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“Yes, that is an excellent idea.”
“Thank you for telling me. I need to start being more cautious myself. I must be able to notice if a handsome man drops off a late-night coffee for me.”
“You think I’m handsome.”
I felt my cheeks warm. “Yes.”
Alexander closed the distance between us and kissed my forehead. “Thank you for being here tonight.”
“Thank you for inviting me.”
Alexander went back to cooking and I continued wandering with Winston.
The penthouse revealed itself in layers, one thing leading to another, each detail revealing something more about the man who lived here. A chessboard rested on a side table midway through a game, the pieces still in place.
The architectural model beside it was for a building I didn’t recognize. The style suggested Europe and the scale was ambitious. The model itself was built with considerable care, each element precise, but it felt like it had not been completed.
The books nearest the fire were the most worn. Several volumes on Renaissance architecture stood together, their pages crowded with handwritten notes. Nearby were books on historic preservation, a well-thumbed biography of Leonardo da Vinci, and volumes of Italian poetry.
Nestled almost inconspicuously between two architecture books sat a worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. “You read Jane Austen?”
Alexander responded without looking up from the cutting board. “Yes.”
“I wasn’t expecting to find her here.”
“I’ve always admired Elizabeth Bennet.”
That made me laugh. “What is it about her that you admire?”
He glanced up, almost amused by my surprise. “She’s intelligent. She changes her mind when she’s given a reason to. And so does Mr. Darcy.”
I had always been criticized for changing my mind in my marriage. It was treated as a lack of conviction. I had always thought there was more strength in being willing to reconsider.
Alexander continued. “It’s a novel about two people learning they were wrong.” He shrugged lightly. “Architecture isn’t the only thing worth studying.”
I thought about that as I walked to the drafting table. One of the designs showed an enclosed courtyard surrounded by stone columns and an arched colonnade. Garden beds filled the open center, with several seating areas tucked beneath the covered walkway. It felt like something waiting to be built. I did not ask Alexander about it. I was beginning to understand that he rarely explained the things he left in plain sight. He trusted people to notice them.
I made my way back to the kitchen. He cooked the way he did everything else, with complete attention and without performance. The pasta was handmade. He was already cutting it when I came to lean against the counter with my wine.
I watched his hands more than the food. The patient precision reminded me how he’d gripped my hair and tilted my head back in my apartment just a few short days ago. I took a sip of the wine and tried to focus on the pasta instead.
“I didn’t know you cooked,” I said.
“There are efficient uses of time alone. This is one of them.”
“What are some others?”
“Opera. Certain architectural problems that need pencil rather than software. Watching Winston object to weather he considers unreasonable.”
“Does he object often?”
“Sometimes. And emphatically.” He reached past me for the olive oil, his chest at my back, close enough that I could feel his heat through my cashmere sweater. Then he exhaled slowly and I felt his breath against my neck. He was holding himself very still and I was fighting the urge to press back against him.
“He has strong views about the rain.”
I was so distracted by him that it took me a second to realize he was talking about Winston. Get it together, Emilia. You are a grown woman. Focus.
Alexander finished preparing dinner and we carried our plates to the table that was already set. We talked about small things and those naturally led into bigger discussions. Somewhere between the salad and the pasta, I discovered that while he served as Chairman of Blackwood Hall, Alexander still accepted a small number of architectural projects each year.
