Page 13
-Jx
That at least answered the question as to who had been in the bedroom, and a little part of me wanted to be annoyed that Jacob had been sneaking around while I was asleep. It was his house, though, so I suppose he had every right to go where he wanted.
Finishing the water and dropping the note on the table, I picked up the clothes: clean underwear and a cream summer dress with three big buttons down the front. My gaze caught on the letter again. I’ve picked out some clothes for you to wear today. He’d said that last night, too. When he handed me the pajamas, he said he’d picked them out for me.
The knot I was so used to carrying in my stomach tightened. Despite my parents controlling most areas of my life, they never dictated what I wore. Choosing my outfits was one of the few choices I was allowed to make for myself. But staring at the letter, that little piece of freedom felt like it was slipping from my hands.
I wasn’t one to rebel, but as I stared at the clothes in my hand, I knew I had to make a stand. Jacob might have bought my freedom, but I’d be damned if I was going to let him take away all of my independence.
Without giving it a second thought, I put the dress on the table but kept the underwear, before turning on my heel and stomping to the bathroom where I’d left the clothes I’d been wearing when I arrived here hours ago.
Forty minutes later, I was showered and dressed in my jeans and pink jumper, having spent longer than I normally would under the powerful waterfall shower. By coincidence, Jacob’s bathroom shelf was filled with my favorite products, and I took my time to pamper myself, figuring that after the turmoil of the past twenty-four hours, it was the least I deserved.
Nerves swam in my belly as I left the sanctuary of the bedroom, tiptoeing down the stairs to the first floor before getting a whiff of freshly baked bread and coffee. I followed the scent to the ground floor, passing through the foyer and to the door at the back.
Pushing it open, I tentatively poked my head around the door, discovering the kitchen. I stepped inside, admiring the colonial-style white cupboards, an old-fashioned double oven, and a huge window and double glass doors that looked out to the back of the house.
Standing at a kitchen counter, chopping up tomatoes, was a man who had his back to me. His short, curly grey hair told me that it wasn’t Jacob.
I cleared my throat. “Hello, you must be Wallace?”
He didn’t turn around or make any indication that he’d heard me. Or he had heard me and was just ignoring me, which would be incredibly rude.
Taking a few hesitant steps, I tried to catch his eye. “Hello?” His head twisted in my direction, and I waved awkwardly. “Hi. Wallace, right?”
His disapproving gaze raked over me before giving me the briefest of nods and returning to the chopping board.
“Okay then,” I muttered to myself.
“You won’t get anything out of Wallace, angel.”
The smooth voice had me spinning around, and I came face-to-face with Jacob. He wasn’t wearing a suit like the day before; instead, he wore dark blue jeans and a tight-fitting polo shirt that stretched across his broad chest and showed off his strong, muscular arms.
He looked hotter now than he did in his suit.
Jacob stepped around me, crossing to Wallace and tapping him on the shoulder. Wallace turned, his rigid features still set as Jacob asked, “How long will lunch be?” Wallace raised both hands, opening and closing his fingers twice. Spinning to face me again, Jacob smiled softly. “Wallace doesn’t speak, angel. He communicates with his hands; you’ll soon learn to understand him.”
Hmm. So he didn’t speak, but he must have heard me calling him; why ignore me?
I didn’t have a chance to dwell on it; in a few steps, Jacob was back in front of me. “He says lunch will be about twenty minutes. Would you like a tour of the house while we wait?”
Ignoring the rumble in my stomach, I nodded. “Sure.”
Taking my hand, Jacob led me back to the foyer, starting the tour with the rooms on either side of it; one being a living room, the other a drawing room, which he said he rarely used. He guided me upstairs, explaining that the first floor had six bedrooms, four of which had en-suites.
We bypassed one room without Jacob explaining what it was used for before he opened the door to the room he’d converted into his office so he could work from the house to manage the family business, Du Pont Communications.
He explained that his great-great-grandfather had started a small company, manufacturing telegraph equipment, which earned him contracts with the government and railway. He became wealthy very quickly, which enabled him to purchase the island.
Jacob had explained passionately that every generation the business was handed to, it had expanded into something new. Telegraphs became telephones, telephones turned into mobile phones, and so on, right up until now, where Jacob ran the technology division.
With each room he showed me, I fell in love with the house a little more. It was vastly different to my parents’ home where my mother had insisted on filling the entire house with objects worth a fortune, even if they were abhorrent.
Du Pont House, on the other hand, was decorated with warm, homely colors of oranges, yellows, and reds, and the walls adorned with paintings, mainly of beautiful scenery and famous landscapes. The types of paintings I’d always enjoyed creating.
When the inside tour of the house was finished, Jacob pushed open a set of double doors situated in the living room, and the cool air from outside rushed in, the scent of sea salt once again consuming my senses.
He clutched my hand as we walked down the stone steps that led to a small sandy beach, and just before we stepped onto it, Jacob suggested I remove my ballet pumps, as it would be easier to walk on the sand with bare feet.
