chapter 20
[Jude]
The next day while Angelica sleeps, I attempt to work, but my mind continually wanders.
I take a second glance around her apartment.
The rug covering the hardwood flooring. The abundant pillows on her couch.
The worn leather chair. She even has a small Christmas tree strung with real popcorn and dried cranberries.
It doesn’t contain any ornaments, but the simplicity of it is beautiful.
A string of lights hangs around the window.
Her place is comfortable, cozy even, which is something I hadn’t considered yesterday. Her one-bedroom apartment is a home compared to my place on the upper floors of a downtown high-rise.
I’m easily distracted by the floating shelves on one wall near her television, which holds a myriad of framed photographs. Close-ups of children. Laughing adults. A couple in black and white. A pair of older women.
Eventually, I stand to further inspect the images.
With my hands behind my back, I stare at each and every image as if I’m viewing fine art in a gallery instead of candid photos.
I note the close-up of the children. Some of the boys have a mischievous twinkle to their eyes, while one of the girls has the same. Each face looks relaxed, content, well-loved. Their smiles appear genuine.
Next, I stare at the adults, easily distinguishing Angelica, her sister Christmas, brother Dane, and assume the final male is her brother Beau.
In one picture, they are laughing with large grins and their heads tipped backward.
Whatever was said or done to prompt such a photo was truly funny, but the attractive part of the image is that they appear to genuinely enjoy one another.
The pair of older women must be her Aunt Gertie and her grandmother. The two have their heads together, like a couple of teenagers. The image is rather sweet.
Finally, I focus on the black and white image of a couple on their wedding day.
They’re dancing with their foreheads touching.
Her eyes are closed. He appears to be looking at her.
I’ll never be able to meet Angelica’s parents, and yet looking at this image, the love within them radiates outward, unlike the wedding portrait of my parents, where they both look stiff and uncomfortable.
Heck, I couldn’t recall a single photograph that was spontaneous for my family. Nothing was unplanned. Photos were taken, and then re-taken, if our smiles weren’t just right. With our perfected smiles, we always had a slightly stilted expression.
“My dad liked to stare at my mother.”
I don’t turn my head but catch Angelica out of the corner of my eye leaning against the door jamb to her bedroom, tipping her head to the side. She’s wearing a dark green pajama set today. Silky pants and a complementary top with three buttons.
“When he got caught by one of us, he’d always say our mother was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.”
Hearing the soft smile in her voice, I turn my head, noting a hint of sadness in the curve of her lips.
Turning back to the photographs, I say, “You all look like you genuinely like one another.”
Angelica chuckles. “We do. Most days.”
She steps closer, pointing out her nephews and nieces by name, then her siblings, and finally confirming her aunt and grandmother.
“My grandmother was a quiet woman,” I admit. “My grandfather was stern. A miser, I suppose one would call him.”
A person who hoards wealth and spends as little as possible.
I wouldn’t say I’ve inherited that trait, although I’ve inherited plenty of other things from the patriarchal line of my family.
“I’ve told you that Tucker isn’t really my dad. His father was my father, which made my great-grandfather actually my grandfather.”
Essentially, my dad was my brother, and it was so fucking complicated.
I continue to stare at the image of Angelica’s grandmother. Her smile is warm and kind. Her sister beside her has a glint of mischief in her eyes, like that of her great-niece and several great-nephews.
“What I didn’t mention is how Tucker has brothers, which makes them my brothers.” I turn my head, hands still behind my back to witness the expected shock on Angelica’s face from revealing another secret without an NDA.
Why was I telling this woman everything? The answer comes quickly. Because I’d like to share. I’d like to unburden this load I bear with her.
Angelica doesn’t look shocked, only sad.
Sad for me. I could rage at her pity, but instead, I drink it in.
While I’ve never wanted anyone to feel sorry for me, ever, no one has had the opportunity because of the secrets I keep deep within me.
The ones we’ve never openly shared although Tucker and his brother, Mach, own a business together and refer to one another as brothers all the time.
“My father had a set of male twins a little younger than Tucker with another young woman,” I clarify of the list of bastard children my father bore. “And another child somewhere out there, who is a full-fledged adult by now, who is between them and me. Tucker was his only legitimate son.”
The list of adulterous acts is daunting.
Angelica doesn’t speak. Her head remains tipped against the jamb, arms crossed loosely over her chest.
She’s so beautiful, and if she looks like her mother, which is difficult to tell from this image, I understand her father’s fascination. Angelica is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.
But I pull my gaze from her and stare, almost blindly, at this wall of photographs.
“I’m sorry you aren’t close to any of them,” Angelica begins. “But there is always time for a relationship, if you want to put in the effort.”
Make amends. It’s on the list, but I don’t think she realizes how difficult that would truly be.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, abruptly changing the subject.
“Would you hate me if I said I’d love a cheeseburger the size of my head?” She chuckles at her admission, and I glance back at her.
“Something tells me I could never hate you,” I admit. Something tells me I could love her, but love is skiing during an avalanche, dangerous and inevitably it could suffocate you.
I shrug. “I could eat a cheeseburger.”
Her gaze blatantly roams up and down my body, before she chuffs. “When have you ever eaten a cheeseburger?”
“Were you just checking me out?” I laugh, turning my body toward her. “Get a good look?”
Her face turns a sweet shade of pink, punctuating those freckles across her cheeks, but the one I concentrate on near the corner of her lip is like the North Star in the sky leading me home.
“Don’t worry,” I add. “I enjoy the view, too.” I keep my eyes on her a second before scanning down her body, letting my gaze trace the outline of her form. Those smaller breasts and wider hips. The curves and dips in all the right places.
“You said you didn’t look earlier.” She straightens from the door jamb.
“I didn’t.” But I cross my fingers behind my back while I speak because I might have gotten a tiny peek.
More like an unintentional flash, but I quickly held back from taking a fuller glance.
I’ve seen the outline of her body before, in that one-piece bathing suit while we were in the hot tub.
It didn’t leave much to the imagination but left enough that I’ve been wondering what she’d look like all laid out and naked on my bed, her alabaster skin contrasting with my dark sheets.
As we continue to stare at one another, blood rushes through my body to places it shouldn’t be rushing. I clear my throat and swipe a hand over my hair to cup the back of my neck.
“So, cheeseburgers?”
“You don’t need to feed me.” She draws a circle with her toe on the rug and lowers her head.
“I need to eat.” My hunger is the perfect argument. “How about a movie, too?”
“You want to watch a movie?” Her reddish brows lift.
“Why are you acting like I don’t do anything human? Eat cheeseburgers and watch movies.”
“I don’t know.” Her shoulders fall. “I guess I just kind of see you above the mundane with your suits and your top-floor office. Watching a movie and eating a burger must seem kind of boring.” She wrinkles her nose like she still can’t believe I’d do something so simple.
I could chastise her for being a little judgmental but instead I say, “Let me show you that I’m not really that complex of a man.” I’d really like her to see me as something other than someone on some unattainable mountain peak. “I’ll even let you pick the movie.”
“Any movie?” she teases, tweaking one brow again.
“Any movie,” I agree.
“You might regret that,” she continues, stepping around me for the remote near the television.
“I regret nothing,” I counter.
“Ever been to a drive-in movie?” She adorably tilts her head sideways.
“Random.” I laugh, the sound sharp and quick, and foreign feeling. I glance toward the window, noticing snow lightly falling. “And a bit cold for one tonight.”
“Just answer the question.” Her mouth curls in the most delicious way.
“An Ashford only attends red carpet events and movie premieres,” I mock myself, recalling how I told her an Ashford only skis and snowboards.
She laughs next, the sound loud and cheery, before she points at me. “See. Complex.”
But she doesn’t seem to mind as we order cheeseburgers and fries, and wade through two Christmas rom-coms, before she picks a slightly spicier holiday movie, and I’m having serious concerns about the complexity of my feelings and my ability to hold back from what I want with this woman.