Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Alistair takes the jacket and hangs it on a rack beside his own. I can only hope he didn’t feel my reaction. My body needs to calm the hell down.
“How high are these ceilings?” I ask, to distract myself.
“Sixteen feet.”
“Wow.”
He hangs back, watching my face with interest as I look around, obviously proud of the place. Which he should be. Him wanting me to like his home makes all the warm feelings rush to the surface. The non-horny ones for a change.
The entryway opens onto a sprawling combined living-and-dining space. Floor-to-ceiling windows look onto a back patio with more wisteria wrapped around pillars, the green of a lawn, and the blue of a pool beyond. In the seating area, a flat-screen the size of California hangs above a large fireplace. There’s not much furniture—just a long white sofa (always a brave color) and an antique wood dining table with a dozen or so seats. A couple of boxes sit in a corner, along with several large unframed paintings. The only real hint of personality is a gaming unit sitting on the floor beneath the TV. It feels like more than a strict dedication to a minimal decorating style. Alistair just is this buttoned-down and hidden from view.
“It was built in the sixties by a gallery owner,” he says. “She wanted to be close to everything but still be able to lock out the world and have total privacy.”
“I can see how that would appeal to you. This place must have been beautiful when it was full of pictures.”
“I have some pieces I keep meaning to hang,” he says, nodding to the collection of boxes in the corner. “Just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”
“I didn’t mean... The house is great. Can I check it out?”
“Make yourself at home.”
The house has two levels and is shaped like a C, surrounding the backyard with its pool, firepit, and hot tub. It’s no wonder it feels like a fortress. There’s a chef’s kitchen with stainless-steel appliances, gray stone countertops, and a smaller dining table seating eight. And more of those packing boxes shoved off to the side. Given how immaculate the rest of the house is, those boxes are an oddity.
Since he already knows I’m nosy and has accepted that about me, I open the stainless-steel double-door fridge. In the freezer, there’s a bottle of vodka and some ice. In the fridge is a half-empty six-pack of beer, a quart of milk, and an unopened bottle of champagne. No food. He’s a breatharian, apparently. Good on him for giving alternate lifestyles a go.
“Are you judging me?” he asks in an amused tone.
“I would never.”
“Of course not. You do realize your nose twitches when you lie.”
“It does not,” I say, reaching up to touch it just in case.
“Would you like a drink?”
“Not yet.”
Beyond the kitchen, the hallway runs off at an angle while a set of stairs leads to the second story. This house is a rich man’s hobbit hole. A sprawling aboveground bunker for those with a taste for luxury. There’s a distinct subterranean feel to the place. Standing inside these gray walls, the rest of the world might as well have disappeared.
“Down there are the three guest bedrooms,” he says, pointing down the hall. “Upstairs is my bedroom, an office, sitting room, and outdoor area.”
“What’s down the other end on this level?”
“Home gym, library, and a media room,” he says. Library is no sooner out of his mouth than I am racing in that direction. Because books. “Lilah, wait. You’re going to be disappointed.”
As promised, exercise machines and weights occupy the first room. There’s even a towel slung over the seat of an elliptical. It’s the most lived-in space I’ve seen so far. Across the hall is a bathroom with gray stone tiling and copper pipes. Very cool. Then at last I find it—the library. He’s right about being disappointed. Dark wood shelving to match the floor lines two whole walls reaching up to the high ceiling. But apart from the mountain of boxes stacked in one corner, all of it is empty. Though there is one of those cool ladders on wheels. I wonder if he’d push me back and forth if I asked nicely.
Imagine having your own library and not even using it. This is a travesty. A disgrace. It also makes absolutely no damn sense.
“This room is beautiful. Or it could be,” I say. “How long have you lived here?”
“A while.”
“Narrow it down for me.”
He leans against the door frame with his arms crossed. “I don’t know. Not quite five years.”
“Five years?” My eyes are as wide as can be. “Fuck me.”
“I was going to ask how you were doing with the ‘great sex’ thing,” he deadpans.
“Don’t change the subject.” I point a finger at him. “You do realize you bring that up every time we talk?”