Arthur chuckled. “No, no. You’re free to roam. Actually, if you two could check on the girls, I would appreciate it. I haven’t seen them in a while.”
Charlotte nodded. She turned to leave, but Arthur caught her arm. He bent low to whisper to her, his voice barely loud enough for Jesse to hear.
“Take your time. I’ll see if Jesse and I can occupy Lizzie’s parents. No one else will notice that the two of you are gone for a bit. Trust me, I know how easy it is to vanish for an hour or two at these parties once everyone has had a bit of wine.”
Charlotte’s smile blossomed and her cheeks turned pink. “Thank you.”
He released her and turned back to Jesse.
“Are you ready to meet the people who have made my life miserable for the last thirty-six years?”
“Am I meeting your parents, then?” Jesse asked, only half serious.
Arthur laughed some more. “Not yet. Just everyone else I’ve known for forever, starting with the parents of one of Emma’s friends. We’ll save meetingmyparents for later.” He nodded toward the cluster of round tables at the other end of the room. “Follow me, Mr. O’Connor.”
Before Arthur turned, he threw Jesse a wink, and then he started to cross the room. Jesse’s face burned, and his stomach fluttered wildly as he followed. Moving through the ocean of Chicago’s elite, Jesse couldn’t help but feel small. The manner in which every other person carried themselves, coupled with the elegance of their clothing and Jesse’s knowledge of how much money every single one of these families had, caused his sense of shame and self-reproach to rise and crest like a wave. Jesse held his breath as the wall of water threatened to obliterate the last vestiges of his self-worth.
And he wondered how he’d ever make it through the rest of the evening.
Chapter Seventeen
Jesse
Hours later, Jesse was wandering through Arthur’s house in search of the library. Earlier, Arthur had told him where to go, promising that he’d meet him there soon. But now Jesse was feeling a little lost. Unless Jesse had misheard, Arthur had said that the library was on the first floor, but the room that Jesse had first poked his head into seemed more like a parlor or study, rather than a library, though it did have one small bookcase in the far corner. Did one bookcase constitute a library? Jesse couldn’t be sure. After all, his own “library” only had one bookcase.
Jesse thought that he might try the next room over. His muscles tensed as he leaned forward to peek inside, and he breathed a sigh of relief once he saw the many, many bookcases filled with books. He had found it.
Quickly, Jesse went in and closed the door behind him. He walked toward the center of the room, his eyes flitting from one area to the next as he took in the space. Even more impressive than the sheer number of books was the craftsmanship of the beautiful bookcases, which were embellished with little wooden flowers, not unlike the ones he had seen on the banister before.
Jesse walked over to one of them. After a pause, he reached out to touch the books with his fingertips, brushing them over the spines, and then plucked one of the books off of a shelf at random.The Portrait of a Ladyby Henry James. It sounded familiar. As soon as Jesse flipped open the book to the first page, he realized why.
He’d read this book before. Not in this format, though. One of the corner stores in his old neighborhood had stocked the magazines where the story had originally been published. Back then, before Jesse had begun venturing to the public library on a regular basis, he’d worked his way through every single one of the books and stories and magazines that their corner store mini-library kept on hand. And then, much later, Jesse had worked in that very corner store himself in order to save up for room and board at Illinois Industrial. How much time had passed since.
Mind adrift in memory, Jesse ran his fingers over the text. Back when he’d first begun reading so much, he’d wished so fervently to be able to have his own library someday. One that was made up of more than a single wobbly bookcase half-filled with books. But books were expensive. Half of the books that Jesse currently owned were textbooks that he’d needed for school, rather than ones he’d wanted to read for fun. But Arthur Hughes... holy hell, the man ownedso manyof them.
Self-reproach twisted in Jesse’s stomach. Long ago, he’d lost his chance at ever coming close to having his own library, even one that was one-tenth of the size of Arthur’s. Hell, maybe he’d never really stood a chance of ever having something like this at all, even if hehadfinished school. Jesse could barely comprehend the level of Arthur’s wealth for him to have a home like this one. Or even in order to have a library that consisted of more than a handful of half-filled shelves.
Jesse’s blood spiked with resentment, and he set the book back on the shelf. As he turned, his cheeks flooded with warmth, embarrassment over his pathetic past and his mediocre present and his inevitably still-mediocre future mixing with the fiery fury he still felt toward Chicago’s elite on a whole.
He needed to leave.
But then, before Jesse even made it halfway across the room, Arthur came into the library, his beautiful blue eyes shimmering with what looked like fondness and regret in one.
“Jesse,” Arthur breathed as he shut the door. Reaching behind his back, Arthur locked the door without breaking eye contact, and then he took two large steps forward before suddenly stopping. “God, Jesse, I’m so sorry.”
Jesse froze. He simultaneously wanted to run into Arthur’s arms and curl into a little ball so that Arthur couldn’t continue to look at him in his ready-made suit.
“Do you forgive me?” Arthur asked.
Jesse’s eyes fell to the floor. He spotted his scuffed-up shoes and winced. Arthur took a couple more steps toward him.
“I want to fix things between us,” Arthur said. “And I hope I still can?”
After two more ticks of the clock, Jesse cleared his throat.
“Arthur, this party, it’s very sweet, but I’m still not sure that I... belong.”
“What?!” Arthur spluttered, recoiling a little. “Of course you belong.”
