Chapter 12
LOCKE
Her perfume fills the car, clinging to the leather, and to me. The sweet scent is intoxicating, and I’m not sure how much longer I can keep pretending it doesn’t affect me. Good thing I’m sitting right now.
We finally approach L.A. and are greeted by an onslaught of bumper-to-bumper traffic. A sea of brake lights flaring in endless red lines. “Home sweet home,” I say dryly, as the car slows to a crawl amidst the chaos.
Arden’s been quiet since our clash earlier, but there’s a spark in her eye now, faint but unmistakable, even as we roll to a dead stop.
This part of the city isn’t glamorous. Industrial blocks rise on either side of us, with tacky billboards scattered between them, and a thick layer of smog clouds the sky. It’s pure Gatsby, the ash heap before the golden lights of Hollywood.
I watch Arden take it all in. “What do you think?” I ask, half-expecting another smart-ass remark instead of the truth.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” she says coolly.
“Lexi and I drove out here once, after graduation. The first night we slept in her car, in a grocery store parking lot, until a cop kicked us out. Spent the rest of the night parked at the beach, waiting for sunrise. The next night we found a club, met some guys, and did what eighteen-year-olds with horrible judgment and nothing to lose do.”
Her voice flattens. “That’s how Zoe happened.”
A faint smile tugs at her mouth again. “Guess this town really left its mark.”
I blink, then nod once. “That’s… a hell of a souvenir.”
She lets out a soft laugh, almost a sigh. “We were idiots, but somehow it worked out okay.”
The rest of the drive is quiet, but not uncomfortable, just the silence of two people too drained to fill it.
Despite the silence, my mind won’t stop circling her.
The fragment of her past she just shared, the pieces of her present I’ve already observed, and that first night I saw her…
it all blends together. I picture us in the same bed again, even knowing she’s nowhere near ready for that.
Not when there’s nothing in it for her this time.
By the time we roll through the gate and up the long gravel drive, her eyelids are drooping as she fights to stay awake. She almost looks innocent like this, lashes low, head leaning against the window. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was.
I shift the weight of Arden’s overstuffed duffel on my shoulder as I flip on the entry light, then lock the double doors behind us.
Arden drifts down the wide hallway leading into the living area.
Slowing down to study the abstract art lining the wall — thick, violent strokes of black across large white canvases.
She lingers for a moment, considering them, before moving on.
She enters the living room with a muttered, “Nice museum you have here.” Still enough energy to be a smart-ass, I see.
“Make yourself at home,” I reply, sweeping a hand around the space. Then, all at once, it hits me. She’s right.
Looking around at the vast expanse of white and gray marble, the slate walls, the black steel accents…
it feels cold. Sterile, even. The only touch of warmth comes from the yellow glow of overhead lights and sunlight that streams in during the day.
I had never noticed before. Or maybe I just didn’t care.
“Come on. I’ll take your things. Your room is this way.” I jerk my head toward another hallway to our right.
Arden follows, but there’s a hitch in her step, a hesitation she can’t quite hide.
As we move down the hall toward the guest suite, her gaze flicks from the art on the walls to the doorways we pass, cataloging details, locating exits.
She’s always alert. Braced for what might come next.
I wonder what etched that instinct into her.
Maybe it’s just the reality that she’s alone in a stranger’s house, with a strange man she met twenty-four hours ago, who also tracked her to her own home.
We didn’t exactly start on the right foot.
I can only hope that having a space of her own will convince her she can feel safe here.
At the end of the hall, I nod towards the door. Arden gently twists the handle and steps inside, her eyes widening as the room opens up around her.
A king bed enveloped in a white down duvet dominates the center.
Across from it sits a sleek wooden dresser with a flat-screen perched on top.
An arched entryway reveals a long marble countertop housing the sink and vanity, a large steam shower, and a separate soaking tub.
It was all designed with ultimate luxury and comfort in mind.
She spins slowly, taking it in piece by piece, until her gaze snags on the real showstopper: floor-to-ceiling glass windows showcasing the backyard, the infinity pool stretching the length of the estate, and beyond that, the glittering sprawl of city lights below.
Arden doesn’t speak. Just drifts closer to the glass, staring out at the view like it’s pulling her in. Then her eyes snap back to mine, a brilliant spark cutting through the calm.
“Up for a night swim?”