thing.”
The box he handed her was large and flat. Wrapped in simple, glossy white paper, it was finished with an enormous green silk bow.
“What is this?” she asked, looking from the box to him. “It’s for me?”
He nodded.
“Xander . . . You didn’t have to get me something.”
“Open it.”
She took the box to the table and began removing the thick paper. “This is crazy.” She lifted the lid. “You shouldn’t have done this. I didn’t get you anything.”
“It’s just a little something.”
She peeled back the tissue paper inside the box, her eyes coming to rest on a garland of white peonies. “But . . . what is it?”
He reached around her, his body brushing hers as he lifted the item out of the box.
“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to,” he said. “I know you don’t like headpieces. It just . . .” He cleared his throat. “It’s different. It made me think of you.”
He held the headpiece up. The white peonies were open and lush, wound with peacock feathers that came to an exotic point in the front, a large jewel, as green as her dress, dangling like a teardrop. Green ribbon in more shades than she could count trailed off the back of it. It was almost casual, breathtaking in its understatement.
“Xander . . .” Tears stung her eyes. This was just like him. To give her something that celebrated both her individuality and the heritage she couldn’t seem to deny. “If I’d known a headpiece could so beautiful, I would have chosen it myself.”
“You like it?”
“Like it?” She threw her arms around his neck. “I love it. Thank you.”
He peeled her arms away and placed the headpiece on her head, adjusting it a couple of times before he slid in the combs that were built into the sides to hold it in place. When it was secure, the emerald rested against her forehead, the ribbons trailing through the curls down her back.
“How does it look?” she asked.
“Almost as gorgeous as you.” His voice was low, his eyes hooded with a desire Claire recognized from the times they got a little too carried away.
She smiled, but it only lasted a second. “Wait . . . What am I going to tell my parents?”
The light seemed to drop from his eyes, his jaw tensing. “I’ve taken care of it. Sophie helped me pick it out. She’ll say it’s a gift from her. No one will question it. She’s always adored you.”
Claire stepped toward him, regret clogging her throat, making it difficult to speak.
She touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”
“It’s fine.”
“You know I love you.”
His laugh was bitter. “In secret?”
She swallowed hard. “I know how it sounds, but I’m protecting you as much as myself.”
He ran a hand through his hair, turning away. “Right.”
Claire searched for something to say. Something that would make him understand. That would bring back the magic of the moment before she’d reminded him that their differences were still there, just as glaring as they always were.
Then, the murmur of voices caught the air through the distant sounds of the band playing on the terrace. It was different from the conversation and laughter of the guests sitting at the outdoor tables. This was the sound of two people arguing but trying to keep their voices down.
And it was coming from behind the carriage house, just beyond the arbor.
Xander’s gaze met hers, a silent question in his eyes. She slipped off her shoes in answer and moved past him, out of the arbor.
They stepped carefully across the gravel pathway, the tiny rocks digging into the tender bottoms of Claire’s bare feet. The voices grew louder as they approached the big doors of the carriage house.
Continuing past the front of the old building, they stepped onto the grass that ran along one side, stopping when they came to the end of the structure.
The voices were louder now. Claire could hear some of what was being said, first by a man, his
The box he handed her was large and flat. Wrapped in simple, glossy white paper, it was finished with an enormous green silk bow.
“What is this?” she asked, looking from the box to him. “It’s for me?”
He nodded.
“Xander . . . You didn’t have to get me something.”
“Open it.”
She took the box to the table and began removing the thick paper. “This is crazy.” She lifted the lid. “You shouldn’t have done this. I didn’t get you anything.”
“It’s just a little something.”
She peeled back the tissue paper inside the box, her eyes coming to rest on a garland of white peonies. “But . . . what is it?”
He reached around her, his body brushing hers as he lifted the item out of the box.
“You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to,” he said. “I know you don’t like headpieces. It just . . .” He cleared his throat. “It’s different. It made me think of you.”
He held the headpiece up. The white peonies were open and lush, wound with peacock feathers that came to an exotic point in the front, a large jewel, as green as her dress, dangling like a teardrop. Green ribbon in more shades than she could count trailed off the back of it. It was almost casual, breathtaking in its understatement.
“Xander . . .” Tears stung her eyes. This was just like him. To give her something that celebrated both her individuality and the heritage she couldn’t seem to deny. “If I’d known a headpiece could so beautiful, I would have chosen it myself.”
“You like it?”
“Like it?” She threw her arms around his neck. “I love it. Thank you.”
He peeled her arms away and placed the headpiece on her head, adjusting it a couple of times before he slid in the combs that were built into the sides to hold it in place. When it was secure, the emerald rested against her forehead, the ribbons trailing through the curls down her back.
“How does it look?” she asked.
“Almost as gorgeous as you.” His voice was low, his eyes hooded with a desire Claire recognized from the times they got a little too carried away.
She smiled, but it only lasted a second. “Wait . . . What am I going to tell my parents?”
The light seemed to drop from his eyes, his jaw tensing. “I’ve taken care of it. Sophie helped me pick it out. She’ll say it’s a gift from her. No one will question it. She’s always adored you.”
Claire stepped toward him, regret clogging her throat, making it difficult to speak.
She touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”
“It’s fine.”
“You know I love you.”
His laugh was bitter. “In secret?”
She swallowed hard. “I know how it sounds, but I’m protecting you as much as myself.”
He ran a hand through his hair, turning away. “Right.”
Claire searched for something to say. Something that would make him understand. That would bring back the magic of the moment before she’d reminded him that their differences were still there, just as glaring as they always were.
Then, the murmur of voices caught the air through the distant sounds of the band playing on the terrace. It was different from the conversation and laughter of the guests sitting at the outdoor tables. This was the sound of two people arguing but trying to keep their voices down.
And it was coming from behind the carriage house, just beyond the arbor.
Xander’s gaze met hers, a silent question in his eyes. She slipped off her shoes in answer and moved past him, out of the arbor.
They stepped carefully across the gravel pathway, the tiny rocks digging into the tender bottoms of Claire’s bare feet. The voices grew louder as they approached the big doors of the carriage house.
Continuing past the front of the old building, they stepped onto the grass that ran along one side, stopping when they came to the end of the structure.
The voices were louder now. Claire could hear some of what was being said, first by a man, his
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