CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
ELENA

"This is either very romantic or very creepy," I said, still staring at the photograph of Margaret.
"I'm leaning toward creepy."

Alexander was already on his phone, speaking in clipped tones to building security. I caught fragments—"review all footage," "check service entrances," "nobody gets access without authorization"—before he stepped into the hallway for privacy.

I needed normal. I needed Sofia's voice telling me I was overthinking things and making jokes about my tendency to catastrophize. I needed my best friend to remind me that sometimes a mysterious photograph was just...okay, there was no normal explanation for a mysterious photograph, but still.

I called Sofia's phone and settled into Alexander's amazingly soft couch. Even his furniture was intimidating—the type you saw in magazines with names like "Architectural Digest" and price tags that would make ordinary people cry.

"Elena! Thank God you are alive. I was beginning to suspect you'd been devoured by Italian wolves."

"Italian wolves?" I laughed despite my anxiety. "That's your biggest fear for me?"

"I don't know what dangers lurk in fancy European countries! For all I know, they have attacked peacocks or something." Sofia's voice was bright, familiar, wonderfully ridiculous. "So, how's billionaire paradise? Please tell me you're calling from a golden toilet."

"Close. I'm on a couch that probably costs more than most people's cars." I tucked my legs under me, already feeling better. "He built me an art studio, Sof."

"He built you a what now?"

"A whole studio. Professional equipment, perfect lighting, more supplies than I could use in a decade."
I couldn't keep the amazement out of my voice.
"It's incredible."

"Okay, I take back every bad thing I've ever said about him. Marry that man immediately. Have his wealthy babies. Name one after me."

"Sofia—"

"I'm serious! Do you know how many women would kill for a man who pays attention to their dreams? Most guys can't even remember your coffee order."

I grinned. "He remembers my coffee order too."

"Show off. So what's the catch?
Because in my experience, when something seems too good to be true, there's usually a catch involving either commitment issues or a secret wife."

"No secret wife that I know of," I said. "But someone left a weird photograph in the studio. No delivery record, no explanation. Just... appeared."

"Ooh, mysterious! What kind of photograph?"

I described the picture of Margaret, and Sofia listened with the kind of focused attention she usually reserved for gossip about celebrities.

"That is weird," she agreed. "But maybe it's like a housewarming gift? From someone who knew you were moving in?"

"Who would know that? And how would they get into Alexander's private elevator?"

"Good point. How does security work in that building anyway? Is it like Fort Knox?"

I found myself describing Alexander's security setup in detail—the cameras, the key card access, the guards in the lobby.
She asked about a lot of minute details, but I realized she was just curious about her friend’s life with a billionaire.

"So there are guards 24/7?" Sofia pressed. "What about service entrances? Deliveries?"

"Everything goes through security. Why, planning a heist?" I joked.

"Maybe. I could use the money." Sofia laughed. "But seriously, how many guards are we talking about? Like, a whole army?"

"I don't know, maybe a dozen? Plus, the building has its own security team." I paused, struck by something. "Sof, why are you so interested in all this?"

"Are you kidding? My best friend is living in a fortress!
I'm fascinated by how the other half lives. Do you have panic rooms? Secret passages? A bat cave?"

"No bat cave," I said, laughing. "Though knowing Alexander, there's probably a backup generator and enough supplies to survive the apocalypse."

"What about daily routines? Is there a fixed routine when he leaves for his job? Are there patterns security follows?"

"You're really getting into the details here," I said, amused by her intensity. "Should I be worried you're planning to rob us?"

"I am just curious! It's like getting a behind-the-scenes glimpse into a billionaire’s lifestyle.
When do you suppose I'll get another chance to ask these questions?

I can understand why. Sofia was full of questions because this whole event was outside of her usual experience.

"Plus," she said, "I want to know what I'm getting into when I visit. Is identification necessary when I travel? References? "A background check?"

"You're ridiculous," I said fondly. "But yes, you'll need ID. It’s possible that you’ll have to go through a major security examination. Alexander takes this stuff seriously."

"I bet he does. What about you? Do you have your own security detail now? Bodyguards following you around?"

"God, I hope not. That would be mortifying." A car full of bodyguards following me to the store felt quite uncomfortable. "Though knowing Alexander, he's probably already considered it."

"Smart man. You're precious cargo now."

Alexander came in and that old feeling of butterflies appeared in my stomach. Even after everything we'd been through, the sight of him still did things to my pulse that should probably be illegal.

"I should go," I told Sofia. "Alexander's back with his security update."

"Okay, but call me tomorrow! I want to hear about your first night in the penthouse. And Elena?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful, okay? I know you think I'm being paranoid, but... just watch out for yourself."

After I hung up, Alexander settled beside me on the couch, automatically pulling me against his side. I curled into him, enjoying the solid warmth of his body.

"What did security say?" I asked.

"Nothing useful. No record of anyone accessing the building who shouldn't have been here. No footage of anyone going to the penthouse level except authorized personnel." Alexander's jaw was tight with frustration. "It's like the photograph just materialized."

"Maybe it's Margaret," I said, only half-joking. "Reaching out from wherever she is."

"Don't even joke about that." Alexander's arms tightened around me. "The alternative explanations are bad enough."

I twisted around so I could look at him squarely. "Hey. Whatever's going on, we'll figure it out together, right?"

"Together," he agreed, though his expression remained troubled.

I moved in to kiss the spot where a worry line appeared on his brow. "You know what I think we need?"

"Better security?"

"Wine. And dinner. And maybe some quality time in that ridiculously large bed of yours." I ran my finger along his cheek and his muscles seemed to ease. "We can worry about mysterious photographs tomorrow."

Alexander gave a slow, sad smile. "I like the way you think."

"I have my moments."

I took his hand and guided him into the bedroom. "C'mon, billionaire. Let’s explore what other advantages come with living in a penthouse.

Alexander followed me into the bedroom, his touch down my knuckles igniting my heart into passion. We'd gotten halfway to the bedroom when his phone rang.

He cursed out loud, looking at the results on the screen.

"Who is it?" By asking, I just wanted to make sure of what his look said.

"My father," Alexander said grimly, "This should be interesting."