Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
Looking out the window, she craned her head to admire the five stories, then awkwardly laughed.
Stunningly impressive. She expected a residence in a skyscraper, not an actual Gilded Age, five-story mansion a half block from Fifth Avenue and Central Park!
The tree-lined street was picturesque and quiet.
“Wow, William! Wait until Big Tom sees this. He might actually like big city living after all,” she joked, knowing full well that her father wouldn’t come to Manhattan again and that she’d likely not see him again.
“Mr. Darcy, we’ll just wait here for a couple of minutes for Pete and Sean to arrive to take the painting upstairs,” Taylor said.
“Good idea.”
Taylor raised the partition between them.
“Well, what do you think?” William prodded.
“When you said you purchased an expensive place, I didn’t think ... this. It’s amazing.”
“It’s a Beaux-Arts style built in 1906,” he sheepishly said. “The previous owner poured a fortune into it, saving it from a 1960s modernization disaster. Just wait until you see it inside. It’s everything you would have chosen for yourself.”
“How do you know?”
“Because, when I bought it, I said to myself, ‘Lizzy would love this.’ ”
“And you bought it anyway?”
He laughed, turning in his seat. “I’m going to let you in on a secret—I thought about you a lot, almost every day.
I told no one and hid it very well. For over six years, I fought it, and I always failed, telling myself I hated you.
But you can’t disconnect from the other half of your soul, no matter how hard you try, no matter how hard you think you don’t care.
Your heart and soul know what should be.
And they held fast to wanting to be with you. I was meant to be with you.”
He laid his open hand on the space between them, and she placed hers within. Her heart squeezed at his confession. “And here I assumed you banished me from your mind and were living your best life.”
“Oh, I did go forward, hell bent on proving you wrong—or maybe right about my being obsessed with Pemberley—but my heart always looked back to what we shared. I was nothing before you, and I was nothing after you, even with Pemberley’s success.
Now, my life has meaning. This is my best life with or without the money. ”
Tears filled her eyes, and she slid across the seat to hug him. The woodsy scent of his cologne embraced her. His tender smile undid her. “I feel the same way, my love. And the best is yet to come.” She kissed his smiling lips, then quipped. “So, you bought this mansion with me in mind?”
“Not exactly. I bought it with me in mind, but you and I always saw eye to eye on architectural design and historical preservation. The style just seemed like too much of a coincidence when my client mentioned he was selling. I knew you would approve of my purchase. Caroline has been conspiring behind my back to gut the entire third floor and modernize, of all places, the wine cellar!”
“You have a wine cellar?” She shook her head, then craned her neck to look up out the window again. “I’m blown away.”
“We have a stocked wine cellar, and we are gonna be so happy here, Lizzy.”
“I could live in a dumpster and still be happy so long as I was with you.” Her heart felt so full that she was sure it would burst. Placing her hand on his cheek she said, “How did I get so lucky as to win your love twice?”
“It wasn’t luck. It was fated from the first time you bit your bottom lip in art class.”
Chuckling, she said, “And you, barely able to sit still. You should know, I knew.”
“What did you know?”
“That your pants were uncomfortable.”
He chortled. “Yes, they were. For an hour, I daydreamed of you naked, wearing only pigtails and cowboy boots.”
“So, you admit it wasn’t love at first sight, more like lust at first sight?”
“Love came that night when you sucked my bottom lip after I drove you home from the restaurant. When did you know you loved me?”
“That’s easy. It was that same moment when my lips touched yours.”
The team flashed their headlights behind them, and Taylor rolled down the window. “Shall we go up, sir?”
William nodded, adjusted his tie like he was preparing to enter a boardroom, then opened the door. Exiting, he held his hand out to her, and hand-in-hand, they walked to the front steps. Meanwhile, Taylor, flanked by the guys, removed the crate-encased Seurat from the trunk.
Standing in front of what looked like an iPad embedded into the limestone to the left of the door, William tapped the device.
It awakened, mirroring his face on the screen and activating a facial recognition bar that scanned up and down.
Once approved, he placed his palm on the screen; the bar traveled from left to right.
Finally disarmed, the massive door unbolted with a thud.
“Sean will program all the security measures for your access today.”
“Um, okay. Will they live here, too?”
“They have quarters on the basement level but will work on a home security rotation schedule. One guy per twelve-hour shift.” He glanced over her shoulder at the small team approaching with the crated painting, and before she knew what William was about, he scooped her up, cradling her in his strong arms.
Incandescently happy, she laughed with a “whoop!”
“I’m putting the cart before the horse, again,” he chuckled, carrying her across the threshold. “Welcome to your new home.”
He lowered her from his hold, and she looked up, overwhelmed by the opulent magnificence, which felt fresh and new, not old and outdated. It was beyond beautiful and, yes, everything she loved.
Gaze falling to the details, she drank in the white marble columns and flooring and the mahogany paneling. The grand staircase and its carved newel post were Old World craftsmanship that didn’t exist anymore. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he bent and kissed her ear. “Well?”
“I’m in awe. Are you sure this isn’t a dream?” she said.
“Positive.”
“I’m so proud of you, William.”
“It was just a house. Now, it’s a home and that’s because of you. C’mon, I’ll show you around. Hey, Sean, take the painting up to the formal living room, and we’ll be up in a few minutes.”
“Sure, thing.”
Holding her hand, they embarked on the grand tour, which she was sure would last more than a few minutes. Afraid to touch anything, she feared breaking something valuable or leaving fingerprints on the elegant millwork.
After spending twenty minutes in what would become their art studio on the third floor, they arrived at the formal parlor.
Its white walls and stunning frescoed angels in the vaulted ceiling spellbound her.
The Seurat, now free of its crate, rested against a wall, impatiently waiting for the attention it deserved.
The afternoon light poured through the tall windows, drenching the room in a soft glow.
She instantly felt like this room would fast become her favorite place to cuddle up with a good book or in William’s arms beside a roaring fire.
The guys had already left a ladder and all the necessary tools to complete the daunting task of hanging the priceless masterpiece. To be honest, she was a little scared but very excited.
“The previous owner installed a security system above the mantle for his Sargent,” William stated.
“That’s good.” She grinned. “Given the length of the room, I have to say you and Carrie chose the perfect medium and piece. A Wyeth would have been suitable, but Pointillism was the best direction to go.”
He stood directly over the painting, looking down at it. “It’s just dots.”
“A million dots ...” she nodded.
“A thirty-thousand-foot view changes everything.”
“Yes, it does.”
“I’ll hang it. It’s heavy, and I think I can accurately eyeball it,” he said.
“No. I’d better do it.”
“Then, maybe we should have hired a professional to hang it,” he nervously stated.
“Hello ... I am the professional. I trained at MOMA for this auspicious occasion!” She was nearly bouncing in her shoes.
“Right, sorry.” He raked his hand through his hair as she climbed the ladder. “Get your balance, and don’t go to the top step.”
“Seriously? What’s the worst that can happen?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “And use the hooks already in place.”
“Yeesss, that’s the general plan, William,” she teased, balancing on the second step. “Look, no hands!” She laughed, raising the tape measure to the wall.
“Stop. That’s not funny.”
“We’re in luck! It should fit perfectly.”
“Do you need the stud finder?”
“Not unless the anchors don’t work or are too low,” she patiently replied.
“Make sure the painting is secure and straight.”
“Would you like to do this?” She groaned. “You have no idea how much pressure it is to hang a real Seurat, and you’re making it a thousand times worse. Zip it.”
He grinned, leaning casually against the wall. “I’m just trying to help. You said you wanted to do it yourself. Hey, I offered to hire other professionals so you wouldn’t feel the pressure.”
She stepped down the ladder for her conservation gloves.
“You also offered to ‘eyeball it,’ which is the kind of phrase that makes art conservators and gallery owners have a heart attack. There’s a system, a level of precision, William.
It is a très sacré process,” she exaggerated, sounding like Guy.
With the painting in hand, he walked to her. “Yeah, fifty-five-million-dollars sacred. Make sure you place it over the security sensors.”
Placing the old-school level on the ladder shelf, she smiled. “You really should be wearing gloves when you hold it, you know.”
“Sorry. I’m not a professional.”
“Ha ha. Don’t worry. I promise to be careful. It’ll be beautiful and secure. Trust me.”
“Yeah, I have a long list of your ‘trust me’s.’ What about the escargot in Paris? And remember when you dragged me to Coney Island and forced me onto that ancient rollercoaster?” He tapped his temple. “I never forgot. You scarred me for life.”
“Oh, please, save the drama. You had a great time and you’re still alive. So what if it got stuck at the top for an hour?”
He groaned, and she held her laughter at bay. The day he recalled was hysterical; he hadn’t talked to her for twenty minutes when they got off that rickety bone shaker. His legs were like jelly.
Once again, she balanced, both hands gripping the ornate gold frame as she gingerly lowered it onto the two anchored picture hooks. Placing the level at the top, she instructed, “Stand back there, and tell me if it looks straight.”
William tilted his head, squinting up. “If by straight you mean slightly drunk and listing to the left, then yes, perfectly straight.”
She gasped. “It is not crooked! I used a level!”
“Move it a little to the left,” he said.
“Your left or my left?”
“They’re the same left. My left.”
She adjusted it.
“Nope. Try the other left.”
She blinked. “I’m telling you, it’s straight.”
“I’m looking right at it. It’s dipping on the left side,” he said, his brow furrowing. “Or maybe the wall’s uneven. This is a turn-of-the-century house.”
She exhaled slowly. “It’s not the wall, or the house, or the level.”
“Then maybe the painting’s warped?”
“Babe,” she said with exaggerated patience, “It’s a one-hundred-and-thirty-year-old Impressionist masterpiece. I think an august auctioneer like Sotheby’s would have caught it.”
Again, she descended the ladder, walking to him to see what he saw. “Um ... it’s a little off on the left side after that last adjustment. Maybe the floor is slanted from the house settling.” Grinning with a chortle, she looked up at his smug look. “Fine. I’ll say it—you’re right. It’s crooked.”
Back up the ladder, she shifted the painting and then leveled. “Okay, now, it’s perfect,” she said, leaning back from the wall just enough to examine it. “How does that look from down there?”
“Still crooked and not centered.”
“Stop it! Maybe you should do this!”
“Hell no! My palms are sweating just watching you climb the ladder.”
She glanced down at him, laughing. “You’re sweating? I’m six feet in the air holding a rare Seurat while you second-guess my aptitude by just eyeballing it.”
“I’m not second-guessing you, I’m ... trying to help, and I like looking at your ass in those jeans.”
Rolling her eyes—even though he was trying to be playful—she retorted, “Good Lord! You trusted me with your heart again, yet my hanging a priceless painting makes you sweat, and all you can think about is my backside, amazing.”
Climbing back down the ladder, she strolled to his smiling face.
“There. Perfectly straight. Museum quality, expertly hung by a professional and her pain in the ass assistant.”
“What if it falls?” he asked.
“Then we’ll probably both faint before it hits the ground, and your fabulous investment would make a pretty bird cage liner.”
He looked horrified. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
Gazing up at the painting, he didn’t say anything, just admired it.
It really was an exquisite choice and perfect for the room. Yes, she would spend a lot of time in here.
“It’s definitely off,” William said, suppressing a smile.
“It is not!”
“It’s perfect,” he softly said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into him. “You’re perfect.”
“We’re perfect. Trust me.”