Chapter 282

The sleek black sedan pulled up to the gated entrance of Lockhart Manor.

Nathan Prescott cut the engine and whistled low. "Impressive digs, though a bit... isolated. Rumor has it the last owners fled because of ghost sightings. Doesn't spook you living alone in this mausoleum?"

Vivian Lockhart's lips curved into an amused smile. "Ghosts? Please. The living terrify me far more than the dead ever could." Her fingers clicked the seatbelt release. "And I stopped being afraid of people long ago."

As she reached for the door handle, Nathan caught her wrist. "No invitation for tea? After that harrowing drive through rush hour traffic?" His grin was all boyish charm.

Vivian turned, the afternoon light catching in her auburn hair. "Earl Grey. Imported." Her smile hit him like a physical blow - that rare, unguarded expression transforming her sharp features into something breathtaking.

Nathan suddenly found the leather steering wheel fascinating. "Well. Since you're twisting my arm..."

The manor grounds had undergone a metamorphosis under Vivian and Evelyn Whitmore's care. Where weeds once choked the pathways, orderly rows of lavender now bordered flagstone walks. The air hummed with bees drunk on nectar.

"Christ," Nathan breathed. "From the road it looks like some Gothic horror set. But this?" He gestured at the tiered rose gardens. "This belongs in a fucking fairy tale."

He flopped onto a wrought-iron bench with theatrical exhaustion. "Seriously, any spare bedrooms? I'll pay triple the Ritz-Carlton's penthouse rate." His grin turned wheedling. "Corporate litigation's eating my soul. Your gardens scream 'healing retreat.'"

Vivian rolled her eyes but moved toward the tea service. "Your shamelessness remains unparalleled."

Evelyn's absence left the manor preternaturally quiet. Yet Vivian found Nathan's presence oddly... uncomplicated. No calculating silences. No landmines in every conversation. Just easy companionship - a novelty after years navigating Nathaniel Blackwood's emotional minefields.

The tea ritual unfolded with practiced grace. Boiling water over loose leaves. Precisely three minutes' steep. The fragrant steam curled between them as Vivian poured into bone china cups.

Nathan took an appreciative sip. "Damn. You moonlight as a tea sommelier?"

"Among other things." Vivian's smile was enigmatic. She owed him this small hospitality - his below-market lease on the warehouse space had saved her fledgling operation.

Upstairs, the solarium's floor-to-ceiling windows framed the estate's crowning glory: an acre of sunflowers turning their golden faces toward the late afternoon light.

"Those are Blackwood Estate-level blooms," Nathan observed. "Nathaniel mentioned your sunflower obsession. What's the appeal? Some deep symbolic meaning?"

Vivian watched a bumblebee navigate the pollen-heavy blossoms. "They're stubborn bastards. Drought, poor soil, doesn't matter - they'll stretch toward every scrap of sunlight." Her fingertip traced the cup's gilt edge. "I respect that kind of relentless optimism."

Nathan's gaze turned speculative. "And the flower language?"

"Wouldn't you like to know." The words came out lighter than intended. The tea leaves swirled as she gave her cup a thoughtful turn. Outside, the sunflowers stood sentinel - a living wall between her present and a past she'd vowed never to revisit.