But back to now. Hard to know exactly how I feel about our new home or his reasons for purchasing it in such a rush. Though a tangled ball of emotions has been growing inside of me all day.
When the elevator arrives, we only go up one floor to the ground level. Beside the shiny elevator is a polished wooden staircase winding up and up with a skylight way up high. But otherwise, we’ve walked into a huge open-plan kitchen, dining, and living room area. Lots of brushed steel with beautiful white stone bench tops in the chef worthy kitchen.
“They’re Silestone,” says Beck, nodding to the bench tops. “Quartz.”
“Huh. Pretty. And your mother would most likely approve.”
Something yummy is cooking. A roast, perhaps. The dining table is wood and antique looking, seating ten people. All of the various sofas and chairs look big and comfortable and are done in navy and white. Minimalist modern art hangs on the stark white walls. It’s not exactly my style, but it’s nice. Beautiful even. Lots of windows and two sets of French doors that let in the light open up onto a back garden terrace type area with outdoor furniture. Hidden away from public view, it’s walled in by the neighboring buildings.
“It’s like a secret garden,” I say, as excited as a child at Christmas.
“Entry and foyer to the side at the front with staff rooms taking up the rest of the front half of this level,” he says doing more pointing. “Powder room is over there.”
“Staff?”
“Smith and the housekeeper.”
“Okay.” I have questions. Lots of questions. But I save them for later.
“Let’s keep going.” His suit-clad ass climbs higher and I follow. He has a nice ass. On the next level he stops, reaching for my hand to draw me alongside him. “Formal dining that seats twenty, second smaller kitchen, bar and wine cellar is at the back. The sitting room that also doubles as gallery space is to the front. Powder room is again straight in front of you.”
“Second kitchen?”
“The previous owners liked throwing parties. She often had artists staying with them and her partner was a hedge-fund manager so business soirees and so on.”
“Got it.”
“Up we go again.” And he’s off. My calf muscles are going to be bomb by the time we’ve lived here for a while. On the third floor, he pushes a door open leading into the front half of the building. “Office and library through here with our bedroom et cetera at the back.”
“A library? Wow.” I say that word a lot these days. I don’t see it stopping any time soon. If anything, probably be on the lookout for an increase in usage.
He nods, leading me back into a large bedroom with a sitting area. Antique-looking blue-and-gray patterned rugs cover the hardwood floor.
“They’re Persian,” says Beck.
“I’m not sure exactly what that means besides them having come from Persia? Wait, isn’t it Iran now?”
“It means fancy, old, and expensive.”
“Okay.” I nod. “All of the furniture and art still here comes with the house?”
“Yeah. I get the feeling that decorating is a passion of the previous owners. She was ready to let this one go and move on to other projects. But as I said, you can change anything you like.”
Another orgy-size bed like at the hotel sits covered in white linens dominating the huge room. You could fit my old apartment about six times in this one room. It’s crazy. Gray chairs, a three-seater sofa, and an ottoman sit in front of the gray marble fireplace. There’s also an antique desk and a discreet bar in the corner. Again, the windows are huge, overlooking the back terrace garden area.
“Bathroom to the left, closets to the right.” He leans against the wall, watching me all the while. Like me, he seems to be running on nervous energy.
“Closets as in plural? We have one each?”
He raises his brows. “Beloved. Dearest. Have you seen the amount of shit you own these days? I’m honest to God worried you’re going to go in there one day and never be seen again. I’m thinking we need to have a protocol that you tie a rope around your waist and to the door handle so you can find your way out again.”
“That wardrobe is not entirely my fault. And it keeps growing, somehow. There was stuff in there this morning I could have sworn wasn’t there last night.” When the maids came up to pack everything for the rushed move, I did another cull and sent some more things back to Rachel. Like three of the four Chanel handbags that had mysteriously appeared. I probably don’t even need the one I kept, but it’s so pretty. The orchid diamond necklace in a Cartier box also went back. My soul is stained enough by conspicuous consumption these days. “You need to tell Rachel to stop.”
He just grins. His arsenal of smiles is unmatched. “What do you think of the place?”
“What’s on the next floor?” I ask, taking a seat in a leather wingback and crossing my legs. Enough stairs for now.
He sits on a long low modern gray lounge opposite. “Three more bedrooms, bathrooms, a media room, and a family room. Then there’s the rooftop terrace with a hot tub and plunge pool. That’s it.”
“No ballroom?”
“Sorry.”
“Bummer. Guess we’ll just have to do without.”
“However will we manage? Henry can have one of the rooms on the top floor. Your mom can stay up there too and have her own space.” For a minute, he waits. Before finally saying, “What are you thinking?”
I inhale calm and exhale stress, just like the meditation app says to. “You bought it last night when you were drunk.”
“Tipsy.”
I frown.
He holds out a hand. “Come here.”
The hand guides me onto his lap, where I sit crosswise with my feet dangling just off the floor. It does feel better, getting closer. Rubbing up against the scent and the feel and the everything of him. Beck makes a wonderful security blanket. He wraps his arms around my middle and watches me closely with hazel eyes. “Listen to me. By the time I had papers drawn up and things were being signed this morning I was stone cold sober and only like…half as afraid of your mother as I had been the day before. Three quarters, max. But, beloved, if you don’t like the house—”
“I love it.”
“Oh, okay. Why are you so stressed, then?”
“This is all happening really fast. Us getting together, me moving out here, you buying this place…” My throat goes tight and my eyes go liquid. Ugh. The last thing I want to do is cry. There’s no reason to cry. It’s just nerves and other assorted unnecessary emotions. “You know, I’ve bought things on a whim before. Like a few months back I decided to get a DVD player so I could watch my old movies and some BBC television series I hadn’t seen in years. But I forgot to check that it was coded for all regions and then most of my stuff wouldn’t play and the place I bought it off refused to let me return it because they’re assholes. So it cost me $29.99. Thirty bucks down the drain. I was so angry at myself for wasting that money. Just because I hadn’t been careful enough to check. But you…you buy a whole building. A beautiful building, but still. I guess what I’m really worried about is, are you sure about this? Do you really think you could be happy here, Beck?”