A Criminal Kiss [Max Verstappen]

chapter three

Annalise P.O.V

Father had given me a day to take a break from finding a suitor — thank the lord. And I will be taking this day very importantly, spending as much time as possible away from future husbands.

My plans for solitude, however, were already being ruined.

"Ann, please just cover for me! I'll bring Pierre, it won't just be us," Clara whined, her hands clasped dramatically as she paced back and forth.

For the past five minutes, she'd been pleading with me to shield her latest escapade. The plan? Convince Father she was somewhere within the estate—perhaps in my room quietly reading—when, in truth, she planned to slip out and meet him.

Sir Colapinto.

Or, as she called him, Franco.

I strongly suspected there was more between them than she let on. There was a certain sparkle in her eye whenever his name came up. Not that I blamed her. If one of us had the chance to find true love, then at least it should be her. It was better than neither of us.

"Okay, okay," I sighed at last, raising my hands in surrender.

Clara let out an excited squeal, pulling me into a tight hug. "Oh, thank you, thank you, Ann!" she gushed, barely containing her joy as she smoothed her dress and adjusted a loose strand of hair. She was practically glowing as she darted out of the room, leaving a trail of her floral perfume in her wake.

I couldn't help but chuckle softly, shaking my head as I watched her go.

The gardens seemed like the perfect escape. The morning sun was warm but not yet hot, and the air was fragrant with the blooms of late spring. I made my way through the grand back doorway, the estate's sprawling gardens stretching out before me like a secret maze.

The blooms were stunning: clusters of deep red roses climbing trellises, their petals glistening with dew; beds of lavender swaying gently in the breeze; and bursts of yellow and orange marigolds dotting the paths like tiny suns. Ancient oaks framed the scene, their branches stretching wide as if to shield the garden from the outside world. Bees hummed lazily between blossoms, and the gentle trickle of the central fountain provided a soothing melody.

As I descended the stone steps, I spotted Pierre, our chauffeur, standing stiffly beside the carriage. His gaze was fixed on something distant, his expression unreadable.

"Good morning!" I called, offering him a polite smile.

He turned slightly, nodding in acknowledgment. "Your Grace," he murmured, his tone flat, before quickly averting his eyes back to whatever had captured his attention.

Pierre had always been reserved, a man of few words. I often wondered what occupied his thoughts when he stood there in silence, so distant from the rest of us. He seemed out of place in the grandeur of the Cook estate, like he'd rather be anywhere else.

"Ah! Your Grace, good morning!"

I turned to find my two guards, Lando and Oscar, approaching with their usual cheerful energy. Both had insisted I drop the formalities and call them by their first names—a scandalous notion, according to my father. But for me, it was a small rebellion I was happy to indulge.

"Good morning," I replied, a hint of warmth in my voice as I continued down the garden path.

As I wandered deeper into the garden, Lando and Oscar kept a respectful distance, trailing far enough behind to give me space but remaining close enough to intervene should anything unexpected occur. Their constant presence was a little unnerving at times, but I couldn't deny the comfort it brought knowing they were there.