2. TWO #2
“I didn’t need you to step in,” I said.
“I know.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because you were right.”
It was the obvious answer, given without ceremony or any suggestion that supporting me created a debt. Warmth gathered beneath my ribs. I turned back to the computer before the feeling could settle.
“The guest register is in your private library.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll need it by ten.”
“No.”
I looked up. “We’ve just finished discussing the importance of listening to professional advice.”
“You can examine it where it is.”
“That would require entering the room you’ve kept locked since I arrived.”
Alex crossed the archive without answering.
The private library occupied the western end of the floor behind two dark wooden doors. I had seen staff leave meals outside them. I had seen Alex disappear through them without a sound. Nobody else went in.
He stopped at the security panel. I remained at my desk.
Alex stopped at the security panel. I remained at my desk.
“Is this another test?”
“No.”
“Because you’ve been very territorial about that room.”
“I’m territorial about the entire floor.”
“At least you’re self-aware.”
His hand rested against the panel. The lock released with a quiet click. Alex opened one door and waited.
Warm light reached across the archive floor.
Beyond him, shelves rose toward a second-level gallery, disappearing into shadow near the painted ceiling.
A fire burned low behind an old brass screen.
Books covered every visible wall; more were stacked on tables beside deep leather chairs.
It was less formal than the archive. More beautiful. More alive.
I collected my notebook and walked toward him. At the doorway I stopped, taking it in properly for the first time.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
Alex’s gaze remained fixed on me. He wasn’t waiting for approval of the room. He was waiting to see whether I would enter it.
“You have an open fire near several thousand books.”
“It’s enclosed.”
“That is not how fire works.”
“It’s gas.”
“That improves the situation from catastrophic to merely questionable.” I stepped past the threshold. “Still. It’s… really beautiful.”
The space between him and the door was narrow enough that my shoulder brushed his chest as I passed. Heat moved through the fine wool of his shirt. I continued into the room without reacting. Or tried to.
Alex’s gaze remained fixed on me. He wasn’t waiting for approval of the room. He was waiting to see whether I would enter it.
I collected my notebook and walked toward him. At the doorway I stopped.
“Are there rules?”
“Yes.”
“Of course there are.”
“Don’t remove anything without telling me.”
“That is already an archive rule.”
“This isn’t the archive.”
I looked past him at the shelves. The distinction mattered to him. These books were not part of the Sterling collection, no matter how closely the spaces connected. They belonged to Alex, and he had arranged the room to ensure no one forgot it.
“What else?”
His gaze moved over my face. “Don’t open locked cabinets.”
“Reasonable.”
“Don’t invite anyone inside.”
“Less likely to become relevant, but fine.”
“Don’t—”
“Alex.” He stopped. “If you don’t want me inside, you can say so.”
“I want you inside.”
The words arrived without hesitation. For a moment neither of us moved. He seemed to hear the second meaning at the same time I did. His attention dropped to my mouth, and every careful thought I possessed scattered.
I recovered first. “Then you may want to phrase the next rule very clearly.”
His eyes returned to mine. “No one touches those books except me.”
I followed his glance toward a glass-fronted cabinet near the fire. A small collection sat inside, none of it arranged by size or value. Several volumes had cracked bindings. One was tied with a faded blue ribbon. Personal, then.
“I won’t touch them.”
Alex studied me, measuring the promise. Then he stepped aside.
The space between him and the door was narrow enough that my shoulder brushed his chest as I passed. Heat moved through the fine wool of his shirt. I continued into the room without reacting. Or tried to.
The guest register waited on a wide desk near the windows. A proper book cradle had already been placed beneath it, along with cotton tape, a magnifier, and the condition-report forms I kept in the conservation room.
I looked back at him. “You prepared this.”
“Yes.”
“Before Gerald arrived?”
“Yes.”
“You knew I’d need the register.”
“I knew he would ask for the Valenti manuscript.”
“And you knew I’d refuse.”
“Yes.”
The certainty of it caught me somewhere between irritation and pleasure. “You’ve known me for twelve days.”
“I pay attention.”
“That isn’t the same as knowing someone.”
“No.”
He closed the library door behind us. Not locked. The click still traveled through me.
Alex remained in front of it, watching as I set my notebook on the desk and removed my cardigan. I had entered his private room to work. Nothing more. The idea should have been comforting.
I settled the guest register into the cradle and opened to the first damaged page. Alex moved to the chair opposite me.
“You don’t have to supervise,” I said.
He leaned forward instead of answering. “What do you need?”
He had spent years ensuring nobody entered this room, and now he was watching me occupy it as if the sight answered a question he hadn’t asked aloud.
“Fine,” I said. “But if you’re staying, you can help.”
I slid the movement ledger across the desk. “You can start by signing this.”
He stared at the page.
I smiled and returned to the register. Behind the glass cabinet, the faded blue ribbon caught the firelight. Across the desk, Alex picked up the pen.