10. “YOU CAN HIDE BESIDE ME, MAYBE FOR A WHILE”
“YOU CAN HIDE BESIDE ME, MAYBE FOR A WHILE”
Cordelia’s barking echoed through the two-story foyer as she raced inside Soren’s home like she owned the place. Upstairs, in the muffled distance, King’s booming woof followed.
Cordelia bolted up the elegantly curved staircase as if she knew exactly where the other dog was and felt compelled to rescue him. King’s pounding steps rattled the rafters like thunder above as he barked at her approach.
“This was your idea,” Jocelyn reminded, still giving him a chance to send them back.
“No regrets yet,” Soren said, with irritating calm.
She didn’t know why he was so invested in this new strategy. He had a temper and a short fuse, and she, more than anyone, could send him into a tantrum. His bullshit act that everything was hunky-fucking-dory would eventually get old, and he’d go back to snapping at her.
Until that happened, she couldn’t seem to relax.
Stepping further into his home, she had the sense that she was walking into some sort of museum. The scent of furniture polish hung in the air. Pristine was the first word that came to mind, followed quickly by expensive, then priceless, and then breakable. They could not afford to be here.
Jocelyn wasn’t what anyone would consider tidy. She ate over the sink, drank out of milk cartons, and didn’t think twice about dropping a sweaty glass on a wooden table. She had a paper-plate soul and was currently a hostage in a bone china house.
“I’m gonna let King out.”
“‘Kay.”
Her stare remained locked on the vaulted ceilings where moonlight spilled through the enormous glass windows. Even in the dark, this place was noticeably pristine.
Setting her bag on the imported tile floor that was probably cleaner than her silverware, she searched the walls for a light switch. A strip of touch controls filled a panel by the door. She barely pressed one switch and the wall to her left lit in a soft amber glow.
“What the…” It took her a minute to realize they were bottles. “Holy shit.”
“Incoming!” Soren yelled as King’s booming bark shot through the air. The dog barreled down the stairs like a stampede of buffalo and, for a split second, she feared meeting Mufasa’s fate, but the giant animal only attacked her with wet kisses.
“King! Heel!” Soren ordered, and the dog stiffened, then bolted back to his rescuer.
Cordelia yapped in his wake as he whimpered and danced, licking and kissing his master’s face without even needing to rise on his long, gangly legs.
“King, down!” Soren hauled the excited Great Dane into a seated position. “Sorry. He doesn’t quite understand personal space.”
Like his father, she thought.
Cordelia followed them out back, nipping at King’s flank like one of those little fish that form a symbiotic bond with larger whales.
Soren returned a moment later, frazzled and glistening with sweat. “Sorry.”
“No worries. It’s hard being a new parent. Um, what the fuck is this?” She pointed to the champagne wall.
He beamed proudly. “Like it? I’ve been collecting them for years.”
“How many do you have?”
“Somewhere in the thousands.”
She didn’t know what was more impressive, that he had that large of a collection or that not a single speck of dust could be found. “Who cleans this place?”
“I have a maid.”
Of course he did.
Jocelyn really wasn’t adulting to her fullest capacity. As a successful author, she could hire a cleaner to come by once a week, but that would require cleaning up all her crap beforehand so they could clean, and that just felt like too much work.
Soren, on the other hand, lived in a home without a single sign of lived-in life. The air in his place was a controlled seventy degrees. The glass covering the champagne wall was chilled when she touched it. “Is this a refrigerator?”
“Yes. I had it custom-designed.”
She pulled her hand away and cursed when she saw the fingerprints left behind. “Shit. Sorry.” She used her shirt to try and wipe it away, but that just made it worse.
“Don’t worry about it.” He pulled her away to stop her incessant attempts to clean the glass. “They call it a wine-conditioner cabinet.”
“If that’s a cabinet, how big are your closets?”
He chuckled and pressed a button. The glass panels retracted and cool air spilled into the foyer. “Pick something.”
She looked at him skeptically. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Anything you want.” A ladder attached to a rail glided across the doors, and she had the strangest urge to sing the “Candy Man” song from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
“I don’t know champagne. I’m more of a boxed wine gal.” Her palate was about as sophisticated as a kindergartener’s. She usually liked her adult beverages sweet enough to guzzle them like a juice box. The selection overwhelmed her. “How about I pick something later?”
“Okay.” Soren set his keys in a glass bowl. Everything had a place. “Want a tour?”
“Sure.”
He hung his jacket inside a coat closet with a built-in bench. Dark wool overcoats were arranged by length, and several keys hung from polished wooden hooks inside the wall.
“Here’s the bathroom if you need it. There are several others.”
The powder room off the foyer had black marble everything and lush hand towels with his initials embroidered in the cloth. She was afraid to touch them. “Did you make a Soren brand for yourself?” It was more than a monogram. It was a logo.
He grinned, the sort of grin he made when he was slightly embarrassed. “Maybe a little.”
The formal sitting room appeared untouched, existing for the version of him that entertained people he didn’t actually like. The study had a leather-topped desk, built-in bookshelves, a globe, and old books arranged by spine color.
“This was my dad’s,” he said, placing a hand on the mammoth desk.
Soren didn’t usually mention his father, and she knew from Wren that none of them had enjoyed an ideal relationship with the man. For him to claim his desk there had to be meaning behind it.
“It’s…nice.”
They moved to the formal dining room. A twelve-chair table stood beneath a chandelier. It was too formal not to poke fun at him. “Do you have dinner here, like in Citizen Kane?”
“I’ve never actually eaten in here.”
She understood why. It wasn’t the warmest of rooms, though it was elegant.
The great room was another living room, but this one was more lived in than the first sitting room he showed her. It had an enormous sectional, a gas fireplace, and fur throws draped about.
Soren’s color palette, she realized, regardless of the room, was dark and masculine, much like his wardrobe.
The kitchen was at the back of the house, through a stone arch and down a narrow hall. The walls leading there were dressed with framed black-and-white photos of Hawthorne fishing vessels through the decades.
“These are neat.”
“They’re reproductions. The originals are in the maritime museum.”
The kitchen, unlike the other formal rooms, smelled lived in.
Proof of life showed in the travel mug by the sink and the hand towel draped over the oven handle.
A state-of-the-art espresso machine dominated the black marble countertops, and crisply folded, custom embroidered linens sat in a basket by the gorgeous farm sink.
The place was still more of a hotel than a home, but Soren had never been one to pass up luxury.
“You look thirsty. Let’s get you something to drink, then I’ll show you the upstairs.”
“Upstairs?” For some reason, the thought of seeing upstairs made her nervous. They did better in foyers and common areas.
“I’m just going to let the dogs in.”
All of her earlier reservations took a backseat to this odd sense of displacement. Despite knowing Soren for more than half her life, this was the first time she ever got an intimate look at the inside of his world.
She regretted bringing Cordelia, fearful she might piss on some priceless piece of art. This wasn’t a place for animals any more than it was a place for someone who left laundry sitting in the washer for six cycles before remembering to move it to the dryer.
Did Soren even have a dryer? He probably had a laundry service. Clothes just reappeared in his closet, fresh and pressed, and he never had to worry how they got there.
The luxury didn’t startle her. She knew he was rich. And wealth didn’t bother her either. To some, she was wealthy. But this level of comfort was something else entirely.
This was dumb money. Generational fortunes piled on top of generational fortunes. It wasn’t pretentious or gaudy or garish, but it was also unlike anything she’d ever seen.
His childhood home had been more lived in and dated. This was new and flawless, like the set of a movie.
He laughed. “You look constipated.”
She stopped staring and scowled at him. “Fuck off.”
“It’s just a house, Joce.”
“It’s not, and you know it.”
He tried not to smirk, but the cocky bastard failed.
She rolled her eyes. “You get off on being ostentatious.”
“I like impressing you.”
“Who says I’m impressed?”
“Deny it all you want. Your silence tells me everything I need to know.”
“Okay, settle down, Miss Cleo. I’m not that easy to read.”
“You’re impressed.” He pulled a small shovel out of a drawer and dug into an airtight can, dumping giant kibble rocks into a dog bowl that could double as a baby pool.
At the third scoop, Jocelyn’s eyes widened. “How much are you feeding him?”
“I feed him exactly what the vet recommends. He’s a big boy.”
She was still stunned he got a dog. But for as large as King was, he didn’t seem like much of an alpha. When Cordelia marched over to investigate the bowl, King dropped to his haunches and deferred to the queen.
“King, eat.”
The dog looked up at his master and back to Cordelia, choosing to lower his enormous muzzle and wait until she gave him permission.
Soren, offended on the dog’s behalf, tried to nudge Cordelia back, but the chihuahua snapped at him. “Don’t let her boss you around. Eat.”
Jocelyn snicked her tongue against her teeth. “Aw, such a beta. Like father like son.”
Soren scowled. “He can’t be afraid of her.”