"Thank you, Hugo." Grandmama beams at him.
"My pleasure." Hugo half bows and departs.
I tuck into my food with gusto, not stopping until my plate is empty. I glance up to find the rest looking at me. "What?"
Arpad grins, glances down at his own plate, which is still almost full.
"Guess I was hungry... And the food is incredible," I say sincerely. "Besides, it’s nice to be eating with family, isn’t it?"
"It is," Grandmama nods, "and it’s refreshing to see a woman eat well."
I laugh. "My father would never let me leave anything on my plate. His military training wouldn’t allow him, and besides, he was very careful of any waste."
"And your mother?" Philippe asks.
"She died when I was eighteen." I fold my arms in my lap.
"I am so sorry for your loss, my dear." Grandmama places her fork on her plate.
"Thank you." I murmur.
"Let’s have dessert." Grandmama leans toward me, "Then, why don’t you and I take a short walk?"
Ten minutes later, I trail behind the older woman as we walk through the fading sunshine. She waits for me to catch up, then hooks her arm through mine. We proceed in silence along the garden path. The grass is mowed while evergreen shrubs line either side of the path. We reach a circular conservatory; she pushes open the door and I step in after her. The heat instantly warms my ankles. I follow her until she reaches a wooden swing in the center. She sinks down, then pats the space next to her. I reach her, unbutton my coat, then sit down next to her. The swing moves back and forth as we push back with our legs.
"So, you and Arpad," she finally says, and I brace for the inevitable questioning. This is the lady of the house and someone who Arpad regards very highly. She is the matriarch of the family, and surely, she wants to protect her family.
She turns to me, fixes that blue-grey gaze, so like his—on me.
"How long has this charade been in progress?"
36
Karina
"Excuse me?" I blink.
She tilts her head and stares down her patrician nose. "Arpad is smart and he thinks he can humor me. And bless him, his intentions are all in the right place, I am sure, but I am not that easy to fool."
I blink rapidly, not sure what to say.
"Not that the two of you are not in love—"
"We’re—" I bite down on my lip. Shit, what’s wrong with me? I am almost blowing our cover here. Why the hell can’t I get my story right? It’s Arpad, that asshole’s, fault. We could have rehearsed before coming her. He could have apprised me about the situation, that his grandmother was unwell. A detail which hadn't come to light in all the information I’d had access to so far.
"You were saying?" Grandmama holds my gaze, and those blue-grey eyes of her seem to read all of my secrets.
I glance away, "N…nothing." I swallow. "You were talking about me and Arpad…" my voice trails off.
"And the elaborate front the two of you have constructed for me."
I bite the inside of my cheek. What the hell am I supposed to do? Why had we never discussed this possibility—that our story could have been found out? I glance about the space, taking in the foliage, the flowers—amaryllis, pansies, snapdragons… And orchids, so many orchids. I drag in the sweet scent of the flowers and it’s as if I’ve been transported into an English garden in the middle of summer.
"You’re English?"
"British," she replies. "I married a French man, and brought up my children in this house. I've live here since I got married fifty years ago.
Fifty years. Wow. I glance toward the house we’d just left, then back at her.
