He catches my eyes and gives me a wicked grin. “I have plans for you later,” he winks, and I laugh as we head back down the hall.
I’m surprised at how bare the walls are. When I mention it, he brushes it off, claiming that he hasn’t lived there long or had a chance to decorate. He grips my hips and leads me to the kitchen as he places his face in the crook of my neck.
“Plus, baby, I haven’t had a woman here until now, and I wasn’t about to let my mom decorate the place.”
He lets go when we enter the kitchen, and I wait as he pours two glasses of red wine. Then he leads me to the living room. I settle on the edge of the couch, my feet out in front of me, and I frown when he sits on the other end.
“Why are you all the way over there?” I question.
He shakes his head at me. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to have you here. A thousand wicked thoughts of what I want to do and where are going through my mind, but I promised we’d talk, and that’s what we’re going to do first.”
Desire twists in my belly, and I tilt my head at him. “We have all weekend to talk. I’m more interested in your plans.”
“Mmm mmm,” he chides, shaking his head. “Talk first. I meant it, Brie. I want to know you. Everything.”
I let out a loud sigh so he knows my displeasure, but he just smiles over the top of his glass as he takes a sip. Flipping my shoes off, I curl my legs up and settle in, wondering how fast I can tell my story.
“Let’s see . . . I grew up in a small suburb just outside of Chicago. My dad was an accountant in the city, and even though his commute was hell, my parents insisted that city life wasn’t for them. I was an only child—not by choice. My mom had complications after she had me, so I was their one and only. I can probably skip through my childhood. Nothing exciting, really. When I went to college—Northwestern—I enrolled in the art history program. I spent so many weekends as a kid at the museums in Chicago, and it was all I wanted to do. My father warned against it, but I didn’t listen, and Mom supported me. Turns out, he was right. It’s how I ended up a college graduate turned receptionist,” I tell him, smiling wistfully at the memory of discussions about my collegiate future.
He smiles. “I’m a college graduate turned construction worker, so I get it.”
I take a sip of my wine then study him. “I had no idea.” I realize how little I know about him and make a mental note to remedy that this weekend.
Something flashes in his expression, but it’s gone in an instant. “I don’t use it, so there’s no reason you would’ve known.”
“You own your own business. I’d call that using it. Plus, it’s much more than I’m doing.”
“I suppose,” he agrees before changing the subject back to me. “So, how did you end up here in Philadelphia?”
“My parents,” I inform him as I let out a deep breath, hoping I can keep it together enough to talk about them. “They, umm . . .”
“It’s okay, Brie. You can tell me,” he reassures, and I smile softly as tears well in my eyes. “What happened?”
I brush one escaped tear away. “Sorry. I’m not used to taking about them. In fact, I don’t ever.”
His eyes soften. “If you’re not comfortable . . .”
I wave a hand. “No, I’m okay. I actually want to tell you about them.”
He nods, and I continue.
“It was my sophomore year of college. Every year for spring break, our family took a vacation. That year, we were supposed to go to Paris. It was my dream to see the Louvre. Mom’s, too. I couldn’t wait to lay my eyes on all of those beautiful art pieces in one place. At the last minute, something came up with Dad’s work and he couldn’t go. They wanted to postpone the trip, and I was devastated, but what was a few weeks? Still, I was pouting, and Dad, always wanting to make his little girl happy, sent me on a spa weekend as soon as I finished midterms.”
I pause to take a sip of wine, steeling my nerves for this next part. “Mom was supposed to come, but she ended up with the flu the night before we were set to leave. They both insisted that I go, and I did. Twenty-four hours later, they were dead, and I was being escorted to the morgue to identify their remains.”
“Fuck, Brie,” he whispers, moving across the couch and pulling me into his arms.
My chest heaves, and tears spill over onto my cheeks. Soft sobs rack through me as I relive those final moments, but the way he strokes my hair and whispers my name soothes me. Wiping my eyes and sniffling, I pull away and sit up, composing myself.
“For so long, I felt guilty, knowing that I should’ve been there, dying right beside them, but then I was selfishly happy I was gone, that I was still alive.”
His hand comes my thigh, where he soothingly caresses it. “Baby, never, ever feel guilty for that. If I had to guess, if they saw what was coming, their last thoughts were how grateful they were that you weren’t home. They’d never have wanted that for you.”
Something strange niggles in the back of my mind. How did he know they had been home at the time? Oh, God, Adrian’s made me paranoid. I brush it off, telling myself that I’m being silly. He’s nothing if not observant, and since I mentioned being away, he must’ve just put two and two together.
“I know that now. It just took me a while to figure it out. I was angry for so long, and I just shut down. All of my friendships went by the wayside. No one really knew how to deal with me, and I didn’t want to deal with them. Packing up and moving to a city where no one knew me seemed like the right answer.”