Chapter 16

SIXTEEN

T he house was dark when we got out of the car—a plush Mercedes Xavier had rented while he was staying in the city. He loomed behind me, and suddenly I felt so small and my house felt so small in comparison to everything I knew this man had. I wondered again why I’d let him talk me into taking him back here, even if it was empty and Sofia wasn’t here to see him.

By New York standards, it was actually a fairly big place. A three-story townhouse half a block from a park, consisting of a basement apartment and the two bedrooms up top (and a half, if you included my little area). Sure, it was maybe a quarter of the size of the grandiose brownstone where I’d run into Xavier, but still nothing to laugh about. Red Hook was an up-and-coming area too, known more now for its restaurants and galleries than for its previous life as a stronghold of crime and poverty. My brother had done well for himself.

“The basement’s rented,” I told Xavier as I unlocked the door. “My brother, Sofia, and I have the rest.”

He followed me inside, peering over the foyer toward the staircase, then down the skinny hall. At first, I felt shy by its shabbiness—the cracked plaster here and there, too many coats hung on the rack, the pile of shoes near the doorway. I thought of the kitchen still stuck in the 1970s, the dining nook that barely fit a table for four, and the living room with the TV awkwardly mounted over the fireplace. None of this would come anywhere close to the finery Xavier was accustomed to now.

But I pulled my shoulders back and forced myself to stand up straight. It took every penny Matthew had and countless weekends of working on the place to make it livable. But he had, and then he had shared it with me and Sofia.

I’d never be able to make it up to him.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked as I led Xavier into the kitchen. “Wine? Tea? I think Mattie has some beer in here somewhere.”

“Water’s fine.”

I pulled the Brita out of the fridge and poured him a glass, then set the kettle on to boil. Xavier wandered about the living room, taking in the tiny deck overlooking the yard Matthew wanted to turn into a garden someday, then turning back to peruse the black-and-white photos of Florence Matthew had hung in one corner. I tried not to overwhelm this place with photos of Sofia, saving most of them for my small space upstairs. While we were a family unit of sorts, my brother was still a bachelor. A single thirty-something man didn’t need to define himself via his four-year-old niece.

Her father, however. That was a different story.

“It’s all right,” Xavier said, returning to the counter while I started steeping tea for myself. He accepted the water and glanced around the kitchen with open curiosity.

I looked around, imagining his disgust. “It’s fine. Not what you’re used to, I’m sure. But it’s safe, like I said, and in a good neighborhood. Bigger than I could get on my own, that’s for sure.”

“It reminds me of my mum’s flat in Croyden. The one above her restaurant where I grew up. This kitchen, though.”

I offered a sheepish smile. “It’s old, I know. I don’t think it’s been updated in about forty years. My brother’s been remodeling the rest of the place first, little by little.”

Xavier looked surprised. “This place has been remodeled?”

“Yes, it has! It was basically studs when he bought it. Mattie had to rip out most of the lath and plaster and redo the wiring. He did the basement first so he could take on a tenant, and then spent the better part of a summer getting the rest of the house habitable. The kitchen is the last step.”

That summer had been hard on both of us. We were still living in Matthew’s old apartment in Sheepshead Bay, where Sofia and I shared a bedroom while she was going through the terrible twos times about twenty. The summer had turned the city into a sauna. Money had been so tight we couldn’t afford to run the air conditioner more than an hour a day or so.

I ran a hand over the yellowed Formica counter. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked.

“Where does she sleep?”

I didn’t have to ask who he meant. He had asked to come here to see her space, after all. To see who his daughter was.

“Follow me,” I said and led the way back toward the foyer and up the stairs.

Xavier followed step by step, taking in the family photographs lining the staircase, glancing into Matthew’s sparsely decorated room to the left, the bathroom at the center, and then slowing as we entered Sofia’s room at the other end of the hall.

It was a typical little girl’s room. I’d done my best with limited funds, painted it gray with lilac-colored drapes I’d found at the Goodwill and a matching lilac-sprigged quilt rumpled on her little white daybed. In one corner, a dollhouse sat atop a child’s table, strewn with little people, their clothes, and other bits and bobs she liked to insert into their world. Next to that was a vintage chest open on its side. I’d found it on the street, cleaned it up, and painted it white, then installed a bar across one side where Sofia could hang the few princess costumes she had collected from family and friends. The rest of the room consisted of a small closet, a knee-high shelf with a variety of picture books, and a purple shag rug from Ikea.

Unlike the rest of the house, however, the walls were almost completely filled with images. Sofia wanted nearly every bit of art she made at school hung up for people to see, every picture we printed right along with it. After more than two full years at her current center, almost every space in the room was covered with construction paper, finger paintings, scribbled sketches, and grainy photographs. It was messy and chaotic, and I loved her all the more for it.

“She likes princesses?” Xavier pointed at the open chest, where a particular sparkly gown had fallen off its hanger.

I snorted. “Try obsessed. It’s a four-year-old thing. I read her Cinderella once, and she has demanded a weekly recitation ever since. She wants to be a princess when she grows up.”

“She’ll love England, then,” he said with a funny, unreadable face. “I’ll take her to Buckingham Palace.”

I tried to smile, though a certain tightness in my chest arose at the idea of Sofia going anywhere without me.

“It’s small,” Xavier noted as he strode around the rest of the room, which took him exactly four seconds.

“She doesn’t need much space.”

“I don’t mean it like that. It’s lovely, Ces. Really nice.”

I smiled. “Got a thing for lilacs and fairy dresses too?”

His mouth twitched. “I only meant that if I were a little girl, I imagine I’d like this very much. Well done.”

We stared at each other across the room for an odd moment. Then Xavier turned toward the exit and cleared his throat.

“The other room’s your brother’s. So where do you sleep?”

I gestured out the door. “Around the corner.”

He followed me toward the landing at the opposite end of the hall, a glorified storage area between the other side of the bathroom. On it, I managed to fit a twin bed against one wall, a rack for my clothes on the other, and a small bookshelf under the windows looking out toward the street. Against the wall lay a folded screen, which I took out at night for a bit of extra privacy. We called it my “room,” but it wasn’t quite that.

Xavier looked around at the little space with a deep frown. “There’s no door.”

I shrugged. “I felt guilty taking the other bedroom since my brother is the one who pays most of the mortgage. I have a place to sleep. I’m fine with it.”

He gave me a long, unreadable look. “I don’t understand. Do teachers really make such poor wages you can’t even afford your own room?”

I sighed. “Most of the teachers I know either have roommates or are married. After taxes, I take home maybe thirty-nine thousand a year, most of which goes to childcare. Most landlords require leaseholders to earn at least three times the rent, and I have student loan payments too. You try finding a two-bedroom anywhere in New York for thirteen hundred dollars a month. I promise you, it can’t be done—not for another seven years, anyway, until I get a real salary increase. Either Sofia and I live comfortably with my brother or hole up in a crappy studio in East New York. I’m good with our choice. She’s been happy.”

“And you?” he pressed. “Have you been happy sleeping on a landing? No walls, no doors, no bloody privacy?”

I sighed again and placed my hands on his lapels, urging him to calm down.

“It’s good enough for her ,” I said. “And for the next fourteen years or so, that’s all I care about.”

He was quiet for a long time, worry etched between his eyebrows. Then, as if moved by marionette strings, his hands rose to cover mine, pressing them harder into his muscled chest. I could feel the beat of his heart even through the layers of cotton and wool.

Gradually, it slowed. Until I looked up.

“And what of the men you bring home?” he asked, voice low and foreboding. “Where do they sleep?”

“Xavi…”

“No, really.” He released my hands and took a few steps back. “You’re only twenty-seven. I know there’s been a bloke or two up here, hasn’t there?”

I couldn’t lie. I’d tried to date a few times over the years. Once, a guy I’d met at the library. Another had been a friend of Matthew’s. But nothing had lasted more than a few weeks. Nothing more than a few make-out sessions. Maybe some heavy petting on my bed. All it ever took was a bad dream or a call for “Mama” to erase what romance there was in my little corner of the house.

“My personal life hasn’t been my priority,” was all I said.

He didn’t need to know every detail.

Xavier watched me intently. And then, ever so subtly, his gaze dropped. “Do you remember the last time I kissed you?”

I smirked. “You mean about a month ago?”

He rolled his eyes. “No. I mean, before I left for London. Before…Sofia.”

I bit my lip. I couldn’t help it. Did I remember the most soul-searing kiss of my life? Oh, just a smidge.

“You came with me to the hotel to drop me off on your way home.”

I nodded. “Traffic was a disaster that day.”

“We took the train back from downtown. It was so busy that you had to sit in my lap. I didn’t care a bit, though. I just wanted to hold you in my arms for as long as I could.”

I smiled. The subway had been particularly crowded that day. And the A train had been running very late. Neither of us cared at all, though.

“Then you walked me all the way to the door instead of transferring. Do you remember what I asked you?”

I nodded. My skin prickled with the memory. “You said—” I cleared my throat. I had to. My tongue felt too thick for it. “You told me to kiss you.”

He took another step forward, prompting me to back against the mattress edge. “And did you?”

I closed my eyes. In a second, I was there again. Standing outside his hotel near campus while throngs of other travelers funneled in and out of the building. I had thought I would see him again that night. It was our last night before he was going back to London. And so all day there had been an air of desperation about him. About us. As we tracked through the Guggenheim together. Played in Central Park. Acted like tourists at the planetarium.

We couldn’t keep our hands off each other, but that had been something different.

“Kiss me like your life depends on it,” he’d commanded.

And so I’d jumped up, wrapped my arms and legs completely around him while he held me there on the street, crushed my lips to his, and I’d kissed and kissed and kissed him while he spun us around in circles. We had devoured each other right there on Amsterdam Avenue until we were dizzy and out of breath. Until the city, the streets, the noise—all of it disappeared. But him.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I did.”

“You did.”

He was now only a few inches away. Slowly, slowly, he leaned down, slipping a hand around my back to rest on the bed’s headboard. Trapping me with his dark gaze. His clear intent.

“Xavi, stop,” I breathed when his lips were less than an inch from mine. His salty-sweet scent consumed me. Oh , this was hard.

“Christ,” he muttered, his low voice growling over my collar. “I’m not going anywhere, Ces. I thought we established that tonight.”

But that was just it.

I tipped my head, leaning back to look him in the eye. “Did we? You live on the other side of an ocean. And, as you pointed out earlier, this isn’t really the time, is it?”

With a long sigh, he stood up straight and shook his head. “The restaurant is going ahead. I’ll be here for the next few months at least while it opens, and even after…well, London’s only a few hours away, really. My life isn’t the same as it was four years ago. I’m not going to disappear again. Ever.”

I took a deep breath. My heart was pounding so hard I was surprised he couldn’t hear it. His proximity wasn’t helping. Everything about him—even the parts that were cold and harsh—wasn’t helping. I wanted them all.

I slid out from between him and the bed, taking a safer place near the window looking out to the backyard. “All right. You can meet her.”

Xavier jerked. Immediately, the lust clouding his eyes disappeared. They were bright blue again and crystal clear. “When?”

I swallowed thickly, running over a brief timeline in my head. Mattie was in Italy. I had the house to myself. Maybe that was a bit more dangerous, considering it would open me up to more moments like these with Xavier. But it was better than having my family sticking their noses where they weren’t wanted. Not now.

“Later this week. On one condition.”

Xavier tipped his head, looking a lot like a skeptical raven. “What’s that?”

“I don’t want her to know who you are yet.”

Xavier frowned. “Why the fuck not?”

I took a deep breath. I was pressing my luck. A month ago, I’d been convinced I was going to be destroyed in court by this man. Instead, he had reneged on that particular promise and agreed to do things my way for the sake of Sofia.

But this was for her. I had to stick to my guns.

“In case—in case you don’t like her. Or something.”

His black brows nearly smashed together. “What does that mean—‘or something’?”

I sighed. “Do I really have to spell it out to you?”

He stared at me so hard I honestly thought two holes might appear in my forehead. “Are you suggesting I might be a poor father?”

“Well, I don’t actually know, do I?”

He looked completely bewildered. “Are we really back to that? Just because a few men out there are shitty fathers doesn’t mean I’m going to be one of them, Ces. It’s unfair to blame me for their sins.”

I scowled. Men always made this excuse. If I had to hear one more sentence start with “not all men,” whether it had to do with domestic violence, catcalling, or even just doing the dishes, I was going to scream.

“I’m sorry, but no,” I replied stoutly. “It’s no different than getting a vaccine. Or STD testing. Or putting on a seat belt, for crying out loud. We don’t do it because every single driver out there is a maniac. But enough of them are that we prepare for the possibility. And just like some people shouldn’t be drivers, there are also many who shouldn’t be parents.”

Xavier rubbed his chin, looking like he wanted to argue back.

“There’s another reason, too,” I added.

“Oh?” He didn’t sound particularly thrilled.

“My family.”

“I thought you loved your family.”

“I do. But like I told you, they consist of four extremely nosy sisters, my very protective big brother, and a pushy grandma who would like nothing more than to see me married and Sofia have a dad. If they catch wind you’re back in my life, they will be on you like white on rice, my friend. I’m okay with that. But I’m not sure you’re quite prepared.”

For the first time all night, Xavier actually looked unsure. I sort of hated him for it, but I’d been banking on it.

“I see,” he said. “And I’m guessing Sofia can’t keep a secret.”

“Well, she’s four.”

If he needed more explanation than that, then he really had a lot to learn about children.

He was quiet for another minute.

“It will just be until she gets used to you. And until you…” I almost said “love her,” but caught myself in time. He had already made it clear that was too much to ask. “Until you get used to her too. If you can do that, you can meet her this week.”

He looked up like an alerted animal. “This week?”

I tipped my head. “Too soon?”

“No, it’s just—I was thinking—fuck.”

I chuckled. It was nice to know he didn’t have everything under control.

“How about Friday?” I asked. “It’s movie night. My brother is out of town. If it’s nice, I’ll pick her up early and meet you at to the park. Next time you can come over and watch Moana . That’s her favorite. If you learn how to sing ‘You’re Welcome’ like The Rock, she’ll adore you.”

He looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language but gave a short nod. “Friday, then.”

“Meet me outside my school again at three thirty,” I said. “And this time, stay put.”