Chapter 6

6

L IZ

Earlier

I went back and forth with this idea.

Flying out and meeting David in New York.

Lying to everybody about where I'm spending my weekend, yet here I am on my way to meet the man who seemingly changes my life in unpredictable ways.

I was torn after having that conversation with Rain, and not because coming to New York to have some fun had anything to do with what she said to me.

By giving me her take on her relationship with David, she put things in perspective for me.

On the one hand, it made me realize I needed to thread carefully and not let myself get carried away by a man who already knew how to push my buttons and made me feel things I hadn't felt before.

On the other hand, she made me more curious than ever about David's past. I don't think that coming here to meet him will help me in that direction.

After doing an online search, I gathered some information about his past.

It's not much, and it's mostly things about his business dealings and how he's built his wealth.

He is a wealthy man––that's not news. But he lost a lot of money when he divorced his wife.

Samantha Rove is her name, and she currently resides in Texas. She is engaged to an oil tycoon and will get married next year.

She's not doing that bad herself.

A skinny woman with high cheekbones, she's about his age and doesn't look like a model or an actress.

She doesn't look like the women he used to hire to keep him company either—or like me.

She's a wealthy, normal looking woman.

She must have made him pay through his nose for asking for a divorce.

From what I've seen, women are more likely to file for a divorce. That hasn't been the case with them.

What made him lead a double life is still a mystery.

What made him marry her entirely escapes me.

I have a hard time imagining him being someone's husband. He has the demeanor of someone who'll never live for anyone other than himself.

It's so smoothly ingrained in him not to be accountable to anyone that I can't honestly picture David Moore more than what he is.

A free man who has nothing to offer a woman except for some escapism and hot sex.

So, that helped me make up my mind.

I still want to know more about him, but I won't complicate my life by trying to understand why he is the way he is.

Pulling this off hasn't been easy.

I worked hard for it.

I worked as many hours as I could before asking Maggie for a couple of days off.

And I told Terry I'd spend the weekend at Sandy's––helping her renovate her place.

And I told Chloe I'd work on my book.

I couldn't use the same excuse as she would've asked me about Sandy. Unlike my mother, she would've liked to know more about Sandy––who she was, how she looked, and what her phone number was.

Hopefully, she won't talk to Terry and compare notes.

The only difficult part about this lie is that she might want to know more about my writing, which could blow my cover.

But I'm hopeful that spending the weekend here will give me the energy to go back to my first draft and write for real this time.

We'll see.

Other than that, I meant to take my car to the shop and finally use it, but that didn't happen.

It's hard to think about my old ride when I have my brand new ride, especially if I go to places where no one knows me.

There is freedom in not having to live my old life every day, and there's no better representation of that than being dressed up and sailing the streets of Manhattan, exploring the world outside the car window through the lens of anonymity.

Living a double life is like switching coats.

Shrugging one off and putting another one on.

My old life stayed at home while my new life celebrates a cold rainy night in the city that never sleeps.

I never traveled to New York for an adventure like this, and I put all my effort into having a nice time.

Despite saying that I wouldn't get into his money, I couldn't help myself and bought some new clothes.

The plan is to put the money back when I get paid.

I didn't splurge.

I wouldn't do it anyway since splurging gives me panic attacks.

I trained myself not to need money, which is a virtue in itself.

So, I put some thought and effort into changing my appearance.

Another thing I did after chatting with Rain was to go back to her book and re–read the passages inspired by her affair with David.

It was interesting that she had felt she needed to up her game, not for him but for herself.

She wanted to bring the powerful woman who ended up taming James to life.In a way, she did it for him as well, although unknowingly.

That was her process, and it made sense.

When we are down and have no choice left, we have to reinvent ourselves and tap into our strengths.

That's what she did.

And that's what I'm doing now. I feel great in my skin.

What do I have to lose?

I like this man.

Also hidden in her writings was the fact that David had inspired her to morph into someone else without asking her or discussing that aspect of her life with her.

Something in him talked to that woman in her, and I know exactly what she meant.

I felt the same.

So, all prepped up, I waited for the car to pick me up and take me to the airport.

He made arrangements for everything. The rides, the charter flight, and the intimate dinner at an undisclosed location.

I'm giddy about doing this.I also feel safe .

What a beautiful word.

Truly.

If there was one thing about the men I'd spent time with in the past was that I'd never felt safe with them. And it wasn't about being physically harmed by them.

It had to do with them letting me down.

With him, I have no fear. I'm not nervous, jittery, panicked. He doesn't make me guess, and what a beautiful feeling that is.

I wish I could share it with the entire world, but for now, all I can do is to fiercely protect my most guarded secret.

LIZ

The car rolls to a smooth stop in front of the hotel.

"Give me a second," the driver says, producing an umbrella.

"Sure."

My eyes go to the lavishly lit entrance.

What a beautiful sight.

I don't get to see much inside as people block my view, but I see enough of the vast lobby.

Crystal chandeliers, massive furniture, and the nostalgic feel of a long lost world.

I pick up my purse when the door opens, and I step outside when a familiar voice echoes a few steps away from me.

"I'll take it from here," David says, and the driver gives him the umbrella.

David closes the distance between us and protects me from the rain.

"Hey," he says, his eyes glinting like gemstones, almost touched by the drizzling rain and the somber dark of the fall.

A soft smile curves his lips, and it feels like he's an old friend I'm about to spend the evening with, drinking wine and sharing personal stories.

"Hey," I say, grinning softly.

Maybe it's not the best idea or the moment for doing that, but I want to breathe life into that nagging belief that we are two old friends meeting on a stormy night in a legendary city to write a remarkable chapter in our lives.

So I pull closer to him, push up onto my toes, and tilt my lips to him. Without the slightest hesitation, he lowers his mouth, and I place a sweet scented kiss on his lips.

The driver moves away, and we are still connected, no longer kissing, his arm looped around my waist, my hands set against his chest.

"Was the trip all right?" he asks, his breath a billowy mist.

It's cold, but his body is warm, and despite the moisture hanging in the air, the fire in our bodies only grows.

"It was great," I say, beaming with joy.

His eyes brighten, his hand coming to my cheek.

I love it when he splays his fingers over my cheek and slowly brushes it with his thumb.

His eyes don't leave mine as if the rest of the story is buried between our lashes.

One of the most important things that happened this week was that I didn't freak out.

My past experiences taught me that there was a lot of guessing with men.They'd never been consistent.

Sometimes, they called me up without a reason. Other times, they faded away like smoke in the wind.

This week was different, though. We talked about my trip to New York, and that was it.

I didn't need reassurance, and he didn't make me feel insecure. I might get used to this, and if that's the case, so be it.

For now, I plan to enjoy it fully.

He seems mystified with me as he holds me in his arms and looks into my soul.

Nothing else seems to matter. Not that we are in a public space. And not the strangers passing us by.

He lowers his mouth to me again, and we kiss for real this time, like two people needing each other, if only for a few days.

The kiss comes with inebriating familiarity and effervescence as if we've longed for it the entire week.

He smells like smoky, earthy cologne mixed with intoxicating fall while my hair reeks of wet wildflowers.

He almost doesn't want to break away from me as we become two lovers under an umbrella, oblivious to the outside world.

My blood moves quicker, and his body oozes heat when we break the kiss.

"Let's go," he says. "The pilot is waiting for us."

With that, he takes my hand and walks me into the hotel, no longer caring whether someone checks us out or not.

To be fair, not many people who know me hang out in places like this. And if someone knows him, this might not look that unusual to them.

We stride past the reception desk and head directly to the elevator.

"There's a helipad on top of the building," he says, and suddenly everything makes sense.

LIZ

This is by far the best day of my life.

I've never seen something so beautiful, breathtaking, and out of this world.

I fight my nerves while climbing the stairs and claiming my seat in the helicopter, and once we take off, my entire world morphs into pure magic.

Wide–eyed, I stare at the city below.

I've seen this in movies.Skyscrapers, flickering lights, streets busting with life at night.

But living it is next level awesome.

I forget to breathe as I watch everything with a big smile on my face, forgetting how I've gotten here or why I'm here, and the man enjoying my reaction next to me.

Occasionally, I talk to him––I don't want to be rude––but the sight absolutely keeps me hostage.

The pilot moves the helicopter smoothly so we can enjoy the aerial view before heading east to the farthest tip of Long Island.

The view is in no way less beautiful.

Hundreds of lights are strewn across the ground and the lit roads look like glowing serpents while the ocean seems daintily stitched to the earth along the shore.

It's humbling to look at the stretch of water and understand what a tiny bit of the universe we are.

The thought puts a trickle of gratefulness in my chest.

I turn to him and meet his questioning eyes.

"Thank you," I say, my voice hardly overpowering the noise.

He tips his chin in response, smiling, enchanted, pleased with how authentic and fresh my reaction is.

Without making too much fuss about it, I lean to him, loop my arms around his neck, and kiss his cheek.

He smells like freedom.

The freedom of not fearing that something bad might spoil our time together.

A driver picks us up when we arrive in East Hamptons, and a short drive later, we enter the large driveway of a luxurious estate.

There is nothing blatantly ostentatious about it, yet the vast rooms, manicured lawn, and fountain in the middle of the driveway are telling about the kind of living the owner indulges in.

The place is artfully lit, not too bright or overly dim, and no one awaits us.

David walks out first and holds the door for me before the driver steers the car away, and we're alone.

"You wanted something different," he says. "I thought this would work for you."

Still holding my hand, he looks at me, waiting for a reaction. I look at the two–story building before moving my bewildered stare to him.

This is not what I imagined when he said we should try something different.

"It's a beautiful place. Is it yours?" I murmur.

He gives me a soft nod.

"This is one of the properties I own in New York. I don't live here if that's what you're asking. It just happened that it was available."

"Oh. So it's up for rent?"

"Occasionally, yes."

He studies my face with a mystified expression.

"Interested in renting it?" he jokes, showing me to the entrance.

"I might be," I say seriously, although obviously joking. "The commute might be a deal breaker, though."

He laughs, sincerely amused.

My heels click against the marble floors as we enter the place. It's a modern house with a lot of light during the day, I imagine.

Sliding doors connect the rooms to the back of the house, where the backyard and pool are easily visible.

The place is roomy and breathy.

From almost anywhere on the first floor, I can see the living room, the amazing open kitchen, the back patio, and the large hallway leading to the entrance.

It's a laid back, comfortable design. There are no things crammed in confined spaces.

Everything belongs, and I like that about the place.

And then there is the furniture.

Large, comfortable sofas and armchairs, decorative floor pillows, and lamps casting a soft glow around the rooms.High ceilings and a not–so–steep flight of stairs connecting the first floor to the second.

It's classy without being overwhelming and modern without being opulent.

A little piece of heaven I would've never known about had he not brought me here.

A piano sits in the corner of the living room, and opposite to it, a working fireplace.

"Do you like it?" he asks, moving to the sliding doors.

I'm still looking around, lost for words.

Our eyes connect a second later, his hands on the glass doors.

"You can open it," I say, my eyes moving to the strings of lights dangling from the trees behind the pool.

He slides them open, and crisp air tumbles in, carrying the smoky scent of early fall while the rusty leave a trail down a stone path.

Glancing around, I find the leaves everywhere—littering the lounge chairs, floating in the pool, and falling from the trees.

The strings of lights swing in the wind, and my pulse races, my muse awakened from her slumber.

What a magnificent place with such a story to tell.

It's absolutely true that some places talk to you.

Some are brimming with old stories, others longing for more people.

I think this place is doing both.

"What would you like to drink?" he asks, his voice trailing off, hinting he's on his way to the kitchen.

"Wine for now. And tea later. Maybe," I say without thinking much.

My words prompt him to stop in the middle of the living room, and for a second, I have this snapshot of him standing next to the piano, wearing a sharp suit, a dress shirt open at the neckline, and a thin necklace I've never seen on him before, making everything look surreal.

Everything felt like a dare, a game, taking a chance on something, but this suddenly feels serious.

He seems so at home next to the piano with a large crystal chandelier illuminating the hallway in the background that I have to ask him.

"Have you lived here before…?"

He doesn't say a thing, not a muscle moving on his face.

"So, wine first?" he asks, pivoting away––without giving me an answer.

"Yes. And I'd love to drink it outside," I say in a louder voice as he vanishes inside the kitchen.