“But I didn’t,” I say. “I didn’t kiss you. And I only said that because you were holding me very—very intimately.”
A flash of silence, during which I know we’re both remembering the same thing: our bodies pressed together, his hands tight on my rib cage, my lips skimming his skin.
When he speaks again, I know I’m not imagining the hoarse note in his voice. “All right,” he says. “That’s fair.”
I nod, fanning my face. “It’s more than fair. And you kissed me in the library, too. You practically attacked me.”
He hums, but there’s a spark of amusement in his eyes when he says, “Hard to argue with that one. Turn here.” He points to the left turn I’m just about to miss.
Sunshine doesn’t do well with last-minute decisions,?* but I manage to make the turn, and we continue our ascent. The Astor home is at the very top of the hill that makes up the Heights. Everyone in town knows this. Most of us have never been to the Astor home or even set foot in the Heights, but we all still know who lives in that house.
Funny how that works, isn’t it?
We wind round and round, corkscrew-style, until we’ve reached the top of the hill. Lionel’shome is at the end of the drive, and I’m pretty sure we’re going to have to pass through security of some sort to get there. Bodyguards? Metal detectors? What kind of protection does a man like Lionel Astor have?
The answer emerges as we approach the end of the drive, though: it’s a security booth, manned by a stern-looking man who is for sure going to tell us to turn right back around if I can’t convince him otherwise. Crap.
I pull up and roll down my window, ignoring the judgmental looks Mr. Security is giving my poor car—it’s not her fault she’s beat up; she’s doing her best just like the rest of us—and smiling at him.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” he says, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “What brings you here today?”
“Um.” The words sound just as stupid in my head as I know they will out loud, but I spit them out anyway. “I was hoping to talk to Lionel. Mr. Astor, I mean.”
Another judgmental look, this time tinged with incredulity. “Uh-huh,” he says. “You wanted to meet with Mr. Astor.”
I clear my throat, trying not to feel small. “Yes, please. It’s important.” Should I make up something outrageous so they’ll let me in? Should I tell him I’m pregnant with Lionel’s baby?
Ew. No. I think that man is my uncle. Gross.
“All right,” the man says, looking smug and amused and frankly just very punchable. I know he’s only doing his job, but that smirk needs to exit stage left immediately. “Well, I’m going to have to ask you to set up an appointment. You’ll need to get in touch with?—”
“Please,” I say. I’m getting ready to scrape the bottom of the desperation barrel. “Please. Can you just—can you ask him if he’ll see me?” Because I truly think he might.
Something in my expression must convince Mr. Security, because he sighs—although I do notice him shooting a look atAiden that specifically seems to sayControl your woman, which I do not appreciate. Aiden, smart man that he is, just shrugs at the guy.
“I can ask,” the man says, sounding reluctant. “But if they say no?—”
“Then we’ll go,” I say quickly. “I promise. Just tell him Nora’s daughter wants to meet.”
The man narrows his eyes at me before nodding once. Then he disappears inside his little booth.
“I have to admit,” Aiden says, frowning at the dash, “I’m surprised this car made it all the way up that hill.”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t talk about her like that. She’s trying her best.”
He snorts. “An admirable effort.” Then he looks out the window past me, narrowing his eyes on the security booth. “You think we’re actually going to be able to get in?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s a long shot, I’m aware of that, but I still think we need to try.”
“And what exactly do you plan on saying to Lionel if you manage to snag this meeting?”
“Nothing that will make him very happy,” I say, my voice grim.
“As long as he doesn’t call the police on us or anything,” Aiden says. He looks and sounds more concerned than necessary—like he doesn’t have any faith in me at all.
“He’s not going to call the police on us—oh.” I stop talking as the guard’s head pops back out the window of the booth. He still looks slightly incredulous, but gone is the smug expression that went with it. Now he just seems confused.
