His eyes go blank, like he’s looking at nothing. Barely in the room. It’s over in less time than it takes to typeSummit.The smile is still on Will’s face, but it’s less open now.
“No,” he says. “I saw it in a movie. But everyone knows pizza is perfect for Friday nights.”
The twins play Minecraft until the pizza comes. Will spends dinner asking them which classes they like the best and how things are going on their Minecraft server. We watch a movie about a mouse who becomes a spy. They’re exhausted by nine o’clock, and I tuck them into the bed in the guest bedroom. Mia’s asleep before her head hits the pillow.
Will’s waiting in the living room when I pad back out, hands in his pockets.
Awkwardness descends. Without the twins to focus on, it’s just us. My face gets hot at the sight of him standing there. Comfortable. At home. A place I should never be. Just existing in his living room with him feels as intimate as sex.
I open my mouth to ask about sleeping arrangements when my attention catches on a swirl of color behind him. I’m walking toward it before I have any hope of getting a grip. I’m looking at an art print, that’s all. A really, really good art print.
Except it’s not a print. I can see brushstrokes. “Will, is this—”
“An original Van Gogh, yeah.”
Yeah,like having a priceless original painting on your wall is no big deal. I’m stricken with the sudden fear that I’ll spill soup on it somehow, never mind that there’s no soup in sight. “You’re into art?”
“My brother is a fairly famous art collector. I used to have a limited-edition print in here, but he didn’t think it was up to par.”
I turn around and stare at him, then cut a glance at the Van Gogh to make sure it’s still there and untainted by soup. “You have a brother who just casually owns paintings like this? And hands them out?”
He smiles. “Not much about Emerson is casual.”
“Tell me you don’t have a third brother who’s, like, a king or something.”
“No. Sinclair is an investigative journalist.”
“But journalists…”
“Don’t worry. He’s rich, too. Reward money.”
“For ahostage?”
“For saving a prince from certain death in some crevasse in the Himalayas.”
“Are you lying?”
Will’s eyes twinkle. He’s enjoying this. But he’s careful about these details. Even now, I recognize that he’s hardly told me anything. This is only the second time he’s mentioned his family. “No, of course not.”
“I…”Tell me everything about you. Everything you can think of. I want to know.I can’t say any of that to Will. To my boss, who won’t be my boss in a week. To the man who’s blackmailing me. “Where do you want me for the night? The couch is more than fine.”
He shakes his head. My heart beats faster.
“It’s… not fine?”
“There’s not a chance in hell you’re sleeping on the couch.” A brief, almost imperceptible pause. “Unless you’re going to insist on it.”
Unless I don’t want to sleep with him. “Where else did you have in mind?”
Will crosses to me then. He puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me away from his original Van Gogh. Down a short hallway. We pass a couple of other doors before he pushes one open.
We step into his bedroom.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but this…
“Oh, wow.” I take a few more steps inside. The carpet feels like clouds. The shade of navy on the walls is the prettiest I’ve ever seen, aside from the Van Gogh in the living room. There aredetailsin here. Molding on the walls. The most perfect side tables. “This is beautiful, Will.”
“Do you think?”