No Ordinary Gentleman

“The clouds will have come in over the North Sea.” Alexander puts down the basket, pointing vaguely over his shoulder. “Norway is just that way.”

I fail to overpower a shiver as I place the bottle down and fold my arms over my chest. And not just to hide my chilled nipples. “What is this place?” I swing around, feeling his eyes on me and liking it more than I should.

“It’s a folly, I suppose you’d call it. Romanesque. Or at least, that’s what the intention was. You’re freezing.” He comes up almost silently behind me, his hands resting on my upper arms. “I don’t have a jacket to offer you this time.”

You could offer me your shirt, I don’t say as he begins to slide his hands up and down vigorously.

“I have an admission to make.” I keep my eyes ahead. Turning to face him would only make trouble. “What we were talking about before the rain. I might’ve snapped a quick pic.” I take a cautious glance his way. “Of you, I mean.”

He doesn’t answer though his hands slow.

“That night in London. I took it while you weren’t looking. It was to send to my sister just in case, in her words, you might’ve had it in mind to practice your taxidermy skills on me.”

Alexander’s laughter reverberates off the stone walls, his hands falling away. Judging it safe to do so, I turn. I don’t want to miss this because the man is pretty when he gives in to spontaneous amusement.

“And if you say anything about stuffing,” I add, “remember I have an empty champagne bottle.”

“I wouldn’t dream of saying such a thing.”

“Uh-huh.” I just about manage to refrain from mentioning his jam/jelly moment comment, obviously. Besides, he’s not hitting on me but instead being companionable.

Like friends?

I ignore the pinch in my chest, forcing a bright smile to my face.

“Don’t get bigheaded. I deleted it afterward.”

“You didn’t keep it? To remember me by?”

Is it still a lie if you don’t speak? I did delete it. And not five minutes later, I moved it out of the virtual trash and back into my saved images.

But I’m not admitting that.

“Well, I know it didn’t appear on your Instagram page.”

I narrow my gaze. “You’ve seen it?”

“I may have visited.”

I don’t know whether to be happy about that or not.

“It has a very attractive aesthetic,” he says consideringly. “Though I must admit to not quite knowing what the purpose of Instagram is. I see the benefit for business, of course. And for those who want to share their life with their friends, but you’re not in your posts very much. Obviously, the words are very you. But there’s a distinct lack of images of Holland Harper.”

“There are some.”

“If there were more, you might have even more followers.”

My cheeks begin that telltale sting as I bluster on. “Well, people like the platform for all kinds of reasons. It can be very pretty.”

“True. But so are you. And I don’t desire sharing you with the world.” My heart makes a little pitter-pat. So maybe we haven’t moved on quite as much as all that. “What’s your aim?” he asks suddenly. “What is it you aspire to? A million followers and a deluge of free stuff?”

“Like sponsorship?” I scrunch my nose. “I mean, who would say no to free stuff? But that’s not it. I just like it. I guess I must be a very visual person.” His eyes seem to track over my face, and I find myself hurrying on, not sure what I’m saying but the words spilling anyway. “The beauty of the visual. And I aspire to travel more. And yes, I like owning nice things, and if they’re free, then I’m not going to turn them down.”

“You want people to envy you.” He stares down at my bare feet, a frown marring his brow. “For women to covet your life. For men to desire you?”

“Now who’s making assumptions?” I answer brightly, spinning away and opening my arms. “Everyone has Instagram. Facebook. Some form of social media.”

“Not everyone.”

“The castle has social media,” I retort, turning to face him again but from a distance. “Maybe I’m just vain. Maybe I want people to know I’m just in Scotland and having a fabulous time.”

“And are you?” he asks almost haltingly. “Having a good time?”

I find his concern strangely endearing, which I guess should be weird, given his recent behaviour.

“Instagram doesn’t have to be about the truth,” I hedge. It’s certainly not why I post. I tell people I left Portland because I wanted to travel, but the truth is, I needed to be as far away from there as possible. So here I am, far from home. A whole different person with the Instagram account to prove it.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says. His eyes are so blue as he lifts them to study me. “About a lot of things, but particularly about what you said in my study the other day.”