I don’t have anything to say to that because obviously he’s right, of course, and I’ve seen on Twitter alone just how intrusive, rude, and downright cruel they can be. If the duke and duchess are moving in here, then I’m probably going to want that fence.
I don’t have a lot of time to think about the fence and the gate, because soon we’re approaching the front of the house.
I’d be lying if I said I’d never seen it before. Many a time I’ve scrambled up the slight slope through the ferns and hemlock to take a look-see. But I’ve never gone farther than the driveway, even if I knew no one was staying there at the time.
Even now, it feels kind of wrong, but from the way Harrison and his nice butt are marching forward, I need to follow.
The mansion at first glance seems smaller than it is. The paved, tree-lined driveway does an elegant swoop into a massive A-frame three-car garage that’s attached to a one-level made of bricks of pale stone. But the closer you get, you notice that the bulk of the mansion is behind that one-level, sloping down to the ocean in sections.
Harrison goes straight to the ornately carved front door, which looks like it was cut from a massive tree, and rings the bell. As we wait, his posture goes straighter, his hands clasped behind his back. I want to ask him where he’s living, since he’s ringing the bell and not walking right into the house, but then I see a shadow pass through the narrow windows at the side of the door and suddenly I’m nervous as hell.
It finally hits me what’s happening. I’m actually going to meet Prince Eddie and MRed. Right here, right now.
This is absolutely insane.
And then the door opens.
I hold my breath.
A petite woman in her early fifties appears at the door, dressed in a gray shift dress and flat shoes, her graying hair pulled back into a neat bun.
She nods at Harrison and then gives me a small smile. “You must be the neighbor,” she says in a crisp British accent. “I’m Agatha, the housekeeper. Please come right in.”
Harrison walks in, and I follow him into the foyer.
“Should I take off my shoes?” I ask, reaching down for my boot, even though Harrison has strolled in without taking his off.
“That’s quite all right,” Agatha says. “The floors can be a bit cold at the moment. They’re supposed to heat up, but I think we need an electrician in here to fix it.”
“Well, good luck getting a reliable electrician on the island,” I blurt out with an awkward laugh. “They only show up when they feel like it, like you’re a huge inconvenience for hiring them.”
I’m not exaggerating. There’s a faulty baseboard heater in my room, and I called the electrician about two months ago and he still hasn’t shown. Keeps texting me, saying, “Hope to pop by soon,” but that “soon” never comes.
But from the firm smile on Agatha’s face, perhaps it’s not my place to joke about that.
“We will be hiring from off-island,” she says.
“Of course,” I say back, matching her smile. I should figure they’ve got all this worked out. It accounts for how they’ve got trucks full of building materials out front, ready to go.
“It will be nice for the duke and duchess to have you next door,” Agatha says as she leads the way across the marble floors through the first level, which is sparsely decorated with some art prints of the Pacific Northwest. “We’re all a bit fish out of water at the moment.”
“That’s what I’m here for!” I say, way too enthusiastically. “Anything you need, any questions at all, I’m your gal.”
“I’m your gal”? This isn’t a forties screwball comedy, Piper.
I really need to dial it down a notch.
I glance up (way up) at Harrison, who has fallen in step beside me, expecting him to be giving me a look.
And he is. He looks rather amused.
But what’s catching me completely off guard is that his sunglasses are up on his head.
Which means, for the first time ever, I can see his eyes.
And . . . dear lord . . . am I in trouble.
Harrison’s eyes are this gorgeous blue, a color that flirts between the sky and smoky sage green. At the moment they’re crinkling slightly at the corners, yet I can tell how quickly they’d change in intensity. No wonder I could feel his gaze even beneath his glasses.
I swallow hard, unable to take my eyes away. At least until he raises his brow, those beautiful blues seeming to smirk at me.
They seem to ask, Which do you prefer, my eyes or my ass?
To which I’d say, That’s an impossible choice.
“Watch your step,” Agatha says quickly.
I look down in time to see that I’m in the middle of stepping off a landing.
Harrison’s arm shoots out and grabs me by the elbow with so much force that I’m practically frozen in mid-step before he pulls me back.
“Oops,” I say, giving him a quick, red-cheeked smile. Shit. I nearly ate it just because I was caught up looking at his eyes. I can only hope he doesn’t bring that up or else I’ll probably never stop hearing about it.
He lets go of my arm and gives me a nod, and still, there’s that amusement in his expression. The kind that says he’s laughing internally at me.
“Here we are,” Agatha says, leading me over to a living room type of area with a see-through gas fireplace in the middle and floor-to-ceiling windows. The room looks over their sloping backyard, a spacious tile patio among a cultivated rose garden and sun-bleached brown grass beyond that. There are a few massive fir and arbutus trees and a stone-worn path that leads down to the private dock where a fifty-foot powerboat is tied up, sea-green waves crashing against the hull. In the distance, a ferry passes.
It’s stunning. Absolutely. But in the back of my mind I can’t help but notice that this would be our view if it weren’t for where my house is situated and the trees that block it. It’s like I’m realizing for the first time that my mother and I really do live in what used to be a very rich family’s servants’ quarters. We’re buried in the trees, forgotten; they’re up here in the open with the sun and the waves.
“Please sit,” Agatha says, pointing to a modern-looking wing-back chair beside a polished wood coffee table. “I’ll let them know you’re here.”
She walks off, and I half expect Harrison to walk off too.
But of course not. He wouldn’t leave a potential “threat” alone in their house. He’s standing in front of me, as if I’m going to make a run for it and start rummaging through Monica’s underwear drawer or something, though his attention is out the window.