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When we arrive at his home, I can no longer contain the awestruck wonder bubbling up inside me. I’ve never seen a house this large. You could easily fit four of my mother’s home inside this one. I can’t imagine why someone would need this much space for one person. Though I suppose coming from a billionaire’s perspective, this is a downgrade.
The interior of his home leaves me breathless. For all the personal artifacts he lacks in his office and apartment in the city, his home could not be more filled with memories. One wall displays a series of degrees, each one encased in a silver frame.
“You went to medical school?” I ask, stopping at one degree in particular.
Zach is standing by a drink cart on the opposite side of the room. He’s pouring himself something from a brown bottle. “It was the only way my father would let me get my degree in psychology. The advantage is, I suppose, I am now a licensed psychiatrist. So I will always have that to fall back on.”
I continue my perusal of his things. Beautiful mementos from around the world line the shelves of one bookcase, alongside paintings and pictures to commemorate each adventure. Places I want to see, to explore for myself. Places I will likely only ever dream about visiting.
Another area showcases carefully selected photos. They would have to be. I mean, who actually prints out photos anymore? I recognize Derek and Marianne the quickest. One looks like a wedding photo with Derek and Marianne, while another shows Derek beside Zach in similar attire.
“You were in the wedding party, I see.”
Zach tips his glass outward. “I was the best man.”
“Oh.” I pretend as though I’ve just offended him. “I’m sorry.”
“Well, I don’t like to brag,” he says. “But I’m kind of a big deal.”
I laugh, feeling the tension and worry slowly leave my body. This is good being here, being away from home. With him.
My eyes inventory the remaining photos, instantly wanting to know all the stories behind them, wanting to know more about Zach and what makes him cherish each and every one of these photos. One woman appears in multiples. A lovely older woman with the same beautiful sandy brown hair as Zach. She doesn’t look a day over forty, though Zach doesn’t have any siblings. So it must be his mother.
The heat of his body brushes against my back. He’s moved so close that every nerve within me suddenly sparks to life. I turn to face him. His eyes shift from the photos to me. A tenderness lingers there, almost as if he’s enjoying watching my eyes light up with wonder at his photos.
“Your mother, I take it?” I point to the woman in the photo.
He nods and takes a sip from his glass.
“Who’s the man next to her?” It doesn’t look like his father. In fact, I don’t see any photos of his father anywhere amongst the other pictures.
Zach growls lowly, then turns back toward the drink cart. “He’s our groundskeeper.”
“You have photos of your groundskeeper in your home?” Maybe I had his perspective of service people all wrong.
“He’s been with the family for decades. My mother and he are old friends. I just-” He struggles for the right words. I get the feeling that I'm missing something bigger here. Some dark underlying issues I can’t compute. “She just looks so happy, so...you know.”
He holds the bottle in his hands up to me.
I shake my head. Not after what happened last time. I think I’ve sworn off drinking forever. Even though it wasn’t the alcohol and Zach would never do anything like that to me, I don’t want to take any chances. I want to remember being here with him. Every moment I have left with him, for as long as I can.
“First impressions?” he asks, lifting a finger toward the house.
I haven’t even seen the other rooms, but I’m already completely floored. If this were my home, I would never want to leave. “It isn’t what I’d imagined.”
“And what did you imagine?”
“Something bigger,” I tease. “Something more secluded. A dark, Gothic castle somewhere up on a mountaintop.”
An amused grin lifts one corner of his mouth, and he slowly closes the distance between us. “Yes well, a dark, Gothic castle in the middle of California probably wouldn’t be the most inconspicuous place to hide. And I don’t really need a big space for just me. Plus, it’s a secure neighborhood, and they do a good job of keeping out the press.”
His eyes examine my face, peering into my soul for all I can tell.
Can he see the longing there? Does he know how badly I want him to take me in his arms and make all of this nonsense go away?
“How are you holding up?” he asks.
“I don’t know.” Because I don’t. How am I supposed to recover from something like this? I won’t be able to sleep knowing I could wake up to a phone call like the one I received on Saturday. A call that tells me my whole life has changed again. And I’m all alone in the world.
