“She doesn’t need much space.”
“I don’t mean it like that. It’s lovely, Ces. Really nice.”
I smiled. “Got a thing for lilacs and fairy dresses too?”
His mouth twitched. “I only meant that if I were a little girl, I imagine I’d like this very much. Well done.”
We stared at each other across the room for an odd moment. Then Xavier turned toward the exit and cleared his throat.
“The other room’s your brother’s. So where do you sleep?”
I gestured out the door. “Around the corner.”
He followed me toward the landing at the opposite end of the hall, a glorified storage area between the other side of the bathroom. On it, I managed to fit a twin bed against one wall, a rack for my clothes on the other, and a small bookshelf under the windows looking out toward the street. Against the wall lay a folded screen, which I took out at night for a bit of extra privacy. We called it my “room,” but it wasn’t quite that.
Xavier looked around at the little space with a deep frown. “There’s no door.”
I shrugged. “I felt guilty taking the other bedroom since my brother is the one who pays most of the mortgage. I have a place to sleep. I’m fine with it.”
He gave me a long, unreadable look. “I don’t understand. Do teachers really make such poor wages you can’t even afford your own room?”
I sighed. “Most of the teachers I know either have roommates or are married. After taxes, I take home maybe thirty-nine thousand a year, most of which goes to childcare. Most landlords require leaseholders to earn at least three times the rent, and I have student loan payments too. You try finding a two-bedroom anywhere in New York for thirteen hundred dollars a month. I promise you, it can’t be done—not for another seven years, anyway, until I get a real salary increase. Either Sofia and I live comfortably with my brother or hole up in a crappy studio in East New York. I’m good with our choice. She’s been happy.”
“And you?” he pressed. “Have you been happy sleeping on a landing? No walls, no doors, no bloody privacy?”
I sighed again and placed my hands on his lapels, urging him to calm down.
“It’s good enough for her,” I said. “And for the next fourteen years or so, that’s all I care about.”
He was quiet for a long time, worry etched between his eyebrows. Then, as if moved by marionette strings, his hands rose to cover mine, pressing them harder into his muscled chest. I could feel the beat of his heart even through the layers of cotton and wool.
Gradually, it slowed. Until I looked up.
“And what of the men you bring home?” he asked, voice low and foreboding. “Where do they sleep?”
“Xavi…”
“No, really.” He released my hands and took a few steps back. “You’re only twenty-seven. I know there’s been a bloke or two up here, hasn’t there?”
I couldn’t lie. I’d tried to date a few times over the years. Once, a guy I’d met at the library. Another had been a friend of Matthew’s. But nothing had lasted more than a few weeks. Nothing more than a few make-out sessions. Maybe some heavy petting on my bed. All it ever took was a bad dream or a call for “Mama” to erase what romance there was in my little corner of the house.
“My personal life hasn’t been my priority,” was all I said.
He didn’t need to know every detail.
Xavier watched me intently. And then, ever so subtly, his gaze dropped. “Do you remember the last time I kissed you?”
I smirked. “You mean about a month ago?”
He rolled his eyes. “No. I mean, before I left for London. Before…Sofia.”
I bit my lip. I couldn’t help it. Did I remember the most soul-searing kiss of my life? Oh, just a smidge.
“You came with me to the hotel to drop me off on your way home.”
I nodded. “Traffic was a disaster that day.”
“We took the train back from downtown. It was so busy that you had to sit in my lap. I didn’t care a bit, though. I just wanted to hold you in my arms for as long as I could.”