Chapter 4 - GenevaGeneva should have solved the problem.
Distance usually did.
Instead, crossing an ocean with Adrian Whitmore only made everything worse.
Our flight left Sunday morning from a private terminal at Teterboro. Lily arrived wearing sunglasses, carrying three suitcases, and complaining about the barbarity of waking before ten.
Adrian arrived with one briefcase.
I brought two bags.
“You pack like a fugitive,” Lily told Adrian.
“I pack efficiently.”
“You own seven houses.”
“That is unrelated.”
“It explains why you don’t understand luggage.”
I hid a smile.
Adrian noticed.
His eyes lingered on me for half a second before he looked away.
Since the night he admitted he would hate watching me date Theo, we had barely spoken.
Not because there was nothing to say.
Because there was too much.
The jet was ridiculous even by Whitmore standards: cream leather, dark wood, a bedroom in the back, and enough space to hold meetings at thirty thousand feet.
I intended to sit beside Lily.
Adrian had other plans.
“Claire, I need the Delacroix files.”
“They’re in your briefcase.”
“I need you to review them with me.”
Lily looked between us.
“How unfortunate.”
I ignored her.
For the first four hours, Adrian behaved professionally.
Painfully professionally.
We discussed property acquisitions, the Harrington Foundation, and a hotel partnership in Lausanne.
Not one word about Theo.
Not one word about the almost-kiss.
Then I fell asleep.
I did not mean to.
I had been reviewing a contract when the words started blurring.
The next thing I knew, warmth covered me.
I opened my eyes.
A cashmere blanket had been placed across my body.
Adrian sat opposite me reading.
“Did you do this?”
“No.”
I looked around.
Lily was asleep at the opposite end of the cabin.
The attendant was nowhere in sight.
“Of course.”
Adrian turned a page.
“You were cold.”
“That sounds dangerously close to concern.”
“Don’t make it dramatic.”
I smiled.
He looked up.
That was the moment I realized the problem was not jealousy.
Jealousy had simply exposed something that had already been growing.
For months, perhaps longer.
The way Adrian knew I hated overly sweet coffee.
The way he moved meetings when my mother had medical appointments without ever mentioning it.
The way he remembered that I preferred lilacs over roses despite claiming flowers were pointless.
The way I could tell when he had skipped lunch based solely on the angle of his shoulders.
We knew each other.
Quietly.
Thoroughly.
Perhaps too well.
Geneva was covered in snow when we arrived.
The Whitmore residence overlooked the lake, a stone villa that felt warmer than the manor in New York despite being nearly as large.
Adrian had meetings immediately.
Lily wanted to ski.
I planned to spend Monday catching up on work.
Then Theo sent flowers.
Not a thousand.
One arrangement.
Tulips.
The card read:
Restraint. See? I’m capable of growth.
I laughed.
The house manager delivered them while Adrian was having coffee.
His eyes found the card.
“You have international distribution now?”
I smiled sweetly.
“Jealous?”
“No.”
“You’re improving at lying.”
His gaze moved to the tulips.
“How did he know where you were staying?”
“I told him.”
Adrian’s expression changed.
Not anger.
Something darker.
“You gave him this address?”
“Yes.”
“This is a private residence.”
“He’s not planning an invasion.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“What is the point?”
“Security.”
I laughed.
“You investigated a florist and found nothing. I think the Swiss government can survive twelve tulips.”
He stood.
“I have a meeting.”
“Excellent argument.”
He left.
Lily appeared moments later.
“I give him forty-eight hours.”
“For what?”
“To either confess his feelings or buy every tulip farm in Europe and shut them down.”
“He does not have feelings.”
She looked at me.
“You’re becoming a terrible liar too.”
That afternoon, while Adrian attended meetings, Lily dragged me into Geneva.
We walked along the lake, drank hot chocolate, and visited boutiques where I refused to allow her to buy me anything.
At four, Theo called.
Lily immediately disappeared into a jewelry store.
“You’re still alive?” Theo asked.
“Barely. Switzerland is very threatening.”
“How’s Whitmore?”
“Working.”
“Has he thrown my tulips into the lake?”
“Not yet.”
Theo became quiet.
“Claire.”
I knew that tone.
“What?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“With him?”
I stopped walking.
Snow moved lightly over the sidewalk.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I saw the way he looked at you.”
“Theo—”
“I’m not angry.”
I closed my eyes.
“You should be.”
“No. I should be realistic.”
People moved around me in winter coats.
Across the street, Christmas lights from months earlier still hung above a café terrace.
Theo continued.
“I care about you enough not to pretend I didn’t notice.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Does he want you?”
The question made my chest tighten.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I stared at the lake.
“Yes.”
Saying it aloud changed something.
Theo sighed softly.
“And you?”
I could have lied.
I did not.
“I don’t know what I want.”
“Okay.”
“That’s all?”
“What am I supposed to do, challenge him to a duel?”
Despite everything, I laughed.
“I’d pay to see that.”
“He’d probably have someone research my fencing history first.”
My smile faded.
“Theo, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for having feelings.”
“That’s disturbingly healthy.”
“I listen to podcasts.”
I laughed again.
Then he said, “Just don’t choose him because he finally noticed someone else wanted you.”
That sentence stayed with me.
When I returned to the villa, Adrian was in the library.
My tulips were gone.
I stopped.
The table where they had been was empty.
“Where are my flowers?”
Adrian looked up from his laptop.
“I had them moved.”
“To where?”
“The sitting room.”
“Why?”
“They were distracting.”
“They were flowers.”
“They were yellow.”
I stared at him.
“Yellow distracted you?”
“In that room.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“I have been told.”
I walked toward him.
“Theo called.”
His fingers stopped above the keyboard.
“I see.”
“He thinks you want me.”
Adrian became absolutely still.
“Does he?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you tell him?”
I watched him carefully.
“That you do.”
Silence.
He closed the laptop.
“That was presumptuous.”
“Was it wrong?”
“No.”
The answer came immediately.
My pulse jumped.
Adrian stood.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
“What exactly do you want from me?” I asked.
“I’m trying to determine that.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying you know.”
“Because I do.”
He walked toward the window, then turned back as if frustrated with himself.
“I spent years believing wanting people was dangerous.”
“Because of your parents?”
His expression closed slightly.
“Partly.”
“Adrian.”
He looked away.
I had never asked him directly about his mother.
No one did.
But that night, perhaps because we were thousands of miles from Whitmore Manor, he answered.
“My father loved my mother,” he said.
I waited.
“He also destroyed her.”
His voice was quiet.
“He monitored where she went. Who she spoke to. What she spent. He called it protection.”
Cold moved through me.
Adrian looked at his hands.
“When she tried to leave, he threatened everyone who helped her.”
“Adrian…”
“She eventually left anyway.”
“How old were you?”
“Seventeen.”
“And Lily?”
“Ten.”
That explained more than I wanted it to.
“She wanted us to go with her,” he continued. “I refused.”
“Why?”
“I thought she was abandoning the family.”
His jaw tightened.
“My father made certain I believed that.”
“What happened?”
“She moved to France. She called. I stopped answering.”
My heart hurt.
“When did you see her again?”
“I didn’t.”
The room went silent.
I understood before he said it.
“She died three years later.”
I whispered his name.
He looked toward the window.
“I spent years blaming her for leaving. Then my father died, and I found her letters.”
“What letters?”
“Hundreds.”
He swallowed.
“He had intercepted them.”
I could barely breathe.
“She never stopped trying.”
“No.”
For the first time, Adrian’s composure cracked.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“I learned two things from my parents,” he said. “Love can become possession. And refusing to love anyone does not protect them. It simply guarantees you lose them differently.”
I moved closer.
“Is that why you’re afraid?”
His eyes found mine.
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt more than denial would have.
“I investigated Theo,” he said, “and the moment I realized what I was doing, I understood I was becoming dangerously similar to my father.”
“You stopped.”
“I should never have started.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
It was not the quick apology from the conservatory.
This one cost him something.
I could see it.
“I accept your apology.”
His shoulders loosened.
“But you don’t get to control who I see.”
“I know.”
“And you don’t get to decide what I feel.”
“I know.”
“And if this becomes something between us, jealousy cannot become an excuse for possession.”
His gaze did not move.
“It won’t.”
“How can you promise that?”
“I can promise I will leave before I become him.”
My chest tightened.
“That isn’t what I want either.”
His brows drew together.
“What do you want?”
I stepped closer.
Close enough to smell cedar and winter air on his shirt.
“I want you to learn that staying doesn’t have to mean controlling someone.”
Something changed in his face.
“And if I can’t?”
“Then we don’t do this.”
His voice became almost a whisper.
“Do what?”
I should have stepped away.
Instead, I lifted my hand.
My fingers touched the front of his shirt.
Adrian stopped breathing.
“This.”
He looked at my hand.
Then at me.
“Claire.”
The warning in my name was almost unbearable.
“What?”
“I have been trying very hard not to kiss you.”
Heat moved through me.
“How hard?”
His eyes darkened.
“Since the roses.”
I smiled faintly.
“Only since then?”
His expression changed.
There.
The truth.
“No.”
My heartbeat thundered.
“How long?”
He leaned closer.
“Long enough that answering would make me look like a fool.”
“Try me.”
His forehead almost touched mine.
“Last summer.”
I searched my memory.
“What happened last summer?”
“You fell asleep in the library.”
I blinked.
“That’s it?”
“You were reading.”
“That is possibly the least seductive story I have ever heard.”
His mouth finally curved.
A real smile.
Small.
Devastating.
“You had ink on your cheek.”
“Oh.”
“You were wearing that ridiculous yellow sweater.”
“I love that sweater.”
“I know.”
“And you fell in love with me?”
“I did not say love.”
The smile disappeared.
Fear returned.
I understood.
So I did not push.
“Then what did you feel?”
His fingers lifted.
Slowly, giving me every chance to move away.
He touched my cheek.
“Too much.”
I closed my eyes.
His thumb brushed my skin.
Then Lily’s voice echoed from the hallway.
“IF YOU TWO ARE FINALLY KISSING, I AM NOT COMING IN.”
We jumped apart.
I covered my face.
Adrian closed his eyes.
Lily called again.
“I JUST NEED MY PASSPORT.”
Adrian looked toward the ceiling as if asking the universe for patience.
I started laughing.
He stared at me.
Then, unexpectedly, he laughed too.
It was low and brief and so rare that I forgot everything else.
Lily poked her head through the door.
She froze.
“You’re laughing.”
Adrian stopped instantly.
Lily looked at me.
“What did you do to him?”
“Get your passport.”
She grinned.
That night, alone in my room, I found a red rose on the table beside my bed.
Not from Theo.
There was no card.
No thousand flowers.
No declaration.
May you like
Just one rose.
And somehow, coming from Adrian Whitmore, it felt louder than all the others combined.
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