“You own a recording studio?”
Alexander has a look of pride on his face. “Lifelong dream. I bought Black Dog earlier this year. We just moved them in this fall. Everything in here is new.
I look over at him incredulously. “Weren’t you sailing the seven seas earlier this year? When did you have time to buy a record label?”
Alexander laughs. “You’d be surprised what you can do over the phone.”
I roll my eyes and run my hand along the control panels. I was working on something in a studio like this before the accident. It was a new sound that I’ve been searching for since.
Two strong hands rest on my shoulder as Alexander walks up to me from behind me. “I was thinking we could run it together. You can make music again.”
My body tightens at the idea. I pushed that dream aside. I was just coming to accept my new life without being in the spotlight, without feeling the song playing through my fingers.
“Alex—”
“I love when you say my name.” His arms circle around my waist as he circles me around and pulls me into a kiss so powerful I forget what I am upset about. How could anything in this world bother me when I am in Alexander Asher’s arms?
I run my hands through his hair, and tug at the ends. I am rewarded with a sigh.
“I was going to give you a tour of the studio but now I have a much better plan,” he says in between kisses, and I laugh.
My back bows in his arms so I can face him. “I don’t need a tour. I can’t run this with you. We don’t even know what this is yet.” I motion to the space in between us.
His face falls and I’m momentarily hit with the feeling I’ve just said something wrong. “I’m in, Emma. I’m all in. I don’t know what else to say or do to let you know this is real. Unless . . .” His voice falters off, his body loosens its grip around me. “If this isn’t what you want, then you have to tell me now.”
I told a room full of people I fell in love with him in Capri but I don’t know if he heard me say it. Something is holding me back from saying it again. “This is what I want and it scares me. You asked me to move in with you. You’re telling me we can run a recording studio together. You are the most impulsive man I’ve ever met. I have no control over you.”
He starts laughing, really laughing and it catches me off guard. “Oh, baby, you have no idea how much control you have over me.” He kisses me on the forehead and grabs my hand. “I’m taking you upstairs.”
I sigh and fall into step with him.
When we are back in the elevator, Alexander places a card in the panel, hits a code and we start to rise. He places his chest against my back, wraps his arms around my waist and rests his chin on my head. Our eyes meet through the reflection of the steel elevator doors. I’ve never seen what we look like together.
Alexander stands behind me as beautiful and perfect as ever. His nose hits the top of my head and his mouth—that I have memorized how perfect it is—is buried in my hair. His gorgeous eyes, light and bright and full of soul, stare back at me with the most content look I have ever seen on his face. He is wearing a herringbone suit and tie, his brown leather loafers sneaking out from the sides of my feet as his legs stand far apart from one another.
Standing in front of him is me, plain Emma Paige with her fancy new highlights. I am wearing skinny jeans and pale pink button down top with my navy pea coat. My feet are clad in brown boots that stop just under my knees. My brown eyes are wearing an equal look of contentment.
Together, holding each other, we look like a couple in love. Well, I am at least. Damn, I am so unbelievably in love with Alexander Asher. I want this moment to last forever. I want to take a picture of our reflections in the steel and look at it . . . forever.
This is real for me. So real I am frightened at what will happen if I lose it again. I know I can’t go through life always scared of losing. I lost Luke and I survived. I lost my music and I survived. I know if I lose Alexander I can survive it as well.
But, God, how I don’t ever, ever want to know another day without Alexander Asher in my life.
When the elevator opens we are not in Asher’s office like I thought we were going to be. Instead, we are in a vestibule. The walls are black granite with a modern metal light fixture hanging from the ceiling. At the opposite end of the vestibule are black double doors. Instead of a lock, there is a security panel on the door. Alexander walks up to it and hits another series of buttons. The door unlocks. Turning around, he reaches out from my hand and escorts me inside.
We walk into a two-story living room with floor-to-ceiling windows void of curtains or drapes. I suppose at this height you don’t need privacy. A white marble fireplace surrounded by bookshelves is the focal point of the room; there’s a giant mirror above the mantle reflecting the black walls, glass tables, and a gray couch, which is the only color in the room. That is, if you consider a gray a color.
No pictures on the wall, no knickknacks or personality anywhere. It’s simple, clean, and completely barren of life.
I turn and ask where we are.
“This is my home.”
His home? To the left is a dining room of, again, black and glass and beyond that is a kitchen of . . . you guessed it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s stunning. Pin lights in the ceiling make the shiny surfaces gleam so brightly you can see your reflection. Every fixture is high-end and even the throw rugs scream expensive.
Alexander takes my coat off and hangs it in a closet in the foyer area. When he comes back, he offers me a drink but I decline. Seeing my curiosity in his apartment, he gives me a tour.
Down a long hallway we pass two guest rooms, a home office, a state of the art gym and a music room equipped with a black grand piano, a cello, and chandelier made of chrome.
The hallway curves so we make a left and he walks me into the master bedroom. The room is similar in design to the rest of the place but feels more like him than other areas of the apartment. It’s probably because I can visually see pieces of Alexander in here. From his cufflink box on a dresser to an autobiography on Steve Jobs on the nightstand, little bits of him are here and there.
There is a door in the room that I assume is the bathroom. Stepping inside I see a lavish latrine that pales in comparison to the one I saw on his yacht. When I walk back into the bedroom Alexander motions to another door. I open it and am inside a massive walk-in closet. Suits and more suits, oxfords, and a leather jacket. A black umbrella sitting in the corner, a small wardrobe of casual clothing and a separate space dedicated to ties, lots of them.
It looks like a Brooks Brothers showroom in here, although I assume his suits are all bespoke. Aside from the cheap flip-flops I purchased in Capri that are sitting on a shelf, all of his shoes are imported from Italy.
I must have a peculiar look on my face because Alexander is instantly on top of me. “Is something wrong?”
I open my mouth and then close it, trying to figure out what it is exactly that’s bothering me. I’m not intimidated by the space. I’m not overly impressed by it, either. I’m just . . . intrigued? “Your closet is the size of my apartment.”
Alexander looks around and then shrugs as if he hadn’t realized that before.
“You have a panoramic view of Manhattan from your living room.”
He nods in agreement, unsure of where I’m going with this.
“You have a California king-size bed.”
His mouth cocks his mouth to the side but he still doesn’t quite understand.
“You said you’d move in with me,” I say, tentatively.
Alexander nods his head again, slowly, in agreement, his eyes squinting a little as if trying to read me.
My breath hitches as I try to comprehend it all. My voice is nearly a whisper. “You’d give all this up for me?”
A slow, sexy-as-hell smile takes over his face. “All in.”
Holy shit, he really means it.
“My flight gets in at seven. Can you meet me at the airp
ort?” I am on the phone with Leah, making plans for the wedding. I get into town tomorrow night. Just in time for Leah and Adam’s wedding on Saturday and then I’m staying for the Christmas holiday. Being that I missed Thanksgiving I know it would break my parents’ hearts if I weren’t there for Christmas. That and I haven’t seen them since August.
The front door of my apartment opens and Alexander walks in; I gave him a key last week. It makes me smile to see he is so comfortable coming in and out of my apartment. He has a palace uptown yet he’d rather spend his nights slumming it with me downtown.
He is unraveling his tie, which, I see, has a huge stain on it. In the three weeks we’ve been quasi-living together, I’ve had to work my magic on getting the stains out of two of them.
Alexander places an overnight bag and a briefcase on the chesterfield and then takes off his overcoat, hanging it on the wall hook. He sees me on the phone so I place my hand over the receiver and mouth “Leah” to him.
Leah just started telling me a story about a fight her and her friend Jessica had over the bridesmaid dresses.
He raises his brows and tilts his head, and I know he is asking Did you ask if I can come to the wedding yet? I shake my head: No. He is not happy about it, but kisses me on the side of the head anyway.
“I have to take a shower,” he whispers.
“Great, I ordered Thai,” I whisper back, my hand still on the receiver. Leah is still rambling.
Alexander’s face lights up knowing I ordered his favorite food. “My wallet is in my bag. I’m buying.” His face is stern and I know he means business. I would fight him on it but since I treated him to dinner a few times over these last few weeks, my meager budget is running low.
Plus, Christmas is coming up. What do I buy the man who has everything?
Good question because even I can’t figure it out.
“Are you there?” Leah asks from the other end.
I snap out of my self-thought and tend to our conversation. “Yes, I can’t believe that bitch,” I offer, assuming whatever their fight was over, it’s best to take the bride’s side.
“I know, right?” She huffs and then I can almost hear her shaking it off. “All right, enough of that. What are you doing tonight?”
“We ordered in. We’ll probably watch a movie or something.”
Leah is quiet for a second, but it only lasts for a second. “Does he, like, live with you now?”
Does Alexander live with me? He said he would. Everyday he brings over a bag of more clothes and never seems to bring any back uptown with him. All of his toiletries are in the bathroom and my kitchen is filled with enough health food to feed a commune. And cereal, he really likes cereal. The sugary kind.
I laugh to myself. He is such a contradiction. Alexander Asher is a guy who eats healthy throughout the day but loves high-sodium takeout, cheese cake, and sugary cereals at night. His eating habits reflect the two very different people that are Alexander Asher.
Alexander is a guy who loves music, plays the cello and the piano. He is soulful and desperate at times, needing connections and affection. He likes to play board games, dance and reads the funny pages when he thinks no one is looking.
Asher is serious and controlled. He works uptown and watches cable news and the stock market all day long. He drinks three thousand–dollar scotch, completes New York Times crosswords, gets his face professionally shaven by a master barber and controls an empire of two thousand employees.
The crazy thing is I love both sides of him. Even though I fell in love with the soulful version of him, I can’t help but be mesmerized by the controlled side of the man. He is impressive in every aspect.
Oh, man, I have hit rock bottom of the damn rabbit hole.
“Okay, you are not even paying attention to me anymore.” Leah is starting to sound irritated and rightly so. My head is so into Asher right now I can’t think straight.
We hang up just as the doorbell rings. I rush over to Alexander’s briefcase and unzip the bag. He only brings it with him when he has to bring files back and forth. His laptop has been sitting on my grandmother’s secretary desk for weeks so he can plug in while he’s here. Some of my favorite nights are when we’re curled up on the couch together, he on his laptop and me skimming through my iPad.
When the bag is fully opened, the first thing I notice is a large manila envelope.
Malory made a comment about a manila envelope. I would be lying if I haven’t been itching to know what she was talking about. I am so curious to know if this is the one she looked at. The one that made him so angry.
The bell rings again and I rush over to the door, wallet in hand. I pay the deliveryman and tip him well, closing the door and placing the white plastic bag on the kitchen counter.
I walk back to Alexander’s briefcase and place his wallet back inside. The shower is still running. Would I be a bad girlfriend if I snooped a little? I would, God, I know I would, but he is so damn secretive. He told me to trust him. I do. But I want to be there for him in every way. If what is in the envelope is important then I want to know.
In the past, I have been known for my willpower. Hell, I went months without using the power of the Internet to look him up and here I am caving at the site of a yellow tab folded over.
I look behind me and see the bathroom door is still closed. Turning back to the bag, I pick up the manila envelope and open the top flap.
Inside is a thick stack of papers. I lift them up slightly. They are legal documents; the heading for a lawyer’s office is at the top. I do a quick skim and see Edward Asher’s name, the name Asher Industries and Alexander Gutierrez. There are a lot of legal writings and I start to feel really uncomfortable going through Alexander’s stuff. If this is about him taking over his grandfather’s business, I don’t want anything to do with it.
I put the papers back in the envelope and then push it back into his bag. Good timing because I hear the shower water turn off. Making sure the envelope was exactly where it’s supposed to be, I notice something else in the bag. It looks like a Christmas card that has been taken out of the envelope and haphazardly thrown inside his briefcase.
We haven’t even put up a tree. I wouldn’t know where we’d put it in this tiny apartment. I lift the card and walk it over to my door where I taped the holiday greetings from my parents and Leah and a few family members who have my New York address. This will be symbolic of Alexander living here. His first Christmas card in our new place.
I notice it’s one of those picture Christmas cards where everyone is dressed up and look perfect in their professional family photo. Perfect isn’t even the right word to describe them. The family of four are sitting on the bow of a boat wearing matching sweaters. It’s pretty cheesy.
The father is a really good-looking man with dark hair and blue eyes. He is holding a little boy who looks just like him. Next to them is an equally gorgeous woman with brown hair and another little boy in her arms. The woman looks so happy and content surrounded by her perfect family.
I step back to take in the family. The Monroes. Even their names are perfect: Gabriel, Kathryn, Jackson, and Grayson.
Kathryn.
Kathryn?
You’ve got to be kidding me!
This is the second woman he ever loved. This is the woman who had an affair on her husband with Alexander.
This is Kathryn!
“What are you doing?”
I turn around to see a very annoyed Alexander standing in nothing but a towel and a scowl. His right hand is holding onto the white fabric, keeping it closed around his hip. His other hand is fiercely grabbing at the back of his neck.
I have so many questions; I don’t know where to start. “Why do you have a picture of your ex and her family in your bag?”
He looks exasperated. “Were you looking through my things?”
My mouth falls open at his . . . absolutely correct assumption. “No,” I lie. “I was getting your wallet like you asked and it was in th
ere. I thought I’d add it to our Christmas cards over here on the door. Why would she send you a card, anyway? Are you two friends or something? Because that’s weird, Alex, and I am not comfortable with that because it means you might be . . . Are you? Are you still in love with her?”
My heart drops at the thought and I want him to take me in his arms and tell me he’s not but he doesn’t move. He’s just standing there in the middle of my tiny apartment in his towel looking devastatingly handsome, yet his eyes are so sad and mad and confused. I don’t know what he’s thinking.
He takes a few breaths. He raises his free hand as if to explain. “I don’t know why she sent it. I haven’t spoken to her in two years. She sent me a card last year, too, and I lost it. I took off.” He points to the object of our disagreement. “That is the reason I left. It’s why I spent nearly seven months searching for an answer.”
My eyes widen in surprise, fear, you name it. “An answer to what?”
“To everything,” he says on a long exhale. “My grandfather died, I had those fucking ashes with me and his goddamn company to run. And then she sends me that. It was like a reminder of the life I couldn’t have.”
The words pierce me like a dagger. I don’t know if I can form a coherent sentence but I manage to breathe out a few words I’m so scared to know the answer to. “You want a life with her?”
“No. I want—God I’m saying this all wrong. Emma, sit.”
My arms cross in front of my chest like armor. “I’ll stand, thank you.” Finding out your boyfriend is still in love with another woman requires a standing position.
He takes a determined step toward me. Golden, warm honey-crisp eyes connect with mine, penetrating the shield I have up. “I’m not in love with her. I never was.”
He breathes in deeply and exhales. “Emma, I don’t want her but I want that.” He points to the photo on the wall. “I want . . . a family.”
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