Billionaire Romance Boxed Set 1(123)

The first night in Budapest I woke in that odd hour between first and second sleep, near midnight. The snow outside fell softly against the windows, the flakes drifting up onto the panes and crusting the glass white such as it never had been in Pasadena, and for a moment I didn’t know where I was, my self so far removed from anything close to what I called home.

Then I saw the moon outside. I exhaled, and my sense of dispossession evaporated, disappearing almost as quickly as my white breath into the air. A sense of peace came over me. I would see my mother’s grave, and I would know love. I felt as certain of this as I did anything else, and this time I did not have to walk to calm myself. Indeed, there was nowhere to go—I was where I needed to be. As I fell back into sleep, I caught myself smiling.

I woke up in the most beautiful room I had ever been in. The large canopied bed swathed with velvet fabric enclosed me in my dreams. I confess that my dreams mostly revolved around Eliot, his beautiful eyes and quiet smile. There lingered a tension between us from our former encounters, a magical feeling that I could not put my finger on—did not want to put my finger on, lest it dissipate. I knew he still wanted me, and I still wanted him, and though we had both accepted that we could not have each other, there was still a longing that I saw in his eyes which I am sure was reflected in mine.

I dressed quickly in jeans and a light sweater, splashed water on my face and brushed my teeth in the granite sink with copper fixtures. Everything here gave off an air of old elegance, of beauty enhanced by age rather than deteriorated by it. I tiptoed down the hall and down the main staircase. There was a chill in the air here that was not in my room, but my sweater kept me warm.#p#分页标题#e#

“Hello?”

“Brynn?” His voice came from just around the corner on the first floor. I hopped down the rest of the way down the stairs and turned the corner to see him at the stove, the countertop covered in flour. Lucky sat on the edge of the countertop, licking at a small saucer of milk. Both kitten and man were dusted lightly in patches of flour—Lucky on his tail and Eliot on the end of his nose.

I clapped my hand to my mouth to stifle a giggle.

“Before you say anything, know that we—both of us—had the best of intentions with breakfast.” Eliot came over to me and gave me a chaste hug, careful not to transfer any flour from his body to mine. I reached out and swiped my thumb across his nose to get rid of the flour. He stared cross-eyed at my fingers and caught his breath. I stepped back and surveyed the kitchen, my hands on my hips. The sinks looked like they had been hit by a tornado, with piles of plates and glasses left unwashed, sprawling over the countertops. Behind them the huge windows gave a picturesque view of the mountains covered in snow, a fir forest creeping up to the edge of the estate.

“What exactly is it you are trying to make?” I asked.

“Pancakes. It seemed so simple at the university dining hall,” Eliot explained. “I found a recipe in a book, but I must have added too much water. Then I tried to put more flour in to rebalance, you understand.”

I nodded seriously, my suppressed grin threatening to come to the surface.

“And that’s when I realized we were out of eggs. And this little one—” he said, frowning and pointing with a batter-covered spoon, “would not leave me alone. I had to give him cream to get rid of him!”

“That is a shame.” I petted Lucky on the head, and he purred happily, rubbing himself on my hand. He already looked happier than when I had found him yesterday.

“My mother always used to make such delicious palacsinta,” Eliot said, sitting down with a sigh in one of the kitchen chairs. “Like pancakes, but stuffed with things, you know.”

“What do you normally have for breakfast?” I asked.

“Oh, just tea and bread with butter and honey,” he said. “And a side of bacon. The butcher has such fresh cuts here. Much better than in America.”

My stomach grumbled, and Eliot raised his eyebrows.

“Sounds good to me,” I said. “How about you make us some breakfast while I clean this up?”

Lucky meowed in apparent agreement and I got to work on the dishes while Eliot put a kettle on for the hot water. He happily fried up thick slabs of bacon, and the kitchen filled with the rich, heady scent of the meat. We sat down at the countertop with large mugs, the windows to the backyard now showing the first rays of sunlight coming over the mountaintops.

“What a gorgeous place,” I said. I sipped my tea. Eliot brought over the plates full of bread, honey, and bacon.

“Sometimes I forget how beautiful it is,” Eliot said. There was a sadness in his voice. “We can go and walk the grounds later today, perhaps. I don’t want you going out into the woods on your own.”