"Surprised." She walks further in, heels echoing off polished concrete, past the open kitchen with its single bowl of fruit nobody's eaten from in a week, past the wall of glass that turns the entire skyline into wallpaper. "I thought it would be more like Pietty's house. Old money. Heavy curtains. A portrait of someone disapproving over a fireplace."
"That's Rovin's house. Big stone thing on the hill, looks like it's compensating for something." I shrug. "This is just where I sleep when I'm not somewhere more interesting."
"It's beautiful,” she says, and I can tell she means it. She doesn’t waste words on formalities.
"It's a hotel room with better lighting." I say it before I mean to, more honest than I intended, and her eyes cut to me, curious, like she heard something underneath the joke I didn't plan on letting out. I wave it off and head for the kitchen instead, putting distance between myself and whatever I just accidentally admitted. "Drink?"
"Water's fine."
I get her water. I get myself something stronger, because apparently tonight is the night I start saying true things out loud without meaning to, and I'd like a little help managing that going forward.
When I come back, she's sitting on the edge of my sofa, perched like she's not sure she's allowed to actually use the furniture, hands folded in her lap. She shifts to get comfortable, reaches down to adjust the cushion behind her, and her whole body goes rigid.
"What," she says, very carefully, "is this."
She's holding up a thong. Bright pink, lace, entirely unmistakable, dangling from two fingers like she's defusing something explosive.
For one full second, my brain simply refuses to produce words.
"That," I say, "is not mine."
"I didn't think it wasyours,” her voice has risen an octave and I actuallywince.
"I mean, obviously, but I want it on record that I'm aware how that sentence sounded." I cross the room fast, take it from herwith the kind of speed I usually reserve for actual emergencies, and drop it directly into the kitchen bin like it's evidence. "I have no memory of that specific garment, but in the interest of full disclosure, I should probably explain why one might exist in my sofa cushions."
"Please do." She scrunches her face. “Or don’t—urgh, I don’t even know if I want toknow.” Her eyes widen with exaggeration, and I’m torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to explain myself right away.
"I had women here before tonight. Plural. I'm not going to stand in my own kitchen and pretend otherwise, because I think you'd see through it in about four seconds and lose all respect for me, which would be a shame this early in the relationship."
A small, startled laugh escapes her, her hand flying up to cover it like she's not sure she's allowed to find this funny. "That's a remarkably calm way to confess to a small army of past girlfriends."
"They weren't girlfriends. That's actually the part I want you to hear." I lean against the counter, putting some space between us, because I want her to actually listen to this and not just brace for it. "I've had plenty of company. None of it stayed past breakfast, most of it didn't stay past the hour. I've never once had a woman sleep here. In my actual bed. That's not me being romantic for effect. I genuinely don't think it's ever happened."
She studies me for a long moment, like she's deciding whether to believe me, and something in her face softens when she apparently does.
"Why tell me that at all?" she asks.
"Because you're about to be in a strange man's penthouse at midnight, and I'd rather you have an accurate idea of the place than a flattering one." I take a slow sip of my drink. "I was abachelor up until about four hours ago, Liv. Spectacularly so. I'm not going to insult either of us by acting like tonight erased that."
"And now?" She is twisting her fingers together on her lap and I want more than anything to take her hands in mine and promise her the world.
"Now I have absolutely no interest in being one." It comes out steadier than I expect, no joke riding underneath it to soften the landing. "I don't know what to do with that information yet. I'm working on it."
She looks down at her hands, turning something over, and when she speaks again her voice has gone quieter, more careful, like she's handing me something fragile.
"I haven't had anyone," she says. "Not really. Not since before my parents died. I spent six years making sure Cole had enough of a childhood for both of us, and there wasn't much room left over for me to have a life, too." She finally looks up, and there's a rawness in her eyes that catches me somewhere under the ribs. "So this is unbalanced from the start, whatever this is. You've had an entire life of women, metaphorically speaking, and I've had late nights and parent-teacher conferences."
"That's not a flaw, Liv."
"I know." She twists her hands together. "I keep thinking about my brother's text.I told them you'd be amenable.Like my whole worth tonight got measured by whether I'd lie down and be agreeable." Her jaw tightens, something fierce moving behind the hurt. "I don't want that to be true. I don't want the first time I'm with someone to be something he gets to claim credit for negotiating. I'd rather it be mine. A decision I made because I wanted it, not because he arranged it."
"Liv," I say carefully, "are you telling me you want to sleep with me tonight to spite your brother?"
"A little." A small, helpless laugh breaks through. "Mostly I'm telling you I want to sleep with you because every time you look at me I forget what I was upset about for entire seconds at a time, and I can't remember the last time anyone managed that. But I'd be lying if I said taking something back from Cole wasn't part of it too."
"I can work with honest." I set my glass down and cross the room slowly, giving her every chance to change her mind with each step. "But I need you to hear one thing before we go any further. I don't want you in my bed because it settles a score with your brother. I want you in my bed because I've spent the last few hours falling for the way you say true things out loud by accident, and I'm selfish enough to want to know what that sounds like up close."
She stands, and we're close now, close enough that I can see the exact moment her pupils blow.
