Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Let’s go to my house.”
You know, anyone else would have been all over that offer. Not Lorenzo. I could practically see the wheels turning, his brain weighing the wisdom of hanging out with me. I was too mentally drained to talk him into it, so I held my breath and hoped he’d say yes.
“Okay. Yes.”
Fifteen minutes later, Raul pulled up to the gated entrance at the bottom of the hill leading to my house. Camera lights flashed as the gate creaked open. Idiot. I wasn’t sure who was interested in a photo of a black SUV, but that was all they’d get at this hour. The windows were dark, and the security team wouldn’t let them get any closer.
Lorenzo frowned and sank lower in his seat. I didn’t say a word.
I lived in a rarefied world I didn’t know how to explain, and truthfully, I’d become numb over the years. In the beginning, the perks were sweet and the lack of freedom had seemed like a small price to pay. Now I recognized my home for what it was: a cage. A pretty glass-and-steel cage on a hill with beautiful views and every amenity known to man, but a cage nonetheless.
I led him through the contemporary maze of beautiful art, gleaming floors, and impossibly high ceilings into my great room. I shrugged my jacket off, dumped it over a barstool at the kitchen island, and made a beeline for the liquor cabinet.
“Name your poison. I have tequila, but I think I have one of everything else too.” I held up a tequila bottle, chuckling when his stomach growled on cue.
“Oops. I haven’t eaten anything since—”
“Dude. Let me get all Jetsons on you.” I picked up the iPad I’d left on my counter earlier and scrolled to a well-used app. “This is like DoorDash on steroids. Tell me what sounds good to you, and it will magically appear within ten to fifteen minutes.”
“Oh, that’s a lot of pressure. Just pizza, I guess. You can choose the toppings. I like everything except anchovies.” He held up his hand like a stop sign, the other on his hip. “I actually do love those mini little fishy creatures, but never on pizza.”
“Too salty,” we said at the same time.
We shared a smile that went a long way toward making this all seem so…normal.
Except for the part where my ears felt warm, and my heart did a somersault. It was oddly gratifying to know my crush hadn’t gone anywhere. Lorenzo was a welcome respite from the raging impostor syndrome I felt after visiting the children’s ward and the frustration Jasper had unwittingly churned up.
And it was nice to have someone here. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had company other than Seb. Oh yeah, the waiter. But my memory had failed me that night, so he didn’t count.
I ordered pizza, opened a bottle of Pinot for Lo, and uncapped a beer for me. He jumped from his barstool before I could join him and insisted on a tour while we waited for our dinner. I led him through impeccably decorated room after room. The formal dining space I’d never used, an office, a gym, guest suites, at least five bathrooms, a wine cellar—and finally, my bedroom…or what my realtor called the primary suite.
Like every other room, it had vaulted ceilings, white walls, contemporary art, and sparse modern furniture that was supposedly outrageously comfortable. I couldn’t vouch for that. I’d never sat on the sofa or lounge chair in my room. Not once.
I wondered what it all looked like to Lorenzo. I wondered if it was tacky or trying too hard. I wondered if he noticed the lack of personal touches. No photo walls of friends and family, no well-worn paperback books or half-completed puzzles on a scuffed-up coffee table. So unlike his colorful apartment.
We made our way back to the great room when the pizza arrived and sat at the island, sipping beer and wine, eating in static silence for a while. I’d never been more in need of a confidante yet less sure of how to express myself. But Lorenzo felt like the only safe harbor for miles. If I didn’t talk to someone, I might actually lose my fucking mind.
“It’s a bit much, huh? The house, I mean,” I blurted around a mouthful of pizza.
Lorenzo finished chewing and picked up his napkin. “It’s massive. It’s incredibly beautiful too, but…it must be weird living here alone. A family of six would rarely run into each other.”
“Slight exaggeration,” I huffed, nudging his calf. “But yeah, it’s big. I lived at the beach for a while, but the commute sucked and privacy became a real issue seven or eight years ago. It’s amazing that some wackos don’t think twice about using high-powered lenses to peer through windows or camp out in driveways…no shame whatsoever. Occasionally a helicopter would fly overhead, and the next day there’d be a photo of me on the deck drinking coffee. The headline would read ‘Poor Pierce, Morning After Alone,’ or ‘Single Again?’ ”