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He leads the way up three flights of elegant white stairs. As we get to the top, the stairs open up into a large Paris warehouse that has been converted into a loft. It’s all one main space, the bedroom and the living room only separated from the kitchen by twenty or so feet. There are gorgeous windows everywhere I look, with their leaded panes still intact. Someone has gone to a ton of trouble to add an expensive-looking kitchen and a chic, white-likened boho bedroom. I can see that this loft has a little balcony with just enough room for a polished metal table and two white-cushioned seats.
Everything is white marble and gleaming platinum, creamy off-white shag textures and unfinished concrete walls.
“Whoa.” I look around, taking in all the muted luxury with a mouth only slightly ajar. “This is not what I was expecting at all. Somebody put a lot of time and money into building this place.”
Hades takes off his bulky overcoat, throwing it carelessly over a white couch near the bed. “It’s a loan from a friend of a friend.”
“Well, that friend is loaded.” I shrug out of my own coat, folding it up and leaving it on the kitchen island.
“Want to see your studio?”
My heartbeat kicks up. “There’s a studio?”
Hades flashes me a tiny smirk and then heads over to the wall. He looks around for only a second before he finds a set of buttons and mashes them.
Pocket doors materialize from the white blankness of the wall, opening automatically. I walk through, my eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. Hades is right behind me, hitting the lights.
The room’s windows look down on a large white marble drafting table. On it are piled the forging supplies I remember quite well.
I turn around, gesturing to the supplies. “Is this my stuff?”
His mouth twitches. “Most of it. Some of it had to be replaced. But all your work was saved.”
I walk over to one of the stack of cardboard boxes standing taller than me. On my tiptoes, I peer in the top box. Sure enough, there is the crate of inks, just as I left them. Swishing a finger over it, I exhale a tremulous breath.
“I can’t believe that you were able to get it out,” I murmur.
“You would be amazed at what you can do with enough money in northern Africa.” He leans against the doorframe, crossing his arms. “Then again, maybe you wouldn’t be so surprised anymore.”
My brows knit. I close the box’s lid and then turn toward him. “No. I guess once I’ve been abducted on a continent, it’s hard to see past that.”
I meant to make a joke of it. But it comes out breathy and weak. Hades is quick to straighten himself, walking over and tugging my hand, leading me back toward the kitchen.
“Come. We could both use a drink.”
A bark of laughter escapes me. “It’s barely sunrise, Hades.”
He releases my hand with a shrug. I close my fingers in a fist, feeling strangely lonely without his simple touch.
“Coffee, then,” he says. He points to a polished platinum stool pulled up to the kitchen island. “Sit.”
Smiling a little at how bossy he is, I take my seat. He rummages through the neatly organized white marble cabinets, pulling out everything he can conceivably make coffee with. Once he has a pour over set up and the coffee ground, he fills a gleaming silver kettle and sets it on the stove to boil.
I look at all the mugs and various coffee making implements he’s pulled out and left sitting on the counter. My lips twitch.
“Now the spoiled child in you emerges,” I tease him. “You just assume that someone else will put all those things away.”
Hades eyes me, his expression both defiant and challenging. He picks up a mug, walks over to the discreet white trash can, and drops it into the container with a thunk.
“Is that better?”
My lips lift. “I think you know very well that it’s not.”
He lifts a shoulder in a cool, jovial shrug. Silence reigns as he makes coffee. My mind wanders, going back to how nice this loft is and how much time and money someone must have spent on it.
I wonder if I will ever have a studio like this. My mother had a nice studio. For years she asked my father to rent her a space of her own, free from the obligations of her two needy children.
And my father had the money to do it.
