15. Binary Fission #3
While I was still engaging in my internal debate, Jackie crossed to me and pulled me in for a brief hug, saying as she leaned away, “Andreas said if he was still in the shower when you got here, to give you this.” She handed me a sealed envelope that she’d seemingly pulled out of thin air.
“Instructions, probably. He loves instructions.”
I took it, a little surprised at the weight of it. “Oh ... thanks,” I said, but she and Roman had already left the room, walking themselves out.
I waited until I heard the door snick shut before I opened the envelope.
Inside was a printout, double-sided, with a list of building employees, hours for amenities, the procedure for picking up packages, and emergency phone numbers for the night managers and staff. At the bottom, in Andreas’s neat, all-caps handwriting, it read:
We need to program your thumbprint into the door pad tonight so you can come and go as you please. I had your things placed in the main bedroom, which is off the living room to the south. —A
He gave me the main bedroom? I frowned at the note, reading it again. The fact that he’d given me the main bedroom—which had likely been his bedroom—was at once confusing and irritating. Was he trying to be chivalrous? Now I’d have to live and sleep in a room that likely smelled like him.
I exhaled. The silence in the apartment felt heavy.
I thought about refusing the main bedroom, potentially sleeping on the couch tonight, but that seemed juvenile. Instead, I walked to the room he wanted me to take and peeked inside.
The movers had delivered my things. They were stacked neatly against the wall, untouched.
The bed—a California king—was covered in an off-white-and-pink duvet cover that didn’t belong to me.
It looked expensive, maybe mulberry silk?
The furniture also looked expensive, a minimalist yet sturdy maple.
The walls were the color of sandstone and appeared to be paneled with fabric.
Or perhaps an extremely high-end wallpaper.
The light and airy aura of this room struck me as extremely different from the apartment’s entry and living rooms, with their dark red antique carpets, floor-to-ceiling paintings, dramatic leather couches, and dark wood furniture.
In contrast, this space felt undecorated, a blank canvas with tasteful, subtle bones. It didn’t feel empty or cold. Rather, it felt warm and ready. Huh.
Meandering further inside, I noted that this bedroom was likely bigger than the entirety of my previous apartment, the one I’d shared with three roommates.
A view of the city through floor-to-ceiling windows contributed to the sense of expansiveness.
My attention fell on white closet doors, currently closed and gleaming with the promise of a storage space I would never fill.
Frowning thoughtfully, I sat on the bed, unsurprised to find the duvet was fluffy and feather, and the mattress was heavenly. Conflicted, I let my mind go blank.
This is my life now . This is where I live. Even if I didn’t accept the main bedroom, I would be living here, in this ridiculously huge apartment with my ridiculously attractive fake fiancé, for an undetermined period of time.
I was about to check my phone for the time—somehow, I was convinced it was way later than it actually was—when I heard a door open from somewhere in the apartment followed by approaching footsteps.
I stood, braced myself, and walked back into the living room.
Abruptly halting mid-step, I grimaced at the offensively gorgeous sight before me. Andreas appeared from the opposite hallway, hair damp, a black T-shirt clinging to the muscles of his shoulders, and—you guessed it—a pair of soft gray sweatpants low on his hips.
Well, well, well. Lucky me.
Swallowing a mouthful of lusty saliva, I fought a laugh as I cast my eyes heavenward. Was he trying to seduce me? Probably not. Was I seduced? Undoubtedly so.
“When did you arrive?” he asked, voice even but pitched low.
I swallowed, feeling my own pulse thud in my throat, and forced myself to meet his beautiful green eyes. “Just now. Jackie and Roman let me in. And Jackie gave me the envelope.”
He nodded, then leaned against the large, black circular table set by the window, still applying a towel to his hair. “Did you have dinner?”
I opened my mouth to respond but then snapped it shut, needing to think for a moment. Wait. Did I have dinner?
“Does a bag of Goldfish count?”
He made a face. “Are you hungry?”
Instinct wanted to turn his question into a double entendre and approximately one hundred suggestive retorts floated through my brain. Some were cheesy, a la, For you? Yes . And some were sensually ambiguous, such as, Only if it tastes good .
I stymied the reflex, saying instead, “Caloric sustenance would not be rejected,” which might’ve been the least sexy reply in the universe. And that was the point.
Lifting an eyebrow at my response, Andreas seemed to fight a smile. “I ordered food. It should be here soon. If you are hungry, there will be more than enough to share.”
Was I hungry? I couldn’t tell. All I felt was the weird, humming tension that had followed me all day, and the urge to say something—anything—that would make the next moment easier.
But there was no easy. There was only the truth.
Gathering a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and said, “We should talk.”
Andreas didn’t move, but his eyes sharpened. “Now?”
“Yes,” I said, because if I didn’t do it now, I never would.
“Okay. Let’s talk,” he said, blinking once, slowly, giving me the impression he’d expected this.
Or perhaps, he’d been anticipating it.