“This is my home.”
His home? To the left is a dining room of, again, black and glass and beyond that is a kitchen of . . . you guessed it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s stunning. Pin lights in the ceiling make the shiny surfaces gleam so brightly you can see your reflection. Every fixture is high-end and even the throw rugs scream expensive.
Alexander takes my coat off and hangs it in a closet in the foyer area. When he comes back, he offers me a drink but I decline. Seeing my curiosity in his apartment, he gives me a tour.
Down a long hallway we pass two guest rooms, a home office, a state of the art gym and a music room equipped with a black grand piano, a cello, and chandelier made of chrome.
The hallway curves so we make a left and he walks me into the master bedroom. The room is similar in design to the rest of the place but feels more like him than other areas of the apartment. It’s probably because I can visually see pieces of Alexander in here. From his cufflink box on a dresser to an autobiography on Steve Jobs on the nightstand, little bits of him are here and there.
There is a door in the room that I assume is the bathroom. Stepping inside I see a lavish latrine that pales in comparison to the one I saw on his yacht. When I walk back into the bedroom Alexander motions to another door. I open it and am inside a massive walk-in closet. Suits and more suits, oxfords, and a leather jacket. A black umbrella sitting in the corner, a small wardrobe of casual clothing and a separate space dedicated to ties, lots of them.
It looks like a Brooks Brothers showroom in here, although I assume his suits are all bespoke. Aside from the cheap flip-flops I purchased in Capri that are sitting on a shelf, all of his shoes are imported from Italy.
I must have a peculiar look on my face because Alexander is instantly on top of me. “Is something wrong?”
I open my mouth and then close it, trying to figure out what it is exactly that’s bothering me. I’m not intimidated by the space. I’m not overly impressed by it, either. I’m just . . . intrigued? “Your closet is the size of my apartment.”
Alexander looks around and then shrugs as if he hadn’t realized that before.
“You have a panoramic view of Manhattan from your living room.”
He nods in agreement, unsure of where I’m going with this.
“You have a California king-size bed.”
His mouth cocks his mouth to the side but he still doesn’t quite understand.
“You said you’d move in with me,” I say, tentatively.
Alexander nods his head again, slowly, in agreement, his eyes squinting a little as if trying to read me.
My breath hitches as I try to comprehend it all. My voice is nearly a whisper. “You’d give all this up for me?”
A slow, sexy-as-hell smile takes over his face. “All in.”
Holy shit, he really means it.
“My flight gets in at seven. Can you meet me at the airport?” I am on the phone with Leah, making plans for the wedding. I get into town tomorrow night. Just in time for Leah and Adam’s wedding on Saturday and then I’m staying for the Christmas holiday. Being that I missed Thanksgiving I know it would break my parents’ hearts if I weren’t there for Christmas. That and I haven’t seen them since August.
The front door of my apartment opens and Alexander walks in; I gave him a key last week. It makes me smile to see he is so comfortable coming in and out of my apartment. He has a palace uptown yet he’d rather spend his nights slumming it with me downtown.
He is unraveling his tie, which, I see, has a huge stain on it. In the three weeks we’ve been quasi-living together, I’ve had to work my magic on getting the stains out of two of them.
Alexander places an overnight bag and a briefcase on the chesterfield and then takes off his overcoat, hanging it on the wall hook. He sees me on the phone so I place my hand over the receiver and mouth “Leah” to him.