“Julie?”
“How have you been holding out on me this long?”
“We’ve both been busy.”
“Apparently,” she says and laughs. “Tell me everything.”
And I do. I catch Julie up on all the drama. She tells me not to give up on my mom, is totally riveted by the Gavin story and encourages me to keep looking, and listens with bated breath about Reid. “I knew it, Cara. I hate to say I told you so, but I knew you two had something special.”
“Yeah, I guess we do.”
“And now what? I mean, don’t you guys have a geography problem? Like, I know it in my bones that you’re going to get this internship, which is pretty much the coolest thing ever.”
“Yeah. We do. We keep skating around the topic, but we’re going to go stay at his place in London for a while. I’m honestly not sure how all of this is supposed to work.”
“Your future is so different now, you don’t know what will work and what won’t. Just give it some time, okay? I’ll take care of things around here, and you take care of things there.”
I let that sink in. “You’re a good friend.”
“The very best, I know.”
“Hey, you being a really good friend and all, I have a favor to ask you, and I’m sorry to ask you to do this since you’re so busy.”
“Anything, what is it?”
I hesitate for a moment before finally requesting, “I need you to go talk to my mom.”
Julie answers right away. “Absolutely. Is tomorrow all right? I’m not sure I can get over there before then.”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
“What do you want me to tell her?”
“Well, that’s the thing. Somehow, I need you to convince her to call me. You may have to get in her face about it. She won’t talk to me, but I need to resolve these issues with her. And honestly, I need to ask her about my dad. I need to know why I don’t know him. But I probably wouldn’t mention that part.” I shake my head, already hopeless about this strategy. “Somehow you need to get her on the phone for me.”
“What if she won’t talk to you unless you come back? Are you willing to do that?”
My heart constricts. The idea of leaving Reid, even for a short period of time feels impossible. But this is my mom. I have to make up with her. “Yes, I would. I don’t want to yet, but if that’s the only way she’ll talk to me, then the answer is yes.”
“Okay, I’ll try to steer her clear of that ultimatum.”
“Thank you, Julie.”
“Oh, hey, that’s my other line. I’ll let you know what happens with your mom.”
“Cool, thanks. Bye.”
“Bye Cara,” she says and hangs up.
I lean back onto the bed in my room and stare at my ballerina painting. While the rest of Canterwood Manor is nearly empty, my bedroom is still intact. So is Reid’s.
I’m about to unwrap the bath towel around me to get into my pajamas when Reid knocks on my door. I sit up and wrap the towel around me tighter. “Come in.”
The door creaks open, and he stands in the doorway, wearing nothing but those pinstriped pajama pants I’ve come to admire so much. The drawstring is tied into a sloppy knot, and I’m tempted to pull it loose with my teeth.
“I have to keep knocking on doors with you tonight,” he observes and walks over to join me on the bed.
“Sorry, it’s a hard habit to break. I’m used to living with a roommate.” I smile. “Not a boyfriend.”
“Right.” He nods as if he understands and takes my hand into his. “After the bath, you disappeared. Everything all right?”
I take a deep breath. “Yeah, I wanted to call Julie before bed. I asked her to do me a huge favor.”
“Pack up all your stuff and ship it to London?” he jokes. Well, at least he pretends to joke.
I offer a small chuckle and shake my head. “No, I asked her to find my mom and make her talk to me.”
“Is she going to do it?”
“Yeah, totally. Julie, if you didn’t notice, is the best. We would do anything for each other. Plus, she’s so strong. I think she can break through.”
He nods and doesn’t say much more. Neither do I. I lean back on the bed again, and he follows.
“It’s a beautiful painting,” he remarks about my ballerina. “It’s obviously very special to you.”
“Yes, it is. I remember when my grandfather gave it to me for my birthday. I thought it was beautiful, but I was far more fascinated with the doll I got. I didn’t know I loved it until I used to stare at it, just like this. I used to try and copy her pirouette, not particularly well. I honestly don’t know what came first, my grandfather’s nickname for me or the painting.”
“Right, you said he called you Little Ballerina.”
I nod, and tears develop in my eyes. Hearing the nickname out loud makes the echo of his ghost a little more real.
“What will you do with the painting?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I’ll hang it up somewhere. Since I’ve been here, I’ve thought about passing it down, like a family heirloom.”
“That’s a lovely thought.” He squeezes my hand.
An overwhelming sense of gratitude grows within me. I am so grateful that Reid has come into my life and that he’s lying beside me, admiring my priceless painting in a house that we both inherited. The cost to come together was so much, too much really, but I will always be grateful for what Trevor and Anna put into motion.
I turn away from it and toward him. “I love you, Reid.” It feels so good to say.
He turns his head to me and with complete sincerity says, “I love you too.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what, sweetheart?”
“For loving me, for knowing me, for being here with me.”
He bites his bottom lip and places a hand on my cheek. “The pleasure is all mine.”
I hum in approval and close my eyes softly because I’m so damn happy.
“Listen, I thought we should talk about the future, you know, about our living arrangements.”
I sit up and turn toward him, knowing that this is much too serious of a conversation to have while lying down. He follows my lead and sits up too. “Okay.”
“You said you want to be wherever I am, and the same is true for me. Cara, I know we’re moving fast, but I don’t want to be away from you.”
My heart flutters, and a pleasant warmth spreads throughout me. “I don’t want to be away from you either.”
“So I have to ask, are you attached to your university’s program?”
“Attached?”
“Would it be out of the question to transfer?”
“Well, it’s an online program, so I can do it from anywhere.”
“God bless technology,” he says and kisses my lips.
“But…” I say into his kiss.
He leans back and squints. “But?”
“I’m a finalist for the Fitzwilliam Library internship.”
“Oh,” he says and visibly deflates in front of me.
“I haven’t gotten it yet. I have a video interview tomorrow.”
“When will you find out if you got it?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll ask them about their timeline.”
“Right,” he says and nods a little slowly. “But if you don’t get it?”
“Then what?”
He tilts his head and gazes at me. “Don’t be coy.”
“I’m not trying to be, I just don’t want to make assumptions.”
“That’s fair,” he replies. “Would you consider moving to London and carrying out your school work from here? Just think about the possibility of it? I want to understand your boundaries.”
“What are your boundaries?” I ask, pushing it back on him because I’m really hoping that I get the internship.
“Well, obviously my business is based here.”
“And you want to keep that business?”
His brow furrows. “Of course
, why wouldn’t I?”
“Now that my grandfather is gone, there’s nothing really tying you to it. For lack of a better word, you’re free.”
“Free to do what? This is all I know.”
“What about architecture?”
He laughs, but it’s a tad superficial. “I don’t have what it takes to be an architect. I didn’t finish that.”
“You could always go back and try again.”
His jaw sets and his expression is hard to read. “Why bother? My career is set.”
“I suppose,” I say, not wanting to push it further.
“Listen, while we’re in London, just keep an open mind.”
“Okay,” I tell him.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, I’ll think about it while we’re there.”
He leans over to me and brushes his lips against mine. “I can’t wait to ravish you in my own bed when we get there.”
While the idea exhilarates me, because damn that’s hot, it also makes me sad. I’m going to miss this place so much. I wish Reid felt the same way.
Chapter Twenty-One
London
Reid
Canterwood Manor is in chaos. Damien and his staff have pretty much cleared out the entire thing, and now it’s Evan’s turn to stage it. We’ve agreed to replace the carpet, paint, put up new wallpaper, wash the windows, and so on. It will be impossible to stay out of their way and so it really is the perfect time to leave and go to London.
In the morning we conduct some final business. We meet with Mr. Leeds and one of his financial associates to go over some papers and Cara gives them the ability to open some accounts in her name for her portion of the inheritance. I think she’s still in shock that she has access to so much money. With the sale of Canterwood Manor and the proceeds of the auction, I can pretty much imagine her reaction when it grows.
I take a couple of phone calls, and the whole time I’m talking, I’m watching her from the window. She’s out in the garden, reading that same copy of A Tale of Two Cities on an old wooden bench. She’s so lovely that it makes my chest ache. The hollowness hasn’t reared its ugly head in a long while now, but it’s been replaced with anxiety.
Besides everything that’s going on at work, it’s her internship that is weighing on me. She had her interview this morning and told me it went really well, that she “clicked” with the executive director. I’m one part proud, and one part panicked. The idea of her slipping away back the states terrifies me, and I’m a complete prick for secretly hoping it doesn’t pan out. I’ve stashed some local options in my back pocket and even made a call to a contact I have at the British Library. She’d be a shoo-in with my connections.
Cara checks the time, then closes her book and takes a long look around. Is this her way of saying goodbye? As she walks back, she catches my reflection and waves at me. I decide to meet her in the foyer. I’m still on the phone when she enters.
“Right,” I say to Oliver, one of our junior associates, and hook my arm around her waist. She turns toward me and stares into my eyes. “Email those over to me,” I say and end the call.
I toss the phone onto the foyer table and wrap my arms around her. I slide my nose into her hair and inhale her scent. She’s like my own personal garden. She kisses me. It’s sweet at first, but I quickly coax her mouth open and slip my tongue between her teeth. The kiss takes a turn I’ve grown quite familiar with, but will never tire of.
“I missed you,” she murmurs between kisses, and I groan into her mouth.
I walk her back a few steps and press her against the door. My fingers weave into her hair as I kiss her neck fervently. She tugs on my shirt while leaning her head to the left to give me better access to her neck. I completely forget that there is a house full of people working. All I hear is her heavy breath and the sound of my blood pounding through my body. I cup her breast and tweak her nipple through her blouse. Dear lord, her body makes me lose all reason.
Cara suddenly presses back on me, but I’m not sure why. I keep kissing her and go for her knee to lift one of her legs around me.
“Reid,” she warns.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, barely pausing in my pursuit of her.
“We have company.”
Fuck. That makes me stop. Barely. I turn around to our audience. It just so happens to be Damien Rosenthal. Again. He’s politely staring up at the ceiling. What this bloke must think of us. Cara is never going to forgive me for this one. I maneuver myself and place her in front of me, that way our auctioneer isn’t subject to my raging hard-on.
I clear my throat. “My apologies, Mr. Rosenthal, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Please don’t apologize,” he says and finally looks our way.
“What can we do for you?”
“I wanted to let you know that I will have the final art assessment ready for you by week’s end. I’ll email it over to you when it’s finished.”
“Excellent,” I tell him. “We’re leaving for London shortly. You have my contact details if you need anything.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Thank you,” I reply, and start shuffling us out of the foyer toward the staircase. We’re going to finish what we started before we head to London.
Cara
“Hungry?” Reid asks me.
“Yeah, I am.”
“There’s a great little Lebanese restaurant near my place. Are you game?”
“Lebanese? Wow. We are definitely not in the countryside anymore.”
“Welcome to the big city,” he says with a smile.
“Don’t knock the countryside. I miss Wells already.” And it’s true, the drive to London was tough for me. I hated watching Canterwood Manor fade into the horizon as we drove away. It won’t be long before it’s sold.
The Lebanese restaurant is informal, and the food is incredibly delicious. I never even knew I’d like Lebanese food, but it’s excellent. For the first time in a long time, I fit in. A cheap eatery will do that for a struggling graduate student. I guess I’m not exactly struggling anymore, but that will be hard to condition out of me.
So far, today has been casual and relaxed. I try to imagine what it would be like to live in London with Reid. Would our Saturdays always be fun like this?
As I bite into my kafta, I daydream about a nearby apartment that is cozy with big windows that let in a lot of light. It would have the same warmth that Canterwood Manor had, with warm colors and art and comfortable everything. There would be bookshelves filled with lots of great books with knickknacks and framed photos of us in Italy, and ones of our friends and family.
All these thoughts are making me antsy. I’m getting excited to try London.
“What are you thinking?” he asks me between bites.
“I can’t wait to see your home.”
He quickly wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Then let’s go.” His excitement is contagious. I grab his hand, and we are out of there.
We’re back on the road in no time but get stuck in traffic immediately.
I have to laugh. “This is why people take the Tube, right?”
“Right,” he says with a furrowed brow. His impatience is evident in every move he makes with the car. He even blows the horn a few times, and I chuckle.
Finally, we arrive in front of a modern glass building that goes up about eight stories. It’s a bit out of place in the affluent neighborhood that is quintessential Georgian architecture. Reid pulls up to a keypad and taps a long string of numbers. The gate opens to an underground parking structure. He doesn’t have to drive too far before parking his car next to a flashier Jaguar coupe. It’s a lighter shade of blue with dark tinted windows.
“Is that yours too?” I ask.
“It is,” he says and turns off the ignition.
“So, I’m guessing you don’t take the Tube much after all,” I tease.
He laughs. “Men love their toys, what can I say?”
When I roll my eyes, he laughs hard
er.
“Actually, the company has a car service, so no, I don’t take the Tube much these days.”
I let that little tidbit sit between us while we get out of the car. He grabs our bags and leads me to the elevator.
Once inside, he enters another long string of numbers. Oh lord.
I rock back and forth in my weathered canvas shoes. “Private elevator?”
“We call it a lift,” he comments. “But you knew that already.”
“As much as you want me to be British, I’ll never stop being a California girl.”
“I wouldn’t want you to. I’ve seen that David Lee Roth video. Where have you been hiding that string bikini?”
I swat him in the arm just before the elevator dings and the doors open to a sleek lobby with a vast tile floor that shines so bright it almost hurts my eyes. White leather couches sit empty by floor-to-ceiling windows. I follow him in and am confused when he sets our bags down on a glass table and drops his keys into a black ceramic bowl.
“Where are we?” I ask, confused.
“My penthouse,” he replies, even more confused.
My mouth falls open, and the next words tumble right out, “This is where you live? I thought this was a lobby of some sort.”
His eyebrows wrinkle as he shoves his hands into his pockets.
I thought I knew Reid better than I knew anybody, but I was not expecting this. I knew it wasn’t going to be mismatched coffee mugs or rainbow crocheted blankets, but I never expected something so…lifeless.
Before I can panic, Reid asks timidly, “Want a tour?”
I nod, and he takes my hand. The contact is familiar and warm. It helps.
He leads me past a glass staircase and into a great room that is an open concept kitchen, dining, and living room. It’s all very modern and sleek. The kitchen is primarily stainless steel, with frosted glass cabinets and white countertops. Globe light fixtures made of silver dangle from the ceiling. The dining table is in the corner. It seats eight.
“Did you decorate this yourself?” I ask.
“No, I hired one of London’s best.”
I detach from him and walk around the large kitchen island and breakfast bar, taking it all in. I run my fingertips over the six burner range.
Be What Love Is Page 25