“So that disables the soundproofing?”
“Sort of. It opens some small windows to the side.” He points out a couple of small sections of the window-wall near the ceiling.
“It’s amazing,” I whisper. “I’ve never been in a place this gorgeous before.”
He smiles, like he’s happy I’m in love with this beach house. “Want to see the rest of the house, or do you want to relax for a bit?”
“Let’s see where everything is,” I say. I want to know which room I’ll be taking. Part of me says Grant would be a fabulous choice if I want to lose my virginity. He makes me laugh, he makes me feel carefree and he makes every cell in my body flutter with sweet anticipation. But the cautious part of me wants to be double damn sure, because it’s a huge step.
You’re just being a coward,part of me whispers.Just admit you want him already.
I surreptitiously run my palms over my pants. Okay, fine.I want him.But is it weird to feel just a tiny bit of trepidation?
The place is sparsely furnished, almost shockingly so. Although the dining room has a table big enough to seat twelve, the living room has only a couple of armchairs.
The lack of furniture and the open-floor design make the entire first floor look even more gigantic, and the two-story-high ceiling gives everything an airy feel. An indoor balcony with smooth chrome and glass railings wraps the area from two sides, connecting several rooms on the second floor. Nothing except elegant matte wallpaper is on the walls, which makes the place feel even more cavernously huge.
Grant gestures at the space to my left. “As you can see, that’s the main kitchen, and there’s a back kitchen through there.” He points to an arched hallway.
“A back kitchen?”
“It’s sort of a pantry as well. That’s where Mom likes the actual prep and cooking to happen so that the main kitchen looks pristine when everything’s served.” He takes me to a place in the back that is better equipped than the one in my grandparents’ home.
“Then why have a kitchen in front? Why not just have a serving area?” It’s gotta be a complete waste to have an entire extra kitchen.
“Looks prettier in pictures,” Grant says, like it’s the most logical and normal thing to have two kitchens in a house. “Mom likes her subjects to be neat without looking staged.”
I can’t help shaking my head. But it’s her money, so…
He leads me out and points to a room to the right. “That’s her darkroom. Of course, these days almost everything is digital. But when she does more traditional photography, that’s where she handles the film. She occasionally paints in there, too, although that’s not something most people know about, so I’d appreciate it if you keep that to yourself.”
I nod, feeling like I’m part of a special group. Surely he doesn’t share his mother’s semi-secrets with everyone.
“Anyway, she doesn’t let anybody go in there, not even housekeeping.”
“I’ll make sure to stay out.”
“Yeah, it’s better that way. You’d think she was hiding bodies in there. She went ballistic one time when my dad’s assistant went in by mistake. The only reason he didn’t die is because Dad bought her a telescope she always wanted.”
“Seriously?”
Grant nods. “My mother can be soothed with the right gifts and gestures. They just cost you a kidney and some pride.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say. Even though the woman isn’t here, it’s her home. I’m not doing anything that could come back and bite me in the butt.
He takes me into a sizable room with double-glass doors. “And this is the mini-gallery where she displays some of her work. This area is even more carefully climate-controlled to preserve the photos.”
Ooh. Is that why there aren’t any pictures of him or his mom out in the living room and so on? Eager to look at the pictures from his childhood, I rush over to the rows of frames on the walls. I bet he was super cute.
But none of the pictures feature him—or anyone that could possibly be him from years and years ago. They’re mostly scenes from the ocean, some of them underwater. Every single one is stunningly beautiful, but… My shoulders sink as confusion ripples through me. Doesn’t she love her son? Is she somehow ashamed of him?
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I gesture at the walls. “There aren’t any pictures of you.”
“Oh. Well, no. They wouldn’t fit the theme.”
“But you’re her son. I mean, what’s the point of having a special room for photos if she isn’t going to displayyou?” A sudden thought strikes me. It’s preposterous, but I don’t know if it’sthatoutrageous for his mom. “Don’t tell me she’s never taken a picture of you.”
