“I’d also like to know when you’re communicating with him. I have always told you when I’ve received an email from Emir, or when we’ve spoken. I’m perfectly happy having a friend we sleep with from time to time, but for the sake of my own jealous heart, let’s have transparency.” His big, warm hand stroked down my back, soothing me, telling me he wasn’t angry with me. Neil might not have realized it himself, but he was much better at communicating through body language than speaking. He wasn’t as conscious in choosing casual gestures as he was in selecting his words.
“Deal,” I agreed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think of how that might look from your side.”
“I know it’s awfully early, but do you mind if I go to bed? I’m positively knackered and I’m still fighting off the Klonopin.” He always took something to fly when he was alone. When we travelled together, he rarely did. I think it was because he felt guilty, feeling better when I wouldn’t sedate myself.
I sat up and kissed his cheek. “I wouldn’t mind at all. I’ll even come snuggle you to sleep.”
We went to the bedroom, where Neil groaned in ecstasy the moment he settled onto his pillow. “This is exactly what I need.”
I slipped out of my jeans and bra and slid in beside him, and he reached for me, pulling me into the circle of his arms. I wriggled back, fitting my hips with his, letting his body envelop me.
“Well, almost exactly,” he whispered against my ear.
I hugged his arm tighter over my waist. “You said you had a change of perspective. What was that about?”
“I promise, we’ll talk about that tomorrow,” he yawned. “After we look at the house.”
Damn. That change in perspective was what I’d wanted to hear the most about.
* * * *
The next night, Tony the chauffeur drove me to meet Neil at the New York offices of Elwood & Stern. I’d hoped I’d get a chance to see Neil’s office, but the stars never seemed to align on that one, and tonight was no exception. From Elwood & Stern, we drove a few blocks to a building with a helipad, where our chartered helicopter was waiting.
In phobic terms, airplanes had nothing on helicopters where Neil was concerned. Oddly, the short flight didn’t bother me; the windows were huge, compared to the ones on the jet, so I didn’t feel quite so boxed in. But it was a little hard to get excited about the incredible airborne views when Neil was crushing my hand like a vise.
I spent most of the flight mentally preparing myself for what was in store. I knew we wouldn’t be looking at a four-bedroom cape cod. From the few details Neil had fed me—carefully doled out, I believed, to keep me from calling off the entire thing—the place had massive acreage. The terms “compound” and “grounds” had been used.
“Is that it?” I asked the pilot over the intercom. Being in an executive helicopter was way different than the tourist helicopter that had taken my mom and me up at the fair. It was more like a car than I’d expected.
“Yes, ma’am, directly below us,” the pilot responded.
I leaned my forehead against the window and gazed down, conscious of Neil’s arm slipping protectively across my waist, as though I’d tumble out to my doom. I spotted a massive, well-lit building, the size of which could only be compared to the visitor center in Jurassic Park. A wide, sweeping crescent of pavement made an illuminated path up to the building, winding away and forking off toward other areas of the “compound.”
Compound. We might as well have built a bunker while we were at it.
The pilot set the helicopter down and shut off the engines. Tom, the agent, stood waiting for us in a neatly pressed suit that was almost as nice as Neil’s. Hampton properties sales must net a pretty good commission.
“Mr. Elwood, Mrs. Elwood, I am thrilled to show you this property,” he exclaimed by way of greeting. He took Neil’s hand and shook it, then mine.
“Ms. Scaife,” I corrected him with a smile. “But don’t worry about it.”
It was good practice for after we married. I didn’t plan to change my name, and I was sure this wouldn’t be last time I’d be erroneously called “Mrs. Elwood.”
“The helipad is awfully far from the house,” Neil observed as we stepped into the waiting car.
He was right. It was awfully far from the house. I couldn’t even see a house. I couldn’t see anything but grass and stars. It was a nice change, just like the crisp, country air was a nice change from the smell of asphalt and garbage in the city.
But I’d made so much fun of people on House Hunters that I wasn’t about to complain about something like the helipad is awfully far from the house.
Neil gave me the front passenger seat, and Tom drove us up the long slope.
“And the other way goes out to the road?” I asked, peering out the back window.
“Oh, Sophie, look,” Neil said, breathless with wonder.
I turned, and I saw it.
The first thing that struck me was that there was so, so much house. It seemed to stretch endlessly across the crest of the hill. The main section was two stories, but the gables at the ends made it seem much taller. At one end, a tower with an open-air cupola had been added, clearly newer construction. Every light in the place was on, and the number of windows was overwhelming. I counted eight chimneys cutting tall rectangles out of the starry night sky.
The agent took advantage of our awe to launch into technical specifications. “The main house is thirty-five-thousand square feet. Ten bedrooms, nine baths—one jack-and-jill—three half-baths—”
“Wait, wait,” Neil shushed him urgently. “Whatever it is you’re saying will not sink in for either of us right now.”
“‘Sophie, don’t get too excited about the property,’” I mimicked his earlier pronouncement.
“Good accent,” Tom remarked, but his grin faded when Neil cleared his throat. Tom swallowed and continued, “As I was saying, the compound sits on forty-nine acres, has ocean views, a beautiful beach front—”
“We would live…on the ocean?” I got dizzy just imagining it. When I’d been younger, I’d dreamed about one day owning a camp on Lake Superior that I could hang out at on the weekends. That had been some far off dream that I’d happily abandoned when I’d moved to New York. But the ocean? Only rich people lived by the ocean.
That’s when it hit me for the very first time: I was a rich person. Even though I’d been living with Neil for a year, even though he’d bought me designer clothes and ridiculously expensive jewelry, I’d never really thought of his money as my own. Except for that one time in Hermés. But shopping for a house together, the house we would live in, our family home that would have both names on it… That really drove the point into my brain.
Neil was giving me a life I had never bothered to dream about, and he was doing it just because he loved me. I would probably never again have to stress over bills. I’d never find my career limited by how much money I could spare for the commute. I wouldn’t have to eat Ramen ever again, unless it was by choice.
This was the life Neil wanted to give me, and I’d been stubbornly rejecting it, but still reaping the benefits. I’d been utterly blind to the privilege that had been plunked into my lap. Why? Because I thought it made my love mean less if I was grateful for his money?
“What was the price again?” Neil asked as the agent pulled into the circular drive and parked beneath the portico.
“Eighty-three million,” the agent said easily. Like it was a number he could rattle off any day.
I grabbed Neil’s hand and squeezed it.
He squeezed back.
“There are six other exits,” Tom explained, like he was the chief flight attendant for the house. “The previous owners directed deliveries to the kitchen, through the porte-cochére at the other end of the house. That’s also where you’ll find the eight car garage—”
“Only eight?” Neil asked, and my eyes boggled. What in the name of sweet baby Jesus would require us to own more than two cars? He caught my look and
said, sheepishly, “For my collection.”
“Your collection is in England,” I reminded him.
He smirked. “It can be moved.”
“There is plenty of acreage if you’d like to add a hangar to house them,” Tom suggested easily. As though it would be just like putting a ceiling fan in. No big deal, build a hangar on the weekend. Fill it up with a man-sized Hot Wheels collection. People just did this, in our world.
“There is a state-of-the-art security system, as well as an intercom from the panic room,” Tom said as we walked the three wide, terraced steps to the door. He entered a security code and slid the key into the lock before ushering us inside. “I’ve already been in and had a walk around tonight, but there is a master control for the built-in lighting in the main living areas.”
The moment the door opened into the foyer, I knew I was in over my head. The room was an octagon, open to the second story, with windows that looked even taller than they were, due to the vertical lines of framework that divided each of them neatly in two. The floor was pristine wood that glowed a gorgeous, deep red.
Tom opened a door to our right to show us the walk-in coat closet. He pointed out that it could easily double as a coat check during parties.
Way over my head.
The living areas blew past me in a bit of whirlwind. The place came furnished, from the elegant prairie style dining and living room sets—“Vintage Stickley,” Tom informed us as I trailed my arm along the back of the sofa—to the sumptuous leather upholstery in the den. There was a second, less formal living room with a native stone fireplace and a loft accessible via an upstairs bridge.
“That’s set up as a very nice office,” Tom explained. “But there are plenty of rooms on the lower level that could be converted.”
“The lower level?” I asked. “Isn’t this the ground floor?”
“There’s a walk-out lower level,” Tom explained. “We’ll get to that in a minute. What I really want to show you is the master bedroom.”
The master bedroom, bathroom, and twin dressing rooms were situated on the ground floor, down a long hall. I was pretty sure the entire apartment could fit inside the suite. Enormous windows looked onto the vast side yard, and through two large, arched glass doors was a conservatory in a round turret with ocean views.
“This is insane,” I said, pressing my hand to the glass. Then I thought about the handprint it would leave. And then I thought about how much I didn’t care, because I could leave a handprint on a door in my own damn house.
We were going to live here.
I opened the door and stepped into the huge space, done up like a parlor. There weren’t any plants; I would have to change that. The graceful arch of a polished wood staircase rose in an unbroken swoop up to an open second floor that encircled the entire tower, and I wandered over to it. “Can I go up?”
“Certainly,” Tom said. “There’s a door to the deck, if you’d like to go out.”
“Would you mind giving us a moment?” Neil asked Tom.
“Not at all. I’ll wait in the hall.”
Once he excused himself, Neil followed me up the stairs. It was too cold to go out on the wide porch that wrapped around the tower, but from here, I could make out a few stars.
“I’ve gotten so used to not seeing stars. They startled me when we were back in Michigan.” I didn’t realize how homesick I’d been for them.
Neil stood behind me, his hands on my waist. He leaned down and whispered, “What do you think?”
I think it’s home. That was what I wanted to say. But sensible Sophie reared her ugly head. “I think it’s a lot of house. Maybe too much house for two people.”
“We could get a dog,” he suggested, a little too eagerly. I wondered how long that had been a part of the domestic scene in his head.
“What size dog are you planning to get that it needs thirty-five-thousand square feet?” I turned and gazed up into those eyes that could completely undo me. “Baby, I love this house. We’ve barely seen a quarter of it, and I want to live in it. But how long will we be living here? Do you want to have to commute by helicopter every day? I’m not sure if I’m actually okay with that. I mean, what if you crashed or like, auto-rotated to your death or something?”
“Auto-rotated—” He pinched the bridge of his nose. He winced, then raised his head, eyes directed at the ceiling, like he couldn’t bear to watch my face. “I’m retiring.”
“Right, when you’re sixty-five, and you want to go live at Langhurst Court.” That was ages from now.
“You called Langhurst Court Deadton Abbey. You also described it as being a thousand times creepier than the Haunted Mansion. And it would take you too far from your family and friends. Besides, Emma is living here now. What happens when she has a baby? I don’t want to be an ocean away from my grandchild.”
I forced my expression to remain neutral. He still didn’t know about Emma and Michael’s dire outlook on reproducing.
One issue at a time, Scaife. “Okay, but still we’re talking about fifteen years of commuting via aircraft. That’s risky, isn’t it?”
“Sophie, you’re not understanding. I’ll be stepping down as CEO of Elwood and Stern. This year.”
My head went light, and I put a hand against the wall to steady myself. “What?”
“I thought about it quite a lot while I was in London. Seeing Emir was lovely, but I hated being away from you. Even when I’m just away at work.” He frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed running the company less.
“Money, I have. Time with you…that, I don’t have as much of as I’d like. We’ve both been so busy lately, but I don’t need to be.” He took my hands. “Almost losing my life has made me appreciate it more. I want to slow down now, and enjoy it.”
“Oh, Neil…” My heart spasmed. But as much as I loved the idea of Neil taking it easier than he was now, I wasn’t sure what he was going to expect from me in this new arrangement. “The thing is…India has worked really hard to get me this opportunity. I have to come up with a follow-up book, and there’s the launch party coming up. I can’t slow down right now.”
“Nor would I expect you to.” He walked slowly around the perimeter of the tower, brushing his fingers along the window frames every now and then, as though he were inspecting them. He stopped and put his hands in the pockets of his trousers. “I’m not imagining a scenario in which we spend every waking moment together. But as it is, we’re trying to steal little bits of time together when they happen to line up. If I’m not working, we don’t have to do that anymore.”
Wow. I didn’t know what to say to that. It was a total one-eighty from the Neil I was used to. The Neil who’d tried to surreptitiously run a multi-media corporation from his sickbed. The Neil who’d fired his own girlfriend for fraternizing with the wrong people.
Who was this guy?
“This is not effective immediately. It will take months to finalize everything,” he began to clarify, probably because he could see the shock I was feeling. “But I do want to settle down. If not in this house, then…wherever you are.”
I looked down at my fingers braiding themselves together, feeling suddenly very foolish. Neil was trying to clear a path to our future. It was something I’d never expected anyone to do for me, with me. I’d sort-of expected to look out for myself. Maybe it was because of the example I’d been raised with; my mother never missed an opportunity to point out how much her self-reliance provided independence. I was grateful to her for the lesson, but now, for the first time, I was beginning to see where my thinking needed to change, if I were going to enter into a legally binding domestic partnership.
“And you know,” Neil continued, forcing a laugh. “I think I’ll make a very good house husband.”
If he was making a joke because he was nervous, he didn’t have to. “I think you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met.”
When I looked up, he appeared genuinely startled by my praise.
“I r
eally mean that,” I continued. “You’re willing to give up this huge part of your life for me. You’re willing to change your plans for the future, just to include me.”
He turned and came back to me, taking my hands in his and gently prying my twisted fingers apart. “And you haven’t?”
Okay, he had me there.
He went on. “You passed on a job you worked hard to earn, just to be with me. After I fired you, no less. For the sake of our relationship, you moved to a different country. You spent a year with me, when I was vomiting and crying and feeling sorry for myself. What sacrifices have I made for you? Why shouldn’t I make one now?”
My first instinct was to point out all the things he’d done for me: romantic trips, designer clothing, houses all over the world. But those things weren’t really a sacrifice. He’d already owned the houses, and I could spend a small fortune on material objects every day without making a dent in his considerable wealth. We were standing in an eighty-three-million-dollar house, for fuck’s sake.
As for sacrifices… Neil hadn’t made many for us. If he wanted to do this now, so that we would have more time together without it being shaved from my aspirations, then what was I supposed to do? Argue with him?
“You know…” I nodded. “You’re right.”
“My god.” He lifted my hands to his lips, passion and longing in eyes as he gazed at me. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said that to me.”
I slapped his shoulder. “Jerk.”
His arm slipped around my waist, pulling me up tight. “What do you think of the house?”
“Well, we haven’t seen all of it yet,” I reminded him. “But I’m impressed.”
“Could you see us living here?” he asked.
“I…” I sputtered in disbelief. “I could see us communicating by walkie-talkie, trying to locate each other. This is a lot of house.”
“All I ask is that you keep an open mind.” He kissed my hand for real this time, then released me. “Let’s get back to Tom before he thinks we’re fucking up here.”
The rest of the house was as unbelievable as what we’d seen already. Tom pointed out every luxurious detail and assured us that the buyer would be very lucky because of this or that item the owner was willing to part with. The more insistent the agent was that we love the house, the more resistant Neil came to showing any sign of approval, until he downshifted into a kind of emotional neutral. I watched the interplay between the two of them in rapt fascination. A sense of wonder and joy I hadn’t felt since childhood welled up inside me.
The Bride (The Boss) Page 18
