Maybe it was his father’s book? Maybe Julia was Liam’s mother?
Another mystery to add to the list.
I head back to the long wooden table and pull out a chair. I settle in, gathering my study schedule and laptop, and try to login to the bar exam prep site I paid two month’s wages for. I’ve already been working on the multiple-choice question portion of the exam for weeks, between school and work, but now I realize with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I might not be able to study online at all anymore.
I don’t know Liam’s Wi-Fi password.
Shit.
It’s possible to study offline, but the online course has on-demand and live streaming lectures, plus Q&As with professional attorneys, access to a database of sample test questions and essay answers, and a bunch of other great tools I’d miss out on if I simply studied the old fashioned way: from books.
This isn’t the worst development. I’m good at working alone and have no problem self-motivating. I won’t miss the camaraderie of my study team, because I mostly ignored them anyway. But I will miss those lectures and the database, which is primarily what I paid for in the first place.
Which means I’m going to have to ask Liam for the password.
Which means I’m going to have to talk to him.
I tell the computer screen, “How much do you want to bet he’ll say no? I mean, if I get the Wi-Fi password, that means I can access my email, too. Which means I could send a message to the Boston police department letting them know I’ve been kidnapped.” I think for a moment. “Or does the FBI handle kidnappings?”
The computer screen stares back at me dispassionately.
“You’re right. Who am I kidding? The FBI is probably on his payroll, too. He’s probably got the President on speed dial, now that you mention it. Everybody knows politicians are a bunch of crooks.”
I allow for a moment of self pity, then I crack open my study guide and get to work.
If I’m going to be stuck in this sky mansion for a month, I might as well make the most of it. I’m nothing if not practical.
Four hours later, I break for lunch.
I only know what time it is because there’s a clock on the mantle above the fireplace. I don’t have my purse, so I don’t have my phone, and that feels like I’m missing a limb.
One more thing I’ll have to ask the lord of the manor for.
In the colossal stainless steel refrigerator in the kitchen, I find a curious selection of elegant black glass containers of all sizes stacked on the shelves. I open one and find filet mignon with garlic mashed potatoes. Another holds miso glazed salmon with buttery asparagus. Still another reveals decadent-looking meat lasagna topped with shavings of black truffle.
My mouth watering, I select the lasagna and pop the container into the microwave. As it cooks, I rummage around in drawers for silverware. Everything is laid out with anal-retentive precision, from the cutlery to the salad tongs. Unlike in my apartment, the drawers have those soft close hinges, so no matter how hard you slam them shut, they glide closed on a whisper of air.
Very inconvenient for when you’re in an argument in the kitchen and want to make a point, if you ask me. When we’re irritated with each other, Ellie and I can turn cabinet and drawer slamming into an art.
I wolf down the lasagna standing at the granite kitchen island, then rinse the container and fork and put them into one of the dual dish washers. Then I head back to the library, trying not to wonder where Liam went.
I study until it’s dark outside and the city lights are winking up at me through the glass wall. I’m about to stand and stretch when a hand reaches out and sets a glass of red wine on the table beside me.
I glance up to see Liam gazing down at me.
I didn’t hear him come in.
He’s still in his suit and tie. In his right hand, he holds a snifter of brandy.
Without a word, he turns and crosses to the big black sofa on the other side of the room. He sets his brandy on the glass coffee table in front of the sofa, loosens his tie, then sits and leans his head against the back of the sofa. Exhaling heavily, he closes his eyes.
The urge to go sit in his lap and curl into him is infuriatingly strong.
I take a sip of the wine. It’s excellent, bold and dry with a hint of spice and chocolate. After a while when it becomes clear Liam isn’t going to speak to me, I decide to go first.
“How was your day, dear?”
He doesn’t move or open his eyes, but my sarcasm makes a ghost of a smile lift the corners of his lips. “Total shit.” Then, after a pause, his voice drops lower. “But it’s better now.”
I take another sip of wine, wishing my hands would stop trembling.
“You?”
“It was…” I search for the right word to encapsulate my experience of the day, finally settling on one that surprises me. “Productive.”
He lifts his head and moistens his lips. Gazing at his glass of brandy on the coffee table, he pulls his loosened tie over his head, discards it to the sofa beside him, and opens a few buttons on the collar of his dress shirt. Then he leans forward and picks up the brandy. He swirls the glass under his nose for a moment in thoughtful silence, his elbows propped on his knees.
He’s so handsome in profile. Handsome, mysterious, and very far away.
“Liam?”
“Aye, lass?”
“How old are you?”
He answers without hesitation, his gaze on the glass in his hand. “Thirty-nine.”
He’s fifteen years older than me. Eighteen years ago, he would’ve been twenty-one.
Is twenty-one old enough to have a woman named Julia calling you “my love?”
Even before I’ve finished asking myself the question, I already know the answer is yes.
When I don’t say anything more, he murmurs, “Does that bother you?”
I answer without thinking. “No. I like it.”
He turns his head and looks at me. His gaze is blazingly intense.
Flustered, I look down at the glass of wine in my hand. “I need to get the Wi-Fi password.”
“Of course. Anything you want, just ask me for.”
Surprised, I glance up at him. He’s still staring at me with that dark fire in his eyes. “You don’t mind?”
“Why would I mind?”
“Because, I mean…what if I tried to send somebody an email?”
When his brows quirk together in a confused frown, I add, “Like an SOS.”
He has me trapped in his eyes. I want to look away, but can’t.
His voice low and his gaze locked with mine, he says, “I know you’re not going to do that.”
My heart is a frantic bird, its wings beating against the cage of my chest. “How do you know?”
“Because you want to stay with me. Because nothing has changed from the time you said you trusted me.” His voice drops even lower. “Because you know I’ll keep my promise to let you go back to your life at the end of twenty-eight days, even though neither of us will want that to happen.”
A wave of heat flashes over me, flushing my skin. It seems I can feel every one of my nerve endings.
I tear my gaze from his and fidget in my chair. For lack of anything better to do, I take another swig of the wine, feeling Liam’s gaze on me the whole time.