“I do media and etiquette training all the time,” she said. “That part’s easy.”
I hated to tell her, but it wouldnotbe easy. My father had once tried to make me more socially presentable, but that had backfired spectacularly. Then he’d just given up on the process—and me.
We spent awhile longer discussing strategy and brainstorming ideas. When midnight rolled around, Olivia stood and pressed a hand to her back. “I need a quick break.”
“No, we’re done for tonight.”
“But—”
“The rest can wait. Go to bed. You look dead on your feet, and if I have to hear the phrasemedia trainingone more time, I’m going to cancel everything and do all my future interviews in biker shorts and tank tops.” I watched her face contract in predictable distaste.
“Fine.” Olivia’s sigh made the tendrils around her face dance. “Oh, one more thing.”
“Yes?”
“I guess you should show me to my bedroom.”
Her words should not have set off a ripple of awareness along my spine, but it did. Obviously I was tired too. “Follow me, Mrs. Hayes.”
“Right behind you, Mr. Sutton.”
ChapterEighteen
OLIVIA
I’d liketo say my bedroom was on a separate floor from Lachlan’s or at least in a different part of the house.
But nope.
My new husband gestured to the tall white door, ten short steps from the master suite. “Your room is next to mine.”
“How many bedrooms does this house have?” I asked, growing more tired and cranky by the minute.
“Five.”
“I’d like to pick another one.”
“The others aren’t furnished yet.”
Of course they weren’t.
He tightened his grip on my suitcases. “On the bright side, you have a great view of the twelfth green.”
My room could have a great view of Channing Tatum’s naked chest, and I still would want to move down the hall. (After a lengthy peek, of course.) “Fine. We’ll fix this later. Right now, I need a shower and a bed.”
Lachlan led the way inside the spacious room, and I could tell a professional decorator had worked some magic. A white duvet covered a king-sized bed whose headboard took up most of a wall. Trendy sconces sprouted over nightstands, which was a welcome sight for this late-night reader. Large canvases of muted colors filled the opposite wall, where a TV sat inside built-in shelves just begging to be weighed down with books.
“I’ll get you an office fixed up in one of the spare bedrooms.” Lachlan’s neon Nike’s swished over the rug as he set the bags down. “Bathroom’s in here.” He pointed to a door on the left. “Closet’s on your right.” He scratched the back of his neck and glanced about, looking hesitant and as awkward as I felt. “Do you need anything?”
“A time machine to take us back a week?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of a glass of water or dental floss.” He gave a weak laugh. “Look, Olivia, I know this is hard. And weird. And stressful.”
“Don’t forget slightly terrifying and frustrating and loathsome.”
Lachlan frowned. “Loathsome. Huh. I wouldn’t have landed on that particular word, but I will respect your incredibly negative vocab choices.”
“I just wish things were different,” I said.
