Page 155 of Pride

He shakes his head. “Not at all. Otherwise I wouldn’t have bought it.”

“Well then, I’m sure I’ll love it.”

His smile makes my heart flutter and my chest clench painfully all at the same time, as it still amazes me how different life has become with him since everything changed between us. I had despised this man with a vengeance and now all I wanted was to make him happy.

“Honestly, your facial expressions today are gold.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t be an ass. I’m merely contemplating how somehow I feel completely the opposite about you today than I felt the day we first met.”

He smirks then. “Thankfully, but I don’t think you really hated me as much as you insisted you did.”

I sigh heavily, as he’s probably right. Even when he made me mad with anger, there was this electric connection between us neither of us could deny.

“How far away are we?” I ask.

He chuckles. “It’s like being in the car with a kid. You asked that twenty minutes ago.”

I sigh. “Yes, and you just said not far. I’d prefer specifics.”

“How about two minutes?” he asks, as the car slows and turns down a long winding road just before the sign for a small village.

“Really?” I ask, the nerves returning in full force.

He nods and grabs my hand, squeezing.

“Why am I so nervous?” I ask.

He laughs. “I honestly have no idea. It’s only a house.”

The winding country lane seems to go on forever until the trees clear to reveal a large and expansive estate. The sprawling brick manor house stands proudly atop a sloped lawn, surrounded by tall trees and a formal garden. The bright blue sky is reflected in the many windows dotting the façade of the building.

As we drive down the driveway, I’m struck by how beautiful it looks. It’s undeniably elegant, yet homely, and welcoming at the same time. The property appears to be perfectly maintained, with manicured lawns, ivy climbing up the walls of the manor, and rose bushes lining both sides of the driveway leading up to it. We pass a small pond with ducks swimming lazily on top before coming to a stop in front of a large portico entrance where we can finally get out of the car.

“First impressions?” Isiah asks.

“It’s stunning,” I say simply, shaking my head. “They know how to make grand houses here in Britain, don’t they?”

He smirks. “Of course. Would you like a tour?”

“Is the pope Catholic?”

He grabs my hand and yanks me toward the large front door and opens it to reveal an entrance hall with dark wooden floorboards and a tall ceiling with intricate plasterwork. It’s classical and tasteful, unlike my childhood home, which is indulgent. A huge chandelier hangs from the ceiling, glittering in the sunlight that streams in through tall windows. A grand staircase curves up to the floors above, while several corridors lead off in different directions.

Isiah takes me down one of these corridors to the left and into a large room filled with canvases, brushes, and paints. I look around in awe as I take it all in.

“What is this?” I ask.

He smiles at me widely. “Your art studio. I had it commissioned for you.”

“And what if I’d hated the house?”

“Then it would have appealed to the next owner, no doubt.”

I look around the room. It’s painted in a light blue-gray color, which is calming and peaceful. Sunlight streams through the windows from three sides of the room, giving plenty of natural light.

“Take a look around,” Isiah encourages.

I move further into the room and over to an easel which is set up with a large canvas in front of an arched window at the furthest end of the room. My eyes widen as the view of the garden from here is incredible, and instantly I want to sit down and paint it.

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