“I’m—” I pause as he steps even closer, as I breathe in his intoxicating scent. “I’m the family’s servant.”

“Excuse me?” He raises his eyebrow. “Since when can Mr. Arwyn afford a servant?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is when he owes me something.”

“Okay, look asshole.” I cross my arms. “You barged into this house uninvited, and you’re suddenly acting like everything in it belongs to you. You don’t have permission to ask me any more questions, and it’s far past time for you to leave. I’ll tell Mr. Arwyn and Izzie that you stopped by.”

“Can you promise me that?”

“No.”

“I figured.” He pulls a red rose bloom from his coat pocket and sets it on the table.

“Word of advice to you, Miss Anonymous. If you don’t wish to be a spinster or a servant girl for the rest of your life, you should learn how to be nice.”

“I didn’t shoot you between your eyes for trespassing,” I say. “I’m being more than nice.”

His lips curve into a slow, sexy smile. “In case I run into Izzie, do you have a name so I can tell her that we’ve spoken?”

“Yes. It’s Get Out,” I say, and he laughs again as he heads toward the door.

Even though I know that Izzie will say no to Gabriel’s attempt at affection on the count of him not being a prince, I can’t help but give him a false sense of hope.

“You’re forgetting something,” I say.

“I don’t have any extra manners.” He looks over his shoulder. “I would leave some for you if I did. Trust me.”

“Funny.” I roll my eyes. “Izzie appreciates lavish gifts from the men who want to impress her, so…” I look over at the single bloom, then back at him. “You’ll need to leave a lot more than a flower if you want a chance with her during suitor season.”

“That rose is for you.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he says. “I highly doubt that any suitors are lining up for a taste of your mouth, so consider it my consolation.” He pauses. “This is the part when you thank me and give me the water I asked for.”

I slam the door in his face and rush over to the window.

I watch as he summons a stunning brown stallion from afar and writes something on the inside of his palm.

He takes one last look at our house before settling onto the saddle and riding away.

When he’s long gone, I pick up his sympathy gift and twirl it between my fingertips.

I hate that he’s right about this being the only gift I’ve ever received from a man, and it’s far too beautiful to throw away.

Even if it’s out of spite.

Not wanting to think about it, I trap the bloom under a glass jar and hide it under my bed.