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Xavier’s eyes darkened. More than a little guilt was obvious there. As if he could have prevented any of this from happening.
“The papers just like a good story,” Elsie said. “Nothing you could have done about it, boy.”
“Yeah, well, now I have to—” Xavier started before the elevator doors opened, effectively cutting him off.
Sofia bounded out in front of us, eager to move and explore her new surroundings after hours on a plane. Family politics forgotten, Xavier grabbed our suitcases and led us into the biggest apartment I’d ever seen. A landscape full of shine and polish, gleaming chrome, and bright light.
And completely devoid of color.
“Ooh! Comfy!” Sofia’s sneakered feet screeched across a white marble floor that covered nearly the entirety of an enormous loft space and at least thirty feet between the entrance and a giant white couch she had spotted. Under which was a very white and expensive-looking rug.
“Sof,” I called out. “Shoes off, baby girl. Be careful—”
“Let her be, Ces,” Xavier said. “Well, except for the shoes off. We don’t wear shoes inside, babe,” he told her.
I obediently slipped off my beat-up New Balance and set them beside his bright Nikes, then straightened the sparkly slip-ons Sofia had thrown toward us.
There. Three in a row, nice and neat.
At least they seemed to make sense together.
Then I turned, and everything else seemed surreal.
I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting. Given the old-fashioned nature of the neighborhood, I’d rather thought the inside would be equally traditional, if anything. But despite being in a neighborhood that looked like it was sketched straight out of an Austen novel, Xavier’s apartment was clean and utterly modern, firmly grounded in the twenty-first century.
It took what seemed like an hour just to tour the cavernous space. The living room alone was bigger than the entire house I’d grown up in, including two seating areas situated around a house-sized gas fireplace that flickered despite the fact that it was the beginning of July. One contained the couch into which Sofia had dived like a swan on vacation, plus two oversized white leather chairs. On the other side of the fireplace stood a white baby grand piano bookended by two light gray Chesterfields for listening. Beyond that, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows through which a panoramic view of London twinkled, was a Lucite dining table that could seat at least twelve with a crystal chandelier bearing at least as many lights.
“I didn’t know you played,” I said, gesturing toward the piano.
“Hmm?” Xavier looked up from his phone. “Oh, I don’t. The designer chose that to fill the space.”
Ignoring the fact that he even lived in a place and had the money to spend on an extremely expensive musical instrumentto fill space, I continued to look around.
Xavier headed toward the kitchen, which somehow managed to be the biggest space on the floor. That at least made sense, considering Xavier’s profession. Even so, it was also the most intimidating, set back against the same view of London as the rest of the place, with luxe marble counters that matched the floors. Bright white cabinets shone with the light, surrounding two sets of double ovens, two six-burner AGA ranges, the biggest fridge I’d ever seen, and three separate prep sinks arranged on an island that went on for miles.
Everything was immaculate. Nary a sponge left in any of the sinks, not a smudge on the chrome fixtures, nor a single crumb lingering on the marble. Like everything else in this apartment, it was bright, white, and showroom perfect.
Cue my entrance in stained leggings and a messy topknot, with a four-year-old version of Pigpen in tow.
This was all very pretty to look at, but how in the world were Sofia and I supposed tolivehere?
“My office is just there,” Xavier said, pointing toward a desk the size of the Mayflower ensconced in a room entirely made of glass. “And then down the landing are the bedrooms and the other bathrooms.”
“Who are they all for?” I asked, wondering why I actually hoped there would be only two. “You, Sofia, me…”
“For all of us. We need our own space.”
He seemed to think he was giving me something. And he was, I supposed, though I didn’t know why the idea of living separately made my heart sink. Then again, we’d known each other—really known each other—for only six months or so. Why should I expect to move into his bedroom in that short a period? He’d invited me to spend the summer with him, not marry him, for Pete’s sake.
Right?
Elsie cleared her throat loudly but appeared to be inspecting the counters in the kitchen.
“Er—and for the rest of your family, should they ever want to visit,” Xavier amended.
The rest? I had five siblings, two of them with spouses and kids, plus a grandmother and an errant mother. Xavier was perfectly aware of this. Just how many other rooms were there?
I found I didn’t want to know. Not yet.
