Yes, I believe it was.

While I was honored to have such a nice place to stay while sorting out his art collection, and beyond blessed to be the lucky conservator to land this job, nothing was how I’d imagined it might’ve been when I’d first come to Donadea. Or meeting Ivan as his true self—not Mr. Ivanhoe, and certainly not the crazed man who believed I was Maria the escort/spy here to blackmail him with a sex tape. He is so very different than either of those personas.

Since he’d brought me to Donadea in his plane, he’d done nothing but make me feel welcome and wanted and… wonderful in a whole lot of ways. The sex was off the chain, yes, but there was more to him than just a handsome man inside a hot body he knew how to use exceedingly well. Because Ivan seemed to genuinely like having me in his home. He also seemed obsessed with me being the only one to catalogue his collection—to be here at Donadea. Maybe he was lonely. I felt that vibe from him when he’d basically begged me to give him the rest of the weekend. He said I was the first woman he’d ever brought to Donadea as his guest. Lucky, lucky, kitten then.

Ivan Everley was charming and sexy, yet brutally honest in his behavior and how he chose to live his life. He told me what he wanted and then asked me if I was okay with whatever he demanded. I’d wanted the same, of course, but if I hadn’t been okay, he would have respected my wishes and tried to make sure I felt comfortable. He was a protective and generous person, yet strangely open despite horrific invasions to his privacy. And while his forced invitation to his home might’ve been a touch unorthodox, I was so very grateful he’d kidnapped me from Ethan and Brynne’s wedding to bring me here.

The bathroom attached to my rooms wasn’t the modern marble creation that Ivan had in his, but I wasn’t disappointed in any way. Its elegance matched the décor of my bedroom in loveliness, but it was the bathtub which was simply magnificent. Four people could probably bathe in it together at the same time if they so desired. My bathroom had also been meticulously renovated at some point and received five glowing stars from me. As soon as I’d done a quick walk-through of my rooms, and sufficiently stared at the painting of Lady Rothvale with the lamb long enough to where I was able to drag my eyes away, I’d fill up that huge tub with a bubble bath worthy of a Hollywood movie and have the most decadent soak of my life.

Wrapped in a thick cotton towel, my skin warm from the best bath I could recall in recent memory, I was in need of something to put on my body. My clothing choices were limited until bags arrived from Hallborough, which was hopefully going to be soon. I headed over to the giant wardrobe and opened it up. There on a padded hanger hanging inside the door was the cerulean blue smoking jacket. Almost as if asking, “You rang, my lady?”