In the hall, a door to what must be another bedroom sitsslightly ajar. Maybe I shouldn’t—I do sort of feel like I’m intruding—but that’s silly, isn’t it? We agreed to swap, and we spelled out that means full use of each other’s homes as long as personal effects are left alone. And I’m curious.
As soon as I poke my head in, I realizethisis the heart of the home. It’s smaller than the bedroom, an office, or maybe more of a library—a little of both—and clearly where George Knight writes his books.
Maybe I should leave it alone.
Except… I don’t want to leave it alone.
So I step inside, keeping my footsteps light as if I’m walking on some sort of hallowed ground. The desk is gorgeous, antique and worn around the edges in a way that I would never dare touch; it gives it too much character. It looks like it belongs in a movie from the ‘30s. Maybe in a newsroom with an old-fashioned typewriter sitting on top of it. For a moment, Iimagine George Knight grainy and black-and-white and tapping away.
So this is where a great mind works. It’s completely different from howI would’ve imagined it. I’d have guessed the author of the sexy, high-tech Sebastian Steele novels would’ve had a workspace to match. But this room is cozy and warm and pleasant.
Light streams in through the windows, casting an angle of sunshine across a faded oriental rug. There’s an armchair in the corner, looking cushy and inviting with an ottoman in front and a little table and a reading lamp beside it. And all along the wall—books. Floor-to-ceiling shelving in rich wood, complete with a rolling ladder to reach the upper shelves, and absolutely packed full.
I wander over to the shelves, running a hand over the smooth mahogany, and peruse the titles. He haseverything you’d expect and some things you might not. Classics and best sellers… reference and craft books… everything Ian Fleming has ever written.
There are a couple shelves filled with nothing but the Sebastian Steele novels, multiple copies of each one. Which seems weird and a little self-absorbed until I pull one out and discover they are all signed, presumably waiting to be sent out to adoring fans.
There are several shelves of competitors’ books, other contemporary spy novels, police procedurals, crime thrillers. I take out a copy of a recent book in a popular series and discover the margins are full of what must be George Knight’s own notes.
Genius use of the clock tower here!
Really? That’s the red herring? Saw this 10 miles off.
OMFG not another one-night stand with a double agent — this is so worn.
Dammit was going to use this same device in next Steele book.
Use of British spelling super pretentious. Cannot believe they are making a movie out of this thing.
They go on like that,hilarious and strangely endearing, but suddenly reading them feels a little too invasive, and I quickly put it back.
(I cannot help briefly opening a few of its neighbors, though, and yes, it does appear that Knight has jotted notes in all of them.)
There’s also a shelf with magazines arranged neatly in holders. ANew YorkerKnight had a short story in. AVanity Fairfrom when the first Sebastian Steele movie came out and the book topped the bestseller lists all over again. Various interviews and profiles. And then a few others which feature Knight alongside Luca Santoro, mostly articles painting them as a power couple, because, of course, that’s what they were. The bestselling author and the daring foreign correspondent.
Looking at the pictures of them makes me feel uneasy. Their breakup wasso public, even a hermit like me couldn’t avoid all those headlines. And of course, you can’t help but follow prominent gay couples when you have a vested interest in public acceptance and normalizing of LGBTQ+ relationships.
I study the picture accompanying one of the articles, dated about a year before Santoro famously broke things off. Is it possible to tell from the photo they wouldn’t last?
I look closely. Santoro looks perfect and happy, but it seems to me there’s a little awkwardness, a little discomfort in George’s expression. Or maybe I’m imagining it. Still, I can’t shake the feeling they don’t seem quite right together.
It occurs to me I’ll be going to Santoro’sweddingin a little over a week, and suddenly, given that I’m staying at Knight’s apartment, that feels strangely disloyal.
Which doesn’t make any sense, of course. But it’s like I’ve been dropped into the middle of the guy’s life. I put the magazine back and pull out the next one—which turns out to be the famous Time Magazine cover.
I’ve seen it before, of course. I stop now to study George Knight, lit dramatically from the side and posed in a writerly tweed jacket, a wry half-smile playing over his features. Damn, he really is handsome. Not in an in-your-face, put-him-on-TV way like Santoro, but in a secret, understated, endearing way somehow. Tousled dark curls, just a tad too long, wire-frame glasses setting off thoughtful brown eyes, the scruffy beard he had at the time looking genuinely incidental, not carefully cultivated, like so many guys seem to do. There is something genuine and unassuming about the guy in the picture, bestselling book series be damned. The shot is excellent in making you feel like youknowhim.
Right. Of course, I don’t know him. I’m just… Occupying the man’s space. Temporarily. And I probably ought to stop looking through his things. I need to get to Zoe’s list anyway.
But just as I’m leaving, something catches my eye. A couple shelves of colorful spines, almost hidden behind the armchair in the corner. I go to look at them and discover it’s a collection of well-worn paperbacks, and they are all, it seems, romance. I pull one out to look at it—a cartoon cover I think I might recognize as having been on the Moonlake Village library’s “featured” table recently, its title a clever pun. The one next to it looks to be set a couple centuries ago, the cover graced with a dramatically posed couple in elegant dress. I flip through the pages and discover Knight has made notes in these, too. But here his comments are less critical and more…
Cannot wait to see what happens when he finds out her secret!
???
Swoon.
OMG, the bubble bath scene!!!
