Not a Flower - A Novel

Chapter 7

The next day came swiftly and went swiftly. The Castle was silent when Grace made her way back from an afternoon spent reading on the beach. She didn't see anyone as she made her way up to her room to take a hot shower and she was glad.

Grace turned off the water reluctantly after about an hour and stepped out. Carefully wrapping herself in a large towel, she walked into her bedroom.

There was a knock on her door. Her heart jumped. A sixth sense told her who it was.

"Wait a second." She called out in a calm voice while frantically pulling on her robe.

"Grace?"

It was Duval. And he was last person she wanted to see right now.

"Grace, can I come in?"

No.

She didn't answer. Then she thought of how Adrian had mocked her cowardliness. Lifting her chin, she stalked over and opened the door.

Duval was dressed casually. His silky hair was mussed, looking darker then usual in the half light. Gone were the designer shirts and tailored slacks. In their place he wore a gray thin knit cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of faded army green khaki shorts. The shirt fit him tightly across the shoulders and chest and loosely skimmed down the lean length of his flat belly. Her eyes drifted down to take in the sight of brawny legs and strong narrow feet that nonetheless still managed to look excessively masculine even when wearing bright pink flip-flops.

"They were a gift." Duval muttered at the direction her gaze had gone. Grace almost laughed. He sounded so defensive.

Forgetting that she was supposed to be nervous around him, for the moment, Grace was drawn back into the easy warmth of their long friendship.

"They're quite...pretty." She chirpped innocuously. "I've always liked pink."

"It's not pink." Duval stated firmly, but his amber eyes were sparkling with lazy mirth. "It's called New Safari by Gucci. The hottest thing in New York right now."

"Oh, I see." Grace kept the smile on her face even though it now felt frozen. The sandals were obviously a present from Vivian.

Duval caught her changing mood. All traces of boyishness disappeared from his eyes as they became shuttered again. Grace wished that she could bring the old Duval back. The one whose face had been filled with humor and warmth and whatever momentary shadows lingered there was easily banished with a shared joke or two.

"Can I come in?"

Grace nodded in sheer reflex and moved to step aside for him to enter. Then she stopped.

"Uh, maybe I should get dressed and meet you downstairs." She said with an apologetic smile.

He raised an eyebrow. "Worried about propriety?"

"Yes." Grace knew that she was acting like the prude that Adrian had accused her of but the bedroom was far too intimate a setting for a talk.

"We're friends Grace. And we've known each other for a long time." He took a step in. Duval stopped only when she added softly.

"If I were your fiancée, I don't think I'd be too happy to see you go into another woman's bedroom, even if the woman was just your friend."

She would have thought that Duval might have argued but for unfathomable reasons of his own, he simply nodded and said. "I'll wait for you in the kitchen."

Grace shut the door behind her and wondered what it was that Duval wanted to talk to her about. Vivian? Probably.

She looked in the closet and pulled out the first things that came to hand. A pair of plain men's boxer shorts that she had owned for almost forever and a loose black cotton tee-shirt. Wryly Grace considered her reflection in the mirror—this was the result. Damp hair tied in a ponytail. Face scrubbed of make-up and distinctly unglamorous shiny skin reddened by overexposure to the salty ocean wind and sun. She looked about sixteen.