he’d come to acquire it, but it wasn’t warranted nor was it any of my concern. “What about liquor? Wine? Do you have a vineyard too?”
He smiled in gentle amusement. “I get my scotch from Flynn Campbell. He owns his own distillery.”
“He owns hotels and a distillery? Is the man ever idle?”
“He doesn’t make the scotch himself. It’s just his operation,” Hadrian stated. “The only wine I drink when I’m on my island comes from a specific vineyard in Italy. Brandy, port, and anything else, I have chartered in. There are some things that would be too much trouble to produce. Even for me.”
I mulled over his explanations, finding myself even more in awe of him. Why he wanted to know anything about me was bizarre—he was the interesting one. And I was fascinated.
I paused in reflection a moment before saying, “Mutton stew, please.”
While the stew was heating on the stove, he cut up a loaf of thick, brown bread.
“I’m guessing you didn’t make that,” I said.
“My housekeeper, Ingrid, baked it. She’s the only reason there’s cooked food in my refrigerator.”
I grinned.
“What?”
“I’m just glad to know you’re not good at everything.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you don’t cook.”
“Who said I don’t cook?”
“You.”
“I can cook. I just choose not to,” he explained.
I wrinkled my nose at him. “That’s annoying.”
“What is?”
“Being around someone who’s good at everything.”
He smiled but didn’t rise to the bait.
“Where is she? Ingrid, I mean.”
“I wanted you all to myself today, so I gave her the day off. You’ll meet her tomorrow.”
“What does she do for you?” I asked, pleasure at his words warming me.
“She oversees my household. She cooks my meals and handles my laundry and other services. Her two daughters come and clean a few times a week, and if I need anything at all outside of the ordinary, Ingrid will get things sorted.”
I nodded. What must it be like to be so wealthy that you had people to cook and clean for you? Well, for the next six months, I’d find out.
“Wine?” he asked.
“Sure.”
There was a nondescript bottle resting on the kitchen island. Hadrian opened a drawer and pulled out a corkscrew.
When the food was ready, Hadrian plated it on a tray. I grabbed the wine glasses and the bottle of wine and followed him into the dining room, which felt just as modern and stiff as the rest of the house. It wasn’t warm or inviting.
I reached for the pepper grinder in the middle of the table, but Hadrian’s hand stopped me.
I sighed but put down the grinder and picked up a spoon. I waited for the spoonful to cool and then took a dainty sip of broth.
“Go ahead,” Hadrian said with a wry grin. “I’ll wait.”
“For what?”
“For you to tell me I was right.”
“Just for that, I should season it.”
“And ruin a perfectly good mutton stew? No. I don’t think so.” He began to eat. After a moment, he said, “What do you think?”
“It’s delicious.”
He shook his head. “I know. I meant, what do you think of my home?”
“It’s impressive,” I said, ladling another spoonful into my mouth and not meeting his gaze.
“That’s a diplomatic answer if I’ve ever heard one,” he said in amusement. “Tell me the truth. What do you really think of it?”
“It’s cold and,” I paused, searching for the right word, “sterile.”
“Sterile,” he repeated.
“It’s not inviting. At all.”
“Good,” he said.
We fell into a charged silence. I kept my eyes on my bowl, consuming every bite and relishing the rich, hearty flavors on my tongue. I would’ve gladly kept eating just to have something to do, just so I didn’t have to talk to Hadrian.
He’d asked my opinion and I’d told him the truth, and he hadn’t liked what I’d had to say.
“Are you ready to see the rest of my sterile house?” he asked, his tone dry.
“There’s more?” I asked in surprise.
“Aye,” he said quietly.
I had no inkling what he was thinking and instead of trying to apologize for being honest, I merely nodded.
We stood from the table and gathered our empty dishes. After we went into the kitchen and placed them in the sink, Hadrian took my hand and led me to a nondescript door that looked like a broom closet—only it wasn’t a closet—but a passage to a fully enclosed glass walkway. We were fifteen feet in the air and if I looked down, I could see the sandy beach below. The glass walls were thick,