Although he rarely slept, he’d stay with me for a few hours, holding me, touching me, sometimes wringing me dry with multiple orgasms before the day had even begun. Then he’d leave me sated in bed while he showered, and I’d force myself into the shower while he made us breakfast.
One Sunday, following a traditional English breakfast, which made it hard to move for at least half an hour afterward, Roane finally drove me to Alnwick Castle & Gardens. It wasn’t something we could do without planning ahead because dogs weren’t allowed. Caro agreed to watch Shadow all day so Roane could play my personal tour guide.
The gardens were extraordinary. And by extraordinary I meant epic. We took our time, meandering through the twelve-acre estate. There was a beautiful cherry orchard and amazing tiered fountains called the Grand Cascade. We saw kids playing in little diggers and passed large wrought-iron gates with skulls and crossbones on them. Signs on the gates read these plants can kill.
“The Poison Garden,” Roane explained. “There’s around a hundred toxic plants in there. You need to book the guided tour to get inside.”
“Next time,” I said, morbidly intrigued. “And maybe we can eat at the Treehouse Restaurant then too.” The restaurant was exactly what it said on the sign. It was the world’s largest tree house restaurant. I absolutely needed to dine inside a tree house at least once in my life.
We ended up walking around the gardens for a couple of hours, my nose filled with the heady scent of roses, which seemed to permeate the entire grounds. Then finally we approached the castle, and Roane led me into the part of the grounds where they filmed Harry Potter.
“Oh my God, this is where they filmed the first flying lesson scene.” I gaped, turning around to take in the massive walled courtyard.
Roane grinned. “Well, I couldn’t say whether it was or not.”
I pointed to him but was still staring at the castle grounds in awe. “One day you’ll be Potter mad like me, my friend.”
“I doubt that.”
Ignoring his muttered comment, I hurried over to an older couple and asked them if they’d take a photo of Roane and me. They obliged and with giddy excitement I pulled Roane over to where I wanted him
“You’re so adorable.” He pulled me into him and stole a lingering kiss.
When I got my phone back from the woman who’d taken it for us, I discovered she’d snapped a few and one included the kiss. It was a great photo. “Look.” I nudged Roane to show him, and his lips curled at the corners as he looked at it. “I love it. I’m posting it to the ’gram.”
Roane was not on social media. He was far too busy and indifferent to public opinion for social media. However, he was so laid-back he didn’t protest about the fact that he’d become the hero of my Instagram profile. My friends back in the States pestered me with questions about him every time I posted a photo, but I never answered because I didn’t know how to explain our relationship. The only answer I could give was that he was the most wonderful man in the world and he was mine, but I’d prefer to say that to him first before announcing it on social media.
Posting the photo of us kissing along with a tagline explaining where we were, I had to admit to feeling a petty thrill. Some of those curious Instagram friends were the ones who’d looked on me with pity when I announced I was taking a break from dating at my thirty-first birthday. Some of them even shared smug “thank God it isn’t me” looks, thinking I didn’t see them. And nearly all of them asked me about my dating life before they asked me about anything else.
I wasn’t above a little smugness myself.
Poor Evie, living in beautiful England, having epic sex with a hot Englishman.
“What’s that look?” Roane asked as we strolled into the castle.
“This is my ‘my boyfriend is better than yours’ look, and I’m not ashamed of bragging.” I wrinkled my nose. “Okay, I’m a little ashamed, but what can I say, I’m not perfect.”
He gave me a confused smile and squeezed my hand. “What are you talking about?”
As we walked into a massive dining hall that made my lips part in awe, I absentmindedly explained.
Not surprisingly Roane was pleased. So pleased, he gave me hot eyes. He couldn’t give me hot eyes in a castle filled with tourists! I shot him a quelling look. “Tell me about the castle,” I said, hoping to distract him.
He smirked but began to talk as we walked through the opulent rooms. “It’s owned by the Duke and Duchess of Northumberland. They’re one of the oldest families in England, and this has been their castle since the end of the eleventh century.”