28. Hailey
I wake in a cocoon of lush sheets and a down comforter. My body stretches like a starfish, luxuriating in the decadence. Then my right side burns. The synapses of my brain are slow to spark, but the fire on my skin helps jumpstart the process. My sheets aren’t this cozy. My comforter isn’t this soft. They’re for aesthetic more than feel.
My eyes flutter open. Warm sunlight filters in from a shaded skylight overhead. It and a large window along the wall to my right illuminate a foreign landscape. It’s filled with rich colors and fabrics, art and architecture.
“Holy shit.” My whisper doesn’t get far from my lips, like it too is caught up in the awe of detailed crown molding and scrawled metal work. Things I didn’t know I enjoyed quite so much until I moved to New York. The lobby of my building is as intricate, but not every room in my apartment.
I push to sit, and my side screams. Memories flood back. Iowa. The plane. The man. The tattoo. My gaze skitters around, landing on a glass of water, two pills that look like run-of-the-mill painkillers on a nightstand, and a fluffy robe draped across an antique armchair covered in fabric I’d love to have a skirt made in.
The ornate clock on the wall reads ten fifty-three. I blink and give it another whirl because it’s been a while since I’ve tangoed with a clock with actual hands. It’s also been a while since I’ve slept this late, judging by my accurate first read.
My gaze slips to the other side of the bed. As I expected, it’s empty. The sheets are neatly pulled up, but there is an indent in the pillow where a head once laid. I run my fingers over the divot. The pillowcase is cold to the touch. I vaguely remember falling asleep in the back of the car, tucked in his arms. That’s about it.
A new basilisk grins up at me. I smile down at him, forgo the pain meds, but drink heartily. I’m parched and naked. My smile grows. I slip from the bed, and my feet land on a lush rug before I pull on the robe and go to the window, which is actually a balcony that overlooks the magical greenhouse.
So much wealth. So little luck.
I make my way out of the bedroom and down a corridor that leads to the massive skylight I saw Monday at the top of the grand staircase. I count them as I descend but lose count only one story down because the walls are filled with art that steals my attention, malforms it, and then tosses it along to the next wonder. By the time I reach the main floor, I’m wide awake, and my heart thunders in my chest.
There’s no way he carried me up all those flights.
My feet bring me through the way I went the last time I was here. I find him with his head inside the refrigerator and ingredients spread across the island. Used pans and spatulas litter the gas cooking range.
His back is clad in a white long-sleeved T-shirt, and his fine ass is defined in charcoal-gray sweatpants. When he retreats, there’s an apple hanging by his teeth, an old-school jug of milk in one hand, and a small pitcher of juice in the other.
“Need some help?” I keep my voice soft, hoping I don’t startle him.
He smiles around his apple. His knee catches a stubborn side of the refrigerator that stays open. Then he sets the things in his hands on the counter and takes a bite of the apple. It crunches in the quiet of the kitchen.
“Yes, you can come eat with me before I starve to death.”
Arlo Judge has been mysterious, withholding, hot, demanding, sweet, and sultry, but I’ve never seen a man look as cute as he does right now. It’s like he’s shed years of worry in the past twelve hours.
I pinch my lips between my teeth, but my growing smile reclaims them. “Absolutely.” I’m slow to push forward, embarrassment taking its toll.
A boyish wave urges me ahead. He abandons his apple on the counter, grabs the jugs, and heads toward the back door. “I hope you’re hungry.” He holds it open for me as we walk back into Narnia. It steals my breath once more.
“I wasn’t until I saw you.” I give him a wink.
He laughs and shoos me on.
There’s a table on a stone patio in the corner that I hadn’t noticed last time. It’s filled with platters of eggs, croissants, fruit, and a sautéed spinach concoction with caramelized onions and tomato. “My mouth is watering.”
“So is mine.” He purrs against my ear. His chest is against my back. He deposits the carafes over my shoulders and onto the table. His thick arm wraps around my left side. He pulls me in close and buries his face in my hair. His inhale is hearty. I melt into his touch.
Too soon, he releases me and pulls out a chair. I sit, and he does the same—not across from me but next to me. He grabs my empty plate. “Anything you don’t want?”
Right this second, I want it all…with him. My throat goes tight. I smile and shake my head. There’s water, milk, and juice. I take a deep gulp of black coffee and can finally speak. “Would you like juice?”
He smiles and nods. When he finishes with my plate, he loads his.
I fill his cup and set it in front of his plate. “Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
We’re both smiling like idiots. My face hurts.
“I’ve never done this before,” I blurt because I apparently can’t stop it in his presence.
“Me either.” He shoves a bite of food in his mouth and chews with a grin.
“Doesn’t it scare you?”
“It used to,” he admits.
“And now?”
He pulls a piece of croissant apart, dips it into a chocolate sauce, and holds it out to me. “You’re a badass, Hailey, but I’m not scared of you.” I open, and he places the food in my mouth, swiping his thumb across my lower lip.
“What scares you?”
His shoulders go back, and he looks me dead in the eyes. “You learning all my truths and not being able to accept them. You never sharing yours with me. You never letting me in. Me being too open and direct with you and scaring you away.”
What truths? What if I never trust myself enough to let him in, and then I lose him? What if he scares me away? I’m like a skittish deer when it comes to the thought of a relationship, much less the act of one.
My heart goes into arrhythmia. My stomach drops.
He grabs the edge of my chair and pulls me close until our legs and the edges of our chairs touch. The frantic beats in my chest stop, replaced with a gentle flutter. My belly calms to a manageable dip.
I blow out a deep breath.
“For now.” He pulls my plate in front of me. “Let’s eat and let the rest fall where it may.”
“Okay.” I do as I’m told, scarfing the delicious meal in a most unladylike fashion. Arlo doesn’t seem to notice. He’s ravenous as well. “I’m sorry I fell asleep on you last night.”
“Don’t be. I got to watch you sleep without being called a stalker since you were in my bed.” His smirk is washed away by another forkful of eggs.
“Your bed is so comfortable.” I reach out and put my hand on his knee, testing his endurance for my touch when it’s not sexual. “How did you sleep with someone else in it?”
He wraps his foot round my ankle and chomps on a strawberry. “Surprisingly, better than usual.” His heavy shoulder bobs. “Going to sleep was hard. You’re too interesting to look at.”
I laugh. “Yeah, with my wild hair going every which way. Very interesting.”
“Your natural hair and makeup-free face are beautiful. Do you ever wear them out into the world?”
I look at him as though his head just fell off his shoulders.
“That’s a no. What about your tattoos?”
“Only to Crave.”
He drinks deeply from his water glass. “Why don’t we go out today and show the city how fucking hot you are?”
My mouth hangs open. Sure, I’ve been out of the apartment without makeup. But only to work out or run to the corner store with my head down and sunglasses in place.
“Broken girl chic doesn’t pair well with billionaire.”
He sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. His gaze sizes me up for so long that I squirm.
“You’re not broken, Hailey.” He leans forward and pulls off his shirt with one hand at his nape. It’s such a hot move, but I can’t appreciate it. I’m too horrified at the landscape of scars marring his perfect skin. “And neither am I.”
He sits proud. “We have scars on the inside and out. Yours just manifested in the form of tattoos. But they don’t define us any more than being a billionaire or psychologist. They are parts of a whole.”
Arlo’s fingertips spread the top of my robe, correction, his robe that I’m wearing. He outlines Smokey’s ferocious face and the edge of his wings. “You’ll show a little dragon. I’ll show a little abuse. Where do you want to go?”
I lean forward and press my lips to the marred skin over Arlo’s heart. I press my cheek to his chest and let his heartbeat fill my ears. “I want to go to your past and smother the truck driver in his sleep so he can’t ruin your life. I want to go to the man who spawned your uncle and castrate him at puberty so that he never existed.”
He sits me up. His kisses trace the lines of my tears.
“If you did, I would never know Hota or you. My life would be completely different. I would be a completely different person.”
“For you not to have endured what you did.” I place my hand over his heart. “I would sacrifice it.”
Arlo’s warm hand covers mine. “I wouldn’t.”