CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE

CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE
ELENA

Coffee scent filled the air upstairs as the sun streamed through the large windows. I leaned against the counter, watching the coffee maker going about its mysterious work. The words from Sofia repeated in my thoughts about someone asking of me in the neighborhood.

Who would be asking of me? Why? It seemed as if the walls were about to close in, even in the large penthouse apartment which was bigger than many people's homes.

"You're thinking too loud," he said as he padded into the kitchen in his pajamas with no shoes.
His hair had fallen into adorable little spikes, and I longed to reach out and touch it.

"Coffee thoughts," I told him, filling his cup. "They're profound and sobering, and will probably linger with me throughout the evening."

He took the cup in his hand, smiling. "Sofia had seem nice."

"Nice? That is all you have to say about Hurricane Sofia?" I sat beside him at the breakfast bar, giggling. "She liked you too, you know. She just never said it outright to you."

"I realized from the fact that she had threatened me twice only."

I nudged his shoulder with mine. "That's practically a declaration of love in Sofia-speak."

We sat in silence, drinking coffee. It seemed natural to us to be sitting drinking coffee in the warm light on the marble. It felt as if we had done it for years, rather than only weeks.

"What?" said Alexander, noticing me staring.

"I just wonder about the way people live in other locations. They likely have excellent coffee."

He grinned, but he had been different today. He was nervous, which I had just observed. Alexander Moretti did not usually get nervous. Was he powerful? Yes. Was he serious? Definitely. Was he nervous? Very unusual.

"Okay, what is going on?" I asked finally. "You look like you're ready to give a speech wearing your underwear."

"What? No, I'm fine." He drank some coffee again and refused to meet my eyes.

"Alexander, you've checked your watch three times in the past minute and drummed your fingers as if you're tapping out a clandestine communication. Say what is going on, or I will believe you're calling off the relationship over breakfast, which would be terribly rude."

That amused him. "No problem. There is just..." He rubbed his hand across his hair, leaving it even messier. "I need to show you something."

"More coffee? Because then you'd be my favorite person."

"Much better than coffee," he remarked. He produced a small box from his pocket.

My heart skipped a beat.
It wasn't a ring box—we weren't there yet—but it was certainly jewelry-sized. He set it down on the counter in front of us.

"Go on," he said softly.

I slowly opened it, expecting to see diamonds, or perhaps pearls, or something incredible. What I discovered, however, was one shining key card resting on black velvet, with my name elegantly written.

"A key," I told him, gazing at him.

"To the penthouse," Alex instructed seriously. "This is all yours. This house. I need you to feel it is yours as well."

I couldn't believe what just occurred. "I have clearance already. The security knows me."

"That's not the point." He removed the key card from the box and held it out to us. "This is not about getting in or security. It’s about..." he paused, seeking the proper words. "Commitment. Permanence. I want you to comprehend that this is not temporary to me."

His words cut closer to the heart than I realized. Home. There really wasn't one after my apartment had been destroyed. Prior to that, I jumped from one temporary location to the next, staying nowhere long enough to feel at home. Home was someone else's domain—normal people with lives that weren't as frequently shattered.

I gazed at the key card and remembered my shattered apartment. The paintings had been damaged, everything had already been lost. What if it were to happen again?

"Are you really sure you want to do this?" I attempted to smile. "I might start leaving towels in the bathroom or stocking your nice fridge with cheap wine."

Alexander always saw immediately when I tried to discuss something else.
"I have never been this sure of anything," he said softly but confidently.
"Oh, and just so you're aware, you can leave as many damp towels as you'd like here."

"A risky statement to make to an artist," I said to him.

Alexander placed the key card in my hand and curled my fingers over it. The card was cool against my skin, but his hands were warm.

"No further temporary arrangements to make. This is your home now, Elena. Stay as long as you like."

I gazed into his eyes and saw the vulnerability he only revealed to me. There was an acute ache in my heart. This man who could own entire city blocks outright had trouble offering me the key card to his residence. He was nervous about asking me to stay.

"Thank you," my thanks were inadequate, but I didn't have anything else to express it with.

He leaned in close to me and kissed me softly, making every moment feel special. I kissed him back, expressing all the emotion that couldn't be spoken—how afraid I'd been to need him, to need to settle into life with him, to love him so intensely I couldn't possibly move back.

I grasped the key card in my hand, leaving imprints in my palm as we pulled apart. There was a look in the eyes of Alexander which warmed me from the insides.

Suddenly, Alexander heard his phone vibrate. He glanced at it, annoyed at the interruption, then went completely still. The color drained from his face as he read whatever message had appeared.

"What is it?" I inquired with caution. "Alexander?"

He stared at it with a concerned expression. "This is from my office security," he spoke in a composed tone but with a concerned attitude.

"What's wrong?"

"Something was left for me there." His eyes, wide with concern, met mine. "Something that they claim concerns you."