center. Everything about it whispers old money, established power, and the kind of wealth that doesn’t need to announce itself.
But what draws me in isn’t the obvious grandeur. It’s what surrounds it.
The estate sits nestled in what must be hundreds of acres of pristine woodland. Ancient oaks and maples frame the house, their canopy so thick in places that it creates natural archways. I can make out walking trails disappearing into the forest on the edge of the woodland, a glimpse of what might be a pond through the trees. The air here is so different from the air near my parents' home — clean, wild, like earth and moss and growing things, and Iloveit.
My fingers itch to explore the trails.
“Mrs. Highcourt?” One of the movers appears at my side, clipboard in hand. “Where would you like us to unload?”
Mrs. Highcourt. The name still sounds foreign.
“Harry—Haraldsaid there was a guest house on the property,” I say. “I think it’s around the back.”
He’d said it was a smaller, stone building behind the main house, about fifty yards back. Apparently, he has calls all morning, so he can’t even come down to direct them for me.
I walk around the side of the house, phone in hand, staking it out. A small, gravel driveway leads around the edge, and just beyond the back of the east wing, a smaller stone building stands amongst a garden. I snap a picture and text it to him.
Me:
[Attachment: 1 Image]
This, right?
I stare at the screen, biting my thumbnail as I wait for a response.
Harry:
Correct. One gold star for identifying the only stone building fifty yards behind the house.
I roll my eyes and shove my phone back in my pocket. I motion to the movers, pointing it out, and grab a handful of my bags from the hotel before making my way back toward it.
The cottage is beautiful from the outside. Two stories of the same weathered stone from the main house, with old-style windows and a slate roof that matches. Climbing ivy and greenery frame the front door, matching the carefully maintained gardens around it. A flagstone pathway winds carefully through it back toward the sliding glass doors of the east wing, close enough to be convenient but far enough to maintain that illusion of distance he so desperately insisted on.
Ridiculous.
