“In all honesty, I don’t know how they got there.”

She turned to me, giving me a disbelieving look.

“That was not what I meant. I bought them, I’m not denying that,” I said, a smile playing on my own lips. “It’s just they were supposed to be dropped off here. Not hung.”

Her eyes darted to the paintings again.

“By the man in glasses.” She pursed her lips and went back to stirring her sauce.

I waited for a reaction. For her to say more, maybe curse his name, but there was nothing.

Doesn’t she remember him?

She would soon. I wasn’t looking forward to when she finally did. He wasn’t a caring guy, and I knew firsthand that he had a million enemies out there just because of how uncaring he could be.

“Thank you for your patience.” Her tone was playful as she turned her head and shot me a grin. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a messy bun, her dark roots showing through. There was no makeup on her face, and yet it was shining with a light I’d never seen before.

She’s breathtaking.

I lost my train of thought, the box in my pocket feeling heavier and heavier as she walked toward me with a plate of food.

“Homemade poulet basquaise,” she announced with another winning smile. “And I have a ballotine de poulet in the oven. You keep a lot of chicken in the house.”

I couldn’t help but smile back.

“It’s a lean meat,” I muttered and took a look at the plate in front of me. It smelled good but looked like chicken cooked in a sauce with a few vegetables here and there served over rice.

Honestly, I didn’t expect much from somebody who grew up in a wealthy household. She hadn’t had to cook—her father made sure of that.

“Go on,” she said and gave me a fork. I took it hesitantly. “It won’t bite.”

Swallowing my fear, I dove in and took a rather large bite. Immediately, the flavors washed across my taste buds. My eyes shot to her.

“Why is this good?”

Her eyes lit up as she glowered at me.

“I’m trying really hard to let that question slide, Mr. King,” she started. “I had a nanny who studied culinary in France. She even took me there once for the summer. I spent far too much time with her, and Dad wasn’t exactly happy I was in the kitchen a lot, but if it kept me out of his and Mom’s hair, they couldn’t complain too much.”

My heart ached for her. It was far too easy to imagine her alone with a nanny, wishing her parents were around.

Is that why she worked so hard, even back when she had everything?

I pressed my lips into a thin line.