Be What Love Is

by Malouff, Ellie

  “Use this much?” I ask.

  “From time to time,” he answers.

  “Right. Rosemary chicken.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The rosemary chicken you made me the night after the McHenrys left. That was delicious.”

  “Ah,” he says with a slight smile. “Like I said that night, you would have eaten a shoe you were so hungry.”

  The memory makes me giggle. Reid tilts his head to the side and continues to watch me explore the space. I meander over to the couches that face each other. There’s a glass coffee table in between, which is so clear that I didn’t notice it at all when we entered the apartment. There aren’t any magazines on it, or coasters, or remote controls. It’s sterile in every sense of the word. Quite frankly, it’s a total safety hazard.

  I look around the space and panic. “No TV?”

  “Not in the reception room, there’s a media room down the hall.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. I was beginning to worry that he brought me to some sort of American Psycho apartment to murder me. My blood would be striking on the white leather couches and totally surreal on the invisible coffee table.

  He shows me a bathroom that is something out of a magazine. The toilet itself is tankless and protrudes from the wall like an installed piece of art. The sink is an oval stone that rises from the floor like a wishing well.

  “Nice,” I say, which it is. It’s nice, even though it’s not my style in the slightest.

  Next is the media room he promised, followed by a utility room with a combo washer/dryer, which I have a hard time believing he ever personally uses. Another crazy bathroom, and then he takes me into his home office.

  His office is the complete opposite of my grandfather’s back at Canterwood Manor. Instead of an antique mahogany desk, it’s black and asymmetrical, like a sculpture. Behind it is an ergonomic leather chair that I’m sure cost a fortune.

  I wander around the room and stop at the single bookshelf. It has a few books that look more staged than real. And then I notice it. On the top shelf sits a model of a building. It’s a little aged and worn. The building isn’t modern at all. It doesn’t fit in with anything I’ve seen thus far. Therefore, it’s my favorite thing.

  “What is that?” I point to it.

  “Oh, that’s nothing. Just a project I worked on at university.”

  “You made that?”

  “I did.”

  “That’s really cool, I like it a lot.”

  He smiles and quietly says, “Thank you.”

  As we walk back through the apartment, I can’t stop thinking about the model building. He’s good, really good. It’s such a shame that he stopped pursuing architecture when his mom died. He could have done great things.

  We walk up the glass staircase, which is a little bit terrifying, to the second floor. He shows me three guest rooms and two more bathrooms that are just more of the same, impeccable, modern, and lifeless. He takes me into the master bedroom. It’s larger than the others but doesn’t offer much more. His room back in Wells was much warmer and traditional. I’m longing for it now.

  He shows me his closet, which is probably the most impressive thing I’ve seen so far. It’s just off to the side of the bedroom, in its own alcove. It’s constructed with very dark wood and has many drawers and shelves that are filled with clothes, shoes, ties, and belts. There are even a few high-end bags and a watch box. It’s the only real proof that he lives here, that and the model building in his office.

  I feel myself frowning. As much as I want to show him that I’m okay with all of this, I can’t do it.

  He puts his hands on my hips and pulls me closer to him. When our eyes meet, all I see is worry.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  “I’m afraid you hate it.”

  “I don’t hate it,” I reply. I’m not sure if that’s a lie or not.

  “But you definitely don’t love it,” he says.

  I shake my head. “No, I don’t love it. It’s not my style. That’s all.”

  He nods as he considers that.

  “And, it’s just missing, well, it’s missing you. It doesn’t even look like you live here.”

  “I told you that I sold everything I could when my mum died. And what I didn’t sell I got rid of. I’m not a very sentimental person, as you well know,” he says and laughs a little bit.

  I think about my ballerina painting, with all of its color and life and I can’t possibly imagine where it would fit in here. I can’t imagine where I would fit in. Not only am I far from my life in California, in my tiny, very lived-in apartment, but I’m also far from our house in Wells. I miss it even more than I thought I would. I start breathing heavier from my spiraling anxiety.

  “Hey,” he whispers and guides me over to his bed, then sits me down on it. He kneels in front of me and brushes my hair out of my face. “Cara, it’s going to be ok. This stuff isn’t important to me, you can make this be however you want it to be. You know that, right?”

  I’m not so sure about that. Clearly, he has a particular way of living, and I couldn’t be more different. In a place so large there’s a considerable lack of space to do things like eating messy take out while binge-watching Game of Thrones in my pajamas, or carve Halloween pumpkins or even have a Christmas tree with mismatched ornaments. My eyes fill with tears, as I’m overwhelmed with a sense of hopelessness.

  “Cara, talk to me,” Reid begs.

  I shake my head.

  “What is it?”

  “This is all so overwhelming. There’s just too many changes.”

  “I know,” he whispers.” But it’s going to be fine. We’re going to have a beautiful life in London.”

  London. It’s the only word I focus on because it’s still not even certain. He’s making too many assumptions. “But what if I get the internship? I’ll have to go back to the states.”

  “I was thinking about that.”

  “And?” I ask, hopeful that he’s considered coming with me.

  He gets to his feet. “Don’t be mad, but I made a call.” By how quickly he keeps going, my confusion must be written all over my face. “To a contact I have at the British Library. He’s got an open position in their literature and plays collection.”

  “What?” I cannot believe what I am hearing, and I find myself up on my feet too.

  “It’s quite junior, but I think that’s what you’re looking for. He says it’s yours if you want it.”

  “Reid,” I protest. My blood is boiling beneath my skin.

  “Please, Cara,” he goes on. “Please, sweetheart, consider it. I can’t bear the idea of you thousands of miles away.”

  “Then come with me,” I plead.

  “I can’t. I’ve told you this. I’ve got to take care of the company. It’s your grandfather’s legacy.”

  “He’d rather see you happy. He’d rather see me happy.”

  “Cara, this position, there’s nothing like it in the world. We’re talking about the British Library in Great Britain. The literal birthplace of English literature.”

  He reaches out for my hands, but I pull away. “But I didn’t earn it, Reid.”

  “Of course you have. I told him about your credentials, I told him that the Fitzwilliam Library was interested. All I did was vouch for you.”

  “And what does he get out of it?”

  “A brilliant woman to work in his rare collections department.”

  My head shakes and then I cover my face. “That’s not how this is supposed to work,” I mumble into my hands.

  “And why not?”

  “They haven’t even met me.”

  “I told them all about you.”

  “You told them to hire your girlfriend.”

  His hands meet together as if in prayer. “I promise it wasn’t like that. Talk to them, give them a chance. It’s an amazing opportunity.”

  As mad as I am that he did this, I can’t deny that he’s right about the opportunity. I’m
not stupid. I know that the British Library is one of the most prestigious libraries in the world, especially for English literature, which I’ve always gravitated toward. I’m totally torn.

  Reid takes a cautious step toward me and gently places his hand on my upper arm. “Please, just consider it. I love you, Cara.”

  It takes me a few seconds to melt into his grip and meet his eyes again. “I love you too.”

  The smallest little smile edges up from his lips.

  “And I promise you, sweetheart, with every bit of my being that you can make this home be whatever you want it to be. Christ, we could sell this place and buy another. I don’t care as long as you’re here with me, in London.”

  His words break through my fog of despair. I’m finally able to meet his eyes. There is so much love in them. He places a hand on my cheek, and I lean into it. “Please tell me that you’ll move to London to be with me. Please tell me that you’ll be mine,” he pleads.

  The apartment and the internship fade away. I’m lost in him and lost in the idea of us. “Yes,” I whisper.

  The corners of his mouth twitch for a few seconds and a full, joyful smile emerges. I can only admire his smile for a second or two before his lips are on mine and hands are in my hair. Somehow I end up on my back as he crawls onto the bed with me. He quickly undresses me and then himself, before burying himself inside me, as if I’m his home and he never wants to leave.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Renascent

  Cara

  The next night, we have plans to attend a cocktail party at a swanky lounge called Renascent. The lights of London blur by us in the backseat of the hired sedan, where the atmosphere is charged with excitement. We’ll be meeting up with Reid’s friends, work colleagues, and clients. A lot of these people overlap, he tells me. I’m wearing a new cocktail dress I bought earlier in the day. It’s merlot in color to match his tie, and elegantly form fitting with a bandage-like construction. It has a daring neckline that creates a generous V, front and back. I must admit that I am rocking this dress. And I should be, based on how much it cost.

  We haven’t bothered with seat belts. Instead, we’re sitting huddled together in the middle, and Reid has his arms wrapped around me. His fingers edge beneath my dress, and he starts to rub the sensitive skin of my inner thigh.

  I’ve been nervous about immersing myself into Reid’s world, but he serves to be an excellent distraction. His lips graze against my collarbone while his fingers twirl around locks of my hair.

  “Tonight, when we get home, I’m going to bend you over the bed, lift up this skirt, and sink myself so deep inside you,” he whispers.

  I’m a burning candle, melting into Reid’s arms.

  My flashpoint comes when he quietly asks me to slip off my panties. My mouth falls open as my eyes snap to his. They’re narrow and dark.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You heard me, take them off,” he orders.

  I look to the driver, who continues to face front.

  “Cara,” he says in such a low, authoritative tone that I know he isn’t messing around.

  “Why?”

  He raises an eyebrow in response and breathes into my ear, “For later.”

  I hesitate.

  “Trust me,” he whispers.

  I do trust him, and so after checking the driver one more time, I bite my lower lip and lift myself off the seat. I hook my thumbs around the delicate black lace fabric and shimmy them down my legs and over my heels, taking special care not to rip them, since they were also crazy expensive.

  Reid reaches out for them, and I let them go from my shaking hand. He caresses them between his fingers before depositing them into his breast pocket.

  My god, I’m going to combust. I have never done anything this naughty, nor have I ever been so turned on. Life in London is already proving to be a different flavor.

  I assume we’re at another stoplight when the car slows, but the door suddenly opens to Renascent. I’m instantly filled with regret that I didn’t take Reid up on his offer to stay home. I’m going to have to get through this night, now without panties. Reid pops out from his side of the car and quickly comes around to take my hand and helps me get out, dismissing the valet with an unpleasant frown. Apparently, he doesn’t want anyone else touching me, even if it’s their job.

  With his hand at my back, he leads me into the club and into a different world that is made up of warm red glowing light and purple iridescent shadows. A remixed version of a familiar song I remember from a fragrance commercial plays loudly. The bass line beats in my chest.

  Reid is beaming as we approach a pack of people. Right away, I spot a tall, sleek blonde woman and my skin crawls. I knew she’d be here, but I grit my teeth anyway. How much will I have to see her when I move to London, especially, once Reid makes her a partner?

  He presses us forward, right into the heart of the party. We’re greeted with friendly faces and handshakes and hugs. Reid introduces me as his girlfriend to everyone, and I like that very much.

  I shake hands, make small talk, and smile every chance I get, but I don’t catch a lot of names, because I am fixated on Victoria. She gives me a demonic look as if she has risen from the underworld to destroy my very soul. She doesn’t come over to greet us, which is fine by me. If she was a nicer person, I might feel bad that I stole the guy she wanted. But she isn’t nice, so I have no problem floating around the room with Reid’s arm wrapped around me and with my panties in his pocket. I relish in showing everyone, especially Victoria, that he is mine.

  “Alexander,” Reid extends his hand out to a man in front of us. They’re similar, in that they have the same lean, muscular build, but he’s got nothing on Reid in the looks department.

  “Reid,” he replies and transfers his drink to his left hand, so they can shake hands.

  “Alexander Simmons, this is my girlfriend, Cara Montgomery,” Reid says, introducing us. “Alexander and I were on the rowing team together at university.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, and we shake hands. Alexander’s eyes have a glossy sheen to them, and he has a lame grip. He’s probably far past his first drink of the night.

  “Are you Trevor Montgomery’s granddaughter?” he asks, and it catches me off guard.

  “Yes,” I reply. “Did you know my grandfather?”

  “No, not exactly. But I worked for his former partner, Clive Livingston, so I’ve heard stories.”

  “Oh, well I hope they were good stories,” I say, a little unnerved.

  He flashes a smile at that but doesn’t say anything.

  “Okay, apparently they weren’t good stories.”

  “Well, as you may know, they had a falling out. I don’t know the details only that it was personal. A family matter.”

  That doesn’t sound like the story I know from my grandfather’s letters to Anna. “A family matter? What do you mean?”

  The man drains the rest of his drink, rattling the ice cubes as he does it. “I don’t know exactly, just that they had personal issues and your grandfather didn’t like him very much at the end.”

  “Oh,” I respond and try to process what that means. The more I learn about this Livingston guy, the uneasier I become.

  Reid squeezes my hip. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m great,” I say to ease his worries and sneak another peek at Victoria. She’s glaring at us.

  Satisfied with my response, the men start talking about investment strategies. I excuse myself to go to the bar and get us drinks, earning a sweet kiss on my cheek from Reid as he lets me go.

  As I walk over to the bar, Victoria’s eyes are on me, so I stand up a little straighter and walk with as much grace as possible in my very high heels.

  I order a top-shelf Scotch for Reid and a glass of Pinot Grigio for myself. I hope it’s an open bar because I quickly remember that I don’t have more than my cell phone and my new lipstick on me. Perhaps sensing this, Reid is suddenly at my side, his fing
ertips once again swiping up my back.

  “Hello stranger,” I joke since it hasn’t even been a full minute since we parted.

  “Hello gorgeous,” he says and leans down to kiss my shoulder.

  The bartender sets our drinks in front of us and Reid puts down a couple of bills.

  “Thank you,” I say, grateful he saved me from a bit of embarrassment.

  Reid shrugs and slides closer to me. His fingers slip beneath the fabric of my dress and glide along my ribs. I briefly close my eyes and shudder from the contact. His lips press against my shoulder again, and I become extra aware that I’m not wearing panties as my thighs squeeze together.

  Reid takes his glass in hand and meets my eyes before he drinks it down. He puts it back down on the bar with force and then tilts my chin up and kisses me. When he pulls back our eyes open slowly to a burning hot gaze.

  I can’t wait to get home.

  I take a drink of wine to cool down a bit. Another friend approaches Reid to chit-chat. They talk about some old mutual friend while my eyes wander over to Victoria. For once she isn’t staring at us. Instead, she’s standing scandalously close to Reid’s friend, Alexander. She’s overly animated as she talks to him. They both look over at us at the exact same time and quickly retreat back to their conversation. Ugh. They deserve one another.

  Absolutely certain that my lipstick is gone, if not smeared on my face, from that kiss, I excuse myself to go to the ladies room to freshen up.

  I’m alone, planted in front of the mirror, applying fresh lipstick when the door swings open. Based on the icy chill that freezes me in place, I know it has to be her. With a sideways glance, I confirm that it is Victoria.

  “Cara,” she says and walks over to me.

  I acknowledge her with a quick nod and continue to put my lipstick on. She really hurt me when she told Reid that he is making a big mistake. I’m not okay enough to talk to her politely.

  She takes the spot next to me and starts to freshen her own makeup. I stash my lipstick back in my clutch and take a step around her, toward the door.