Seduced By The British Billionaire(47)

“I’ll tell him tonight,” she decided aloud. “And then I’ll finish the wedding plans.”

They both headed back home. Sasha needed to feed Abel who had a voracious appetite as of late. She had agreed to stay until the wedding which was in a few weeks but Melanie had to leave on a business meeting. She would be back on the big day.

When all was hush and quiet, Amber busied herself with internet searches. She still had to order the party favors, but she seemed to have found the perfect spot to place the arbor. She liked the place with the log.

Early afternoon she received a text from Charles stating he wouldn’t be home until late that night. She sighed. He would probably want to just go straight to bed.

After growing bored from the wedding plans, she decided to head over to Mrs. Livingston’s bungalow. She had rarely seen his parents since she first got there. The occasional greeting and inquiry of Charles was pretty much all that had passed between them. But today, she was determined for that to change.

Tapping on the door she waited. Mr. Livingston opened the door, greeting her with a friendly smile. Of course the gesture threw her off, but he was smiling at her, which was a good sign.

“Hi Mr. Livingston…sir...” She tripped over her own words and felt her cheeks grow hot. “Is the lady of the house around?”

Could one ask that anymore? Was that a proper way to address her or was that too old fashioned? She wasn’t quite sure, but she found him opening the door for her to come in. “She’s fixing lunch. Please come in, there is plenty.”

Amber stepped through the doorway gingerly, removing her sandals immediately after. The sweet smell of pineapple hit her nose causing her mouth to water. Whatever his mom was making, it smelled amazing.

She tiptoed forward while trailing Mr. Livingston. The kitchen revealed itself a few feet after the doorway, its massive counter space a dream for any aspiring chef.

Mr. Livingston motioned to Amber. “Dear, we have a guest.”

She turned with cooking mitts on her hands to see who it was. “Amber,” she said surprised. “How nice to see you. Please, make yourself at home.” She pointed to a tall bar stool at the edge of the counter. “George and I were just talking about having you over for dinner.”

Amber couldn’t tell whether that was a lie or them being honest. Either way, she was happy to oblige.

Swiftly walking across the spacious living room with its leather couches and cedar coffee table, she sat down at the ordained seat.

Never had she seen a woman busy herself around the kitchen quite so enthusiastically. It was rather intriguing to watch.

“So,” Mrs. Livingston broke the silence. “Perhaps we need to try this again,” she said, motioning to the two of them. “Just don’t take everything too personally dear.”

Amber gracefully inclined, taking care to notice every little detail of the warm home. There were pictures of sail boats and lighthouses all over the walls. Candles were lit even in the daytime, probably to add warmth she assumed. Spices and fruit lined the counter tops of the rather elaborately equipped kitchen. It even had double ovens too.

Mrs. Livingston was preparing a fruit bowl. She was cutting up star fruit and decorating the rims quite skillfully. Without looking up, she continued the conversation. “Charles tells me you paint. I’m sorry for being so rude a while back. I just have a hard time coping with change,” She apologized. “Tell me about your paintings.”

The sudden change in mood threw her for a loop. She didn’t quite know how to answer. She grabbed at a loose napkin nervously and began to fold it. “There isn’t much to tell really,” she breathed, glad that Mrs. Livingston’s gaze was so concentrated on the fruit. “I paint from my heart. Just for fun really. I don’t ever expect to go anywhere with it.”

Mr. Livingston piped up in the conversation. “What do you like to paint?”

She thought about it for a good long second. The smell of paint rushed through her nose and the sturdy feeling of the brush weighed so nicely. She could almost feel them now. Then she looked up. “I paint water scenes. I like the ocean. There’s something so romantic and lonesome about its depths. I know I sound weird,” she added, hoping that she didn’t come across that way.

Mr. Livingston shook his head. “Not at all, my dear.” He proceeded to twirl his new grown mustache. It managed to make him look distinguished in his years. Amber kind of liked it.

Mrs. Livingston looked up from her cutting. “I have a request from you later, but I’ll touch on the subject after dinner.” She licked her fingers before putting the knife in the deep sink. “Tell me about yourself. Were you born in New York? Do you have family?”