The Princess and the Billionaire Read Online Free PDF Page B

that led down to the cellar. Conserves, jams, jellies, and relishes vied for space with jars of Belgian carrots, raspberry vinegars, and cornichons. Glass bottles of pale gold olive oil rested next to enormous sacks of unbleached flour and winter onions.
    She pushed open the back door and stepped out into the garden. Although it was late October, a few bloodred roses still clung to the thorny branches, their sweet fragrance softening the sharp, tangy air. The pathway divided at the edge of the rose garden, and she paused, her gaze drawn across the endless sweep of lawn. If she stood on tiptoe, she could make out a curve of driveway sheltered beneath the porte cochere. Sunlight glittered off the elegant angles of the familiar red Lamborghini, and her breath caught as if she’d received a blow to her chest.
    She hesitated, then the sound of laughter, low and intimate, caught her attention. Turning, she peered through a thick rhododendron bush and looked toward the gazebo. Juliana and Eric were clearly visible, standing inside the gazebo. What on earth could they be talking about that would make Juliana duck her head and smile like that? And Eric certainly looked pleased with himself, albeit a trifle nervous. He wore a turtleneck sweater the color of jet, and she thought she’d never seen him look more romantically handsome. He had that elegant pallor she’d always associated with poets and artists, even though Eric had grown up surrounded by horses, not books and brushes.
    He was leaning against the south side post, his golden head tilted to one side, while Juliana talked with what seemed to be great intensity, her pale hair whipping across her cheek in the breeze. Juliana looked so serious while Eric—darling Eric—looked serious and sincere and so absolutely adorable that Isabelle’s heart melted.
    “I know what you’re doing,” she called out as she approached the gazebo, “and I love you for it.”
    Juliana turned toward her sister, her cameo-perfect face composed and radiant. “Oh, I doubt that you do, Isabelle.”
    Isabelle climbed the three steps and went to Eric’s side. “You cannot fool me, you two wonderful people. You’re making plans for my birthday, aren’t you?” In two and a half weeks she would be turning twenty years of age, and she knew that wonderful occasion would not pass without great fanfare. She linked her arm through Eric’s. Especially not now. “Tell me, are we having a private party for family or a wonderful bash with no one over twenty-five allowed?” She gave Eric’s arm an affectionate squeeze. “Why so silent? Has my big sister been telling you all of my dark and dreadful secrets?”
    “Eric had some marvelous ideas,” said Juliana, breaking in smoothly, “none of which you are to know about until the tenth of November.”
    “So you were plotting something wonderful for my birthday.” She threw back her head and laughed with joy. “I knew it! Juli, you are so terrible at keeping secrets.”
    Eric cast a look back toward the garden room. “We seem to be attracting no small amount of interest.”
    Isabelle glanced over her shoulder. Bronson, arms folded across his broad chest, was watching the scene with blatant curiosity. “Oh, pay no attention,” she said airily. “That obnoxious Mr. Bronson has nothing better to do than stick his nose into other people’s affairs.” Her choice of words brought a rosy glow to her sister’s cheeks. “Oh, Juli!” She laughed and planted a kiss on Juliana’s forehead. “Don’t be so provincial. We’re all adults now, aren’t we?” Feeling amazingly smug and quite adult, she swung about and met Eric’s eyes. “Juli knows all about us.”
    “I’d rather suspected as much.”
    “Are you angry with me?” She pressed kisses along his jawline. “Juli is my sister. I simply couldn’t keep such wondrous news from her.”
    “Don’t make our girl suffer, Eric.” Juliana’s voice was sweet and soft as springtime rain.