Chapter 31
Why am I so warm right now? I can’t catch my breath when I look at Anderson. It’s so strange. He smiles down at me, and my first instinct is to smile back. Not to brace for an insult, like I always used to.
Things aren’t … things are not the same as before, and I don’t know what to think about that. But it feels good to smile at him.
He leans close to whisper. “We have some time before supper. I’d like to show you something.”
“Okay.”
He takes my hand, and it just feels right. Like our hands fit together as though we’ve held hands our whole lives. It’s not awkward or uncomfortable. It’s perfect, and it makes me want to follow him wherever he wants to take me.
Why am I having thoughts like this about Anderson West?
It’s a startling change, and I’m not sure what’s going on exactly. But I have to keep my wits about me. This is all just to get his account unfrozen. Right?
He leads me down some halls I missed on the tour, and before I know it, he stops in front of a large, dark wooden door. It stands out compared to the rest of the place, much like the door to the den his father had taken me to. Anderson pauses before opening it. “I’ve never brought a girl here before.”
I laugh, trying to make light of everything, because he sounded way too serious when he said that and I’m nervous. “Is this your childhood bedroom?”
He laughs, too, shaking his head. Why does he look so devilishly handsome when he does that? “No. Not hardly. It’s just that, I want to take you here, but I’m concerned you’ll think I’m being droll or funny. But this is my favorite place in the apartment, and I want to share it with you.”
His words make my heart clench. “Oh. I’m flattered.”
He opens the door. “Come with me.”
I step inside, and I’m in shock. Books. Books as far as the eye can see. Dark wood all around, and a fireplace burns in the far corner. In front of it, two cozy leather chaises and a small table between them. Behind the chaises, a longer table for setting the next selections onto, I imagine. But there are shelves and shelves of books in all other directions, both lining the walls and free-standing.
Anderson places his hand on the small of my back to guide me in, and my body goes molten from his heat, while my brain tries to take in the sheer amount of books around me. I’m at a loss for words while surrounded by them. “What is this place?”
“A library,” he says cheekily.
I snort a laugh and swat his shoulder. “I know that, smart ass. Oh my god, you even have one of those slide ladder things to get to the top shelves. Tell me all about this place.”
“This apartment used to belong to my grandparents. Actually, they used to own the entire building. That’s why, if you look down that way, you’ll see the library?—”
“It runs the length of the apartment, doesn’t it?” I’m in awe. There must be forty rows of free-standing bookshelves in that direction. Maybe more.
He nods. “Yes, it does. Grandfather wanted every book in publication, so for a time, he bought them all. He believed knowledge was the most important thing, which makes much of his collection nonfiction. But Grandmother believed that knowledge without heart was dangerous, so she ensured that there was plenty of fiction, as well.”
“She sounds wise.”
“Truly, she was.” He drifts from me to look at the books. But he doesn’t look at them the way he looks at his car. This isn’t just another possession to him. It means something to him. “When I was a kid, I used to come here, and I’d pretend my grandparents were here with me. I missed them. Grandmother, in particular. She was so smart and so kind …” His voice trails off.
I rush to his side and rub his back. “I’m glad you had that in your life, Anderson.”
He sighs. “Me too. After she passed, things weren’t as … warm … here. Mom tried—she still tries, as I’m sure you noticed. But it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same.” A little shrug. “I guess that’s how things go.”
“But there could be warmth here again. You have to fight for it.”
He gives me a small smile. “I’ve had to fight for it my whole life.”
“What do you mean?”
“This library was the only place I felt like I could be myself when I was a kid. The only place I could go and just be me. Most of the time, though, I could only do that alone. Dad … when he caught me with my nose in a book, if it wasn’t the classics, or economics, or law, or something he cared about, then I was doing something wrong.” He takes a moment, and this feels vital somehow, so I don’t speak up. “I figured out that reading in here meant he wasn’t likely to bother me, which made it the perfect place for me to read all those sensitive books, he called them. You know, books for kids, like The Hardy Boys and Harry Potter. Things he didn’t give a shit about but taught kids how to be?—”
“Kind?”
Anderson nods. “He thought all of that was a waste of time.”
I am so confused. “But the way you treated me?—”
“Was unforgiveable. Which is why I understand why you feel the way you do about me. I more than earned it.”
“But if you knew better, then why did you do it? All this time, I thought it was because your dad neglected you?—”
“Oh, he did.” He sits on the edge of the table behind the chairs. “He was rarely around, and the few times he was, he spent them belittling what I liked. Mom told me that was just how he showed he cared, how he showed his interest in me. And I think I got it twisted that picking on people was how you express yourself, if you’re a guy. Mom is kind. Grandmother is kind. But Dad and Grandfather?” He shrugs and winces. “That is how they express themselves?—”
“Because they think being vulnerable is showing weakness.” This is making too much sense.
He nods slowly. “And Dad is this titan of business, Grandfather, too. I had these impressive, powerful men to look up to, and they treated me like shit. So, I thought that’s how impressive, powerful men were. I had no clue how to talk to someone I cared about. All these conflicting ideas … they really fucked me up.” He scrubs his hand over his face and through his dark hair, before letting out a nervous laugh. I find myself on my way to him without even thinking about it. “It’s a bullshit reason to treat someone you like so terribly, but I didn’t know how to talk to you, June. Not back then. And I hate who I pretended to be then. Hell, I hate who I wanted to be. I don’t want to be my father. A wife shouldn’t be a trophy you keep on a shelf and take out when you want something pretty to look at. My mother … god, she deserves so much more than my father has ever given her.”
The raw emotion in his voice makes a knot form in my throat. I’m standing between his feet, close enough to feel the hurt radiating off this man. It’s palpable, choking. I want to make it all better, but I need him to say the words. “Anderson?”
He rasps, “Yes?”
“You’re saying that you treated me like shit for years because you liked me?”
He takes a long breath and lets it out slowly. “Yes. And now, I hate myself even more.”
“What? Why?”
“Because here I am, whining about being a poor little rich boy to the woman whose life I have upended, when all I wanted to do was make her life better. Because I keep fucking up with you, June. It’s un?—
“Forgivable.”
“Exactly, and?—”
I take his face in my hands and pull him to me for a kiss. I’d hoped for more of a passionate embrace, but instead, all I get is a frozen Anderson. When I pull back, his eyes are enormous.
“Did I do something wrong?”
He shakes his head, blinking himself back to the present. “No, but I don’t understand why you did that. There’s no one in here for you to act for, June.”
“I’m not acting, Anderson. I like you.”
“You hate me.”
I laugh and shake my head. “Not anymore.”
“You mean that?”
I get half a nod in before he launches off the table and kisses me, wrapping me in his arms like he’s afraid I might change my mind. He slants his mouth over mine, deepening the kiss, and I don’t ever want to stop.