The foyer makes me gasp. I step inside and am greeted by two curving marble staircases. A glass chandelier drops from the soaring ceiling. Once upon a time, it would have looked magnificent. Now, the marble is stained yellow, and cobwebs drape the dull crystals of the chandelier. It still takes my breath away.
Julian catches sight of my face. “I know, it’s ridiculous,” he comments. “My great-great-grandfather built this house. Probably so all his neighbors could see how important he was.” His lips quirk. “He named it Kincaid Castle. He had delusions of grandeur.” He leads the way through sparsely furnished rooms to a side entrance. We’re moving too quickly for me to gawk, but the impression I get is that the home is largely empty of furniture. “It’s too large,” he continues. “The roof leaks, the place is impossible to heat in the winter, and there’s no hot water.” He opens the door to the outside, and we step onto a curved pathway. “And then there’s the infamous greenhouse.”
I stare at the large glass building in front of me. The space is massive, easily five thousand square feet. It is bigger than my house, for crying out loud. “Oh, wow.”
“My mother liked to garden,” he says. “There were always roses here, even in the dead of winter.”
“I love roses,” I murmur absently as we step inside. Part of me is wondering if I can talk Simon into installing a greenhouse in our backyard. The other part of me is horrified at how much work Julian will have to do to get this place wedding-ready. The floor tiles are cracked and chipped. Multiple glass panes are broken. Radiators line the insides of the walls, but they look like they’re a hundred years old. “When’s your sister’s wedding again?” I ask, even though I know perfectly well what the answer is.
“December.” Julian runs his hand through his hair, his expression wary. “It’s an aggressive timeline, I know.”
Aggressive? Think impossible. I'm not an expert by any means. Simon is the contractor in the family, but even I know that one person can't do this in four months. Of course, Julian probably knows it too. So, I give him a bright smile rather than rub it in. “What’s the plan for the day?”
“Finish prying up the floor tiles,” he replies. “And, if there’s still enough time left, take it to the dump. I need to get the tile off to look at the underfloor heating. It isn’t working, and I have a guy coming on Monday to deal with it. Fingers crossed, I won’t also have to bust open the concrete slab underneath.”
“That's how the space is heated? The radiators plus the underfloor heating?”
He nods. “There's a boiler for the greenhouse and one for the house. The one for the house works sporadically. This one hasn’t worked in a long time.”
We put underfloor heating in our bathrooms. It’s so nice. Nothing is more luxurious than a warm floor in the middle of winter.
“Okay, bust up the tile,” Damien says cheerfully. “Got it. What do you want me to do?”
Julian glances at me. “Sophia, this is messy work. Damien volunteered, but if you don’t—”
“Julian,” I interrupt. “I’m here to help, and unlike Damien, I even know what I’m doing. Do you have a spare set of safety glasses and some earplugs?”
His eyes hold mine for a long instant. “Thank you,” he says softly, his expression warm. “Yes, there’s safety gear in the kitchen. Where there’s also a pot of coffee and a box of donuts.” He gives his friend an amused glance. “Get your caffeine fix in. It’s going to be a long day.”
Damien wasn't lyingwhen he said he didn’t know what he was doing. But he’s a quick learner. He watches Julian operate the tile breaker, his expression focused. He tries it once, adjusts what he’s doing, and then has the hang of it. It’s deeply annoying.
I find it unexpectedly relaxing working with my hands. I’ve been so stressed the last few weeks. The threat to the health center and long hours spent on the phone and hunched in front of my computer have taken a toll on me. Now add in the appointments at the fertility clinic and the meeting with the support group, and I feel ready to burst.
Scraping tiles off the floor is cathartic.
Damien and Julian talk while they work. They've been friends for a long time, and it shows in their banter and the good-natured insults they throw at each other. I see sides of both men I haven't seen before.
It only makes them hotter.
The work is messy and dusty, and it does nothing to quench my inconvenient lust. I am incredibly aware of the two men as I work all day. Aware and attracted. I notice them move. I home in on every smile. My nerves tingle to life when their gaze rests on me.
The physical labor feels like foreplay.
I tried to remember why it would be a bad idea to fall into bed with them, but all the reasons I listed earlier elude me. All I hear is Aurora's voice telling me, “You should have sex.”
On Wednesday next week, Dr. Hernandez will discuss my fertility test results with me. If everything looks good, I pick a sperm donor, obtain vials of semen, and then we’re off to the races. Even if my follicle count is low, Dr. Hernandez has assured me that I can take drugs to increase my fertility.
Soon, I'm going to be a hormonal mess. I have a short window here. There is a clock, and it’s ticking. And Damien is only in town for a month.
What's the harm, really?
Eight hours of messy,exhausting work later, it’s done. My nails are caked with dirt, my T-shirt is covered with dust, but every last tile has been pried up. “Thank you,” Julian says, his voice vibrating with sincerity. “Thank you both so much. I can't even tell you how grateful I am, but please, let me buy you dinner. It's the least I can do.”
Damien tilts his head to the side. “Sophia?” he asks. “I’m your ride. What would you like to do?”
I don't want this day to be over. Well, I do want the hard physical labor part of the day to be over—every muscle in my body aches—but I’m not ready to leave. All-day, anticipation has been building up inside me. To leave now would be anticlimactic.
“I never say no to a free meal.” I glance down at myself. I’m a mess. We all are. “Then again, I can’t go out looking like this. Maybe we should get pizza again?”