Claire's POV
I remain in the garden long after he leaves, my mind replaying the conversation over and over again.
That tone, the sharp cutting edge of his voice.
Under different circumstances, the low bass of his voice might have sent flutters erupting in my stomach, but not in this case.
Not this time and definitely not like that.
That voice screamed immediate shutdown.
And it doesn't take long for it to click, his parents were a touchy subject. One that I needed to steer clear from. It was none of my business.
I shift my weight slightly, wrapping my arms loosely around myself as the evening air cools further.
I couldn't back out of this contract now.
That option had long sailed. I'd also used the money to settle my own family issues. Things that couldn't be undone because I feel slightly wronged or uncomfortable.
I was in this. For better or worse.
"Mostly worse," I mutter dryly, shaking my head.
With one last glance at the now darkening sky, I turn and begin making my way back inside.
The house greets me with silence. No sign of human presence.
As I pass through the living room, my eyes instinctively scan the space, but there's no sign of him. He wasn't anywhere downstairs, not the dining hall, not the kitchen, the balcony, the bar, not even the couch at the corner where he often worked, which left one option. His room.
I sigh lightly, already heading up the stairwell to my room.
"Just great, Claire," I mumble under my breath. "You've scared him away."
I'm combing through my boxes which I'm yet to unpack, crouching slightly, flipping one open. My hands move absentmindedly through the contents, shifting things around without any real purpose.
I had something to do, I try to remember but it evades me. I should be preparing for something. I just couldn't remember what it was.
I continue combing through my box, trying to arrange some stuff and sort them out into the wardrobe or do I say walk-in closet of the room.
The whole bedroom was my whole room and my mothers room combined. It was massive, I literally had no idea what to do with all the space.
A quiet knock sounds against my door, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I turn, slightly startled, "Who is it?," I ask, half hoping it was Louis. Maybe he was here to explain, or at least say something regarding his earlier outbursts.
But I don't wonder for long. Pulling the door open, the hope dissipates.
Instead, Benedict stands there, as composed as ever, his posture ramrod straight, expression neutral.
In his hands is a box, soft purple.
"Oh..hello," I greet, still a bit awkward about how to address him. We haven't really crossed paths in the house in the little time I've been here.
"This was sent to you by Mr. Smith."
My brows knit together. "Oh…For wha…"
But before I can even finish the question, he's already turning away, his steps quiet and efficient as he leaves me standing there, mid-question and completely confused.
"…Okay then," I mutter under my breath.
I close the door slowly and carry the box inside, placing it gently on my bed.
For a moment, I just stare at it. Wondering what it could be.
Why didn't he bring it over himself?
The purple box was really beautiful, I observed. A soft lavender shade, almost delicate, with small hearts scattered across the cover in a subtle pattern.
I tilt my head slightly, taking it in. Unsure of when or whether to open it.
But there was something about it—about the box— that made me stop short, my mind stalling as I tried to place what felt so… off.
Actually, not off, not wrong. Just—familiar.
I stand still, still observing it, my mind clawing at me, there's a detail that I'm missing.
Something… oddly familiar. It felt personal and intimate.
Slowly, my eyes drift away from the box, scanning the room instead.
My gaze drifts around the room, to the little pieces of decor and that's when I notice it. Purple.
The realization hits me.
The box was purple. And so were many other things that were dotted around my room.
The decor, the lampshade, my alarm clock, the bedsheets, even the small set of toiletries arranged neatly in the bathroom. All in different subtle shades of purple.
I had made a conscious decision to not bring any of my personal little details over to his place. It would have made me feel way too comfortable about being here.
Because this was supposed to be a business arrangement. A contractual relationship. I didn't need to settle comfortably here. It was basically like an extension of my actual job.
I frown slightly. 'Had it always been like this?,' I wonder silently in my head.
I step back, taking it in properly now, and realization settles in.
It had, I just… never paid attention. And now—
My eyes drop back to the box. Lavender, still a shade of purple.
Something in my chest shifts, softens even. I find my face softening gently into a warm smile. Because that means…
He noticed. He saw me, he picked up on my little color favoritism. It felt intentional, thought out. And I couldn't help my smile.
Louis—my boss, the man I was convinced barely spared me more than a passing glance—noticed something as small and insignificant as my preference for a color.
My throat tightens slightly. The small genuine gesture stirred my heart more than I expected. The earlier coldness he exuded is now long forgotten.
At work, my desk… it had different shades of purple. Purple pens. A small purple decorative piece. Even my sticky notes sometimes. Little things I never thought anyone paid attention to.
Before I can overthink it, I move closer and lift the lid.
My breath catches. Inside the box was a stunning beautiful dress, in Lilac.
Carefully, I lift the dress from the box, letting the material fall open in my hands and I gasp at the sight of the full thing.
The dress was a soft lilac body-con gown, with a simple, elegant and unrefined design. It looked quiet, unadorned with no unnecessary embellishments, no over-the-top design but somehow, that made it even more stunning.
It had a one-shoulder neckline, giving it an effortless, slightly asymmetrical look.
My fingers brush over the fabric, my eyes running over it in sheer pleasure. It was perfect, exactly my style.
Tucked beside it is a pair of white satin mules, equally refined, the kind that complements without stealing attention.
A jewelry case sat below the box, in it was a small silver bracelet, it was embellished with crystals around it and I could estimate it was bloody expensive. It almost felt too heavy in my hands.
I swallow hard, my heart doing something strange in my chest.
Why would he..?
I don't let myself finish that thought. Instead, I snap into motion. Dinner.
That was the occasion, that was his last sentence before leaving this evening. That was exactly what I needed to prepare for.
"Shit. Shit. Shit. I'm going to be late." I dropped the jewelry box back on the bed and snapped into action.
I rush into the bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping under the water, letting it calm the sudden rush of nerves coursing through me. I don't take long, just enough to steady myself before stepping out and getting ready.
I did my makeup, nothing too extra, just enough. Mascara, a little blush and glossed lips. Nothing too bold.
I slip into the dress carefully, smoothing it over my body, turning slightly to look at myself in the mirror.
A small, disbelieving breath leaves me as I stare at my reflection in the mirror, the dress sits beautifully. It falls into a straight, ankle-length silhouette, giving it that sleek, elongated appearance.
It fits perfectly. How did he even know my size?
I go on to spritz a bit of perfume on my neck and wrist. I scramble through my box again for a purse to carry.
Finally, I took out the jewelry box and put on the bracelet. It complemented the outfit nicely.
He did a fantastic job if he picked this whole look.
Settling for the white clutch I found, I put my phone and card in, lip gloss and gum. God, forbid I leave home without gum. Nothing irritates me more than funky breath.
Finally settled and ready to leave, I smooth out the dress, still in awe of the way it fits so perfectly.
I reach for the zipper at the back of the dress, I pull it upwards, it runs for a while, and then it stops.
"Of course," I mutter under my breath, twisting slightly, pulling it downwards before trying again.
It goes up… and then stops once again refusing to budge any further.
This time I am a hundred percent sure it's hooked.
I exhale, shoulders dropping slightly as I stare at my reflection.
Great. Just great.
Because now— I actually need help. And there is absolutely no way I'm getting this done on my own.