Love Beyond Words (City Lights: San Francisco Book 1) (14 page)

“More than that.” He stroked her cheek. “Come over tomorrow night. I’ll make you dinner and tell you everything. Please.”

Natalie nodded. “Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

He could’ve wept with relief. “Thank you.”

Julian was grateful for the storm. There was nothing romantic about the cold, glassy pellets that stung his cheek, or the icy wind that dampened his ardor. He shielded Natalie from it with his coat as she locked up Niko’s and then unlocked her gate. The concrete stairwell to her place was hollow, and gritty with tracked in mud. And dark. He loathed the idea of watching her make that ascent alone yet again, as much as he loathed the idea of returning to his own empty place.
Only once more,
he told himself as she slipped behind the wrought iron gate.
Once more and then we’ll be free.

“Are you sure you can handle all this mystery and intrigue?” Liberty asked.

Natalie could hear soft music in the background that meant her friend was at work. “No,” she said. “Yes. I don’t know.” She plucked at a stray thread on her couch cushion. “I just thought I’d call and tell you…”

“In case he’s a serial killer? Not that I’d be able to help since you
don’t know where he lives.
“

“Financial District.”

“Oh, that narrows it down.”

“Look, I trust him. At least as much to know he’s not going to kill me.” Natalie smirked at the absurdity of those words. “I trust him,” she said again.
He called me his love.
Her cheeks warmed at the thought.

“Then why are you calling me?”

“Maybe because it feels crazy if I keep it in my head.”

“Mmmm,” Liberty mused. “I wonder what the hell it is he’s going to tell you. Aren’t you dying to know?”

“Not really. Honestly, I just want it to be something that explains all the coming and going. Something normal.”

“With men, there is no such thing as
normal.
” Liberty took a sharp intake of breath. “Oh my god, I’ve got it! He’s got a kid. You know, like, from a previous marriage or something. And he doesn’t want to bring any woman around until he’s sure she’s the real deal.”

“Liberty, you’re a genius!”

“Right? It explains everything. Those long stretches when he doesn’t show up? That’s when he’s got custody.”

“That makes the most sense. I knew it couldn’t be something awful. I knew it.”

“So now the real question is, are you okay with that? With being the Not Mommy in some kid’s life? You’d be going from first date to instant family.”

“No, that’s not what still bothers me. Even if that’s the reason, it’s been
months.
I can’t tell if I’m being reasonable or…”

“Taken advantage of?”

“Something like that.”

There was a pause and when Liberty spoke again, it was in tones gentler than Natalie had ever heard. “Honey, you really like him. Maybe in love with him, and I think you’re calling me to ask if that’s all right.”

“I don’t need permission—”

“Not permission. Checking in. You’re sort of new to this relationship stuff, so you want to make sure that you’re not doing something gullible because he’s
extraordinarily
good-looking. Am I right?”

Natalie smiled and hugged the pillow to her. “Maybe.”

“Maybe, yeah.” Liberty chuckled. “I’ll say this: if I were in your shoes, I would totally get in the car and go to dinner at his place, and hear whatever crazy-ass secret he’s got. But Natalie?”

“Yeah?”

“If it’s not enough, then it’s not enough and you let him go. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I gotta go. My next client’s here.”

“Love you, Lib.”

“Love you, too. Oh, and Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh my god, I totally forgot!” Natalie clapped her hand over her mouth. “I’ve never had reason to pay much attention to it before…”

“Uh huh. I’ve changed my theory about his big secret.” Natalie could practically see her friend’s knowing smile. Liberty hummed a few bars of the “Here Comes the Bride”, laughed, and hung up, leaving Natalie to scowl at her old phone.

“That’s ridiculous,” she muttered. She rose to get dressed, buttoning buttons on her dress with hands that inexplicably trembled.

#

The car Julian sent to retrieve her was punctual to the minute. Natalie saw the black sedan pull up to the curb in front of Niko’s at seven o’clock. She smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her dress. A vintage find, as was most of her wardrobe, this one a pale blue that cinched in at her slender waist, flared above her knees.

It seemed pointless to make the driver come up the stairs since she had seen him, so she grabbed her purse, sweater, and old cell phone and dashed down to meet him. He tipped his cap to her and opened the rear door.

“Good evening, miss.”

“Good evening.”

The car’s interior was impeccably sleek, with rich, gray leather seats and polished wood trim. A phone nestled in a console above her head, and a mini-bar sat tucked between the front seats, facing backwards for her use. On the seat beside her was a bouquet of velvety red roses in a bed of delicate ferns. Natalie’s hand trembled as she pulled the little card, so white against so much green and red, and read Julian’s tiny, precise script, almost like typeset.

Thank you for coming,

Love, Julian

The flowers were beautiful and filled the car with their rich scent. Natalie suddenly felt too plain. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask the driver to wait while she ran upstairs for a little more makeup perhaps, or a more flattering hairstyle. But the car was pulling away from the curb and she firmed her resolve to not give in to Julian until she had heard whatever it was he was going to tell her. She looked fine. She looked herself. If that wasn’t good enough, so be it.

“Do you work for Julian? Uh, Mr. Kovač?” she asked the driver.

“No, ma’am. I work for a service.” He pointed at a card mounted on the dash that displayed his photo, name and license information.

She wanted to ask him where they were going but thought that might sound strange. Instead, she bit her thumbnail and watched the city glide by outside the tinted windows.

The driver took them along Geary and then to Market where the traffic was heavy. A caravan of white-yellow lights passed them in the deepening dark. Tall towers rose around her and the Transamerica building stabbed the sky.

Natalie craned her neck to admire the architecture of one fine complex, and then marveled as the driver pulled into its circular, hotel-like drive.

“We’re here, miss.”

Natalie blew out her cheeks. “Of course we are.”

The driver opened her door and took the flowers for her. She followed mutely as he went to the front of the building, to a doorman who wore a dignified grey uniform and a nametag that read Bernie. Bernie smiled from within old-world style muttonchops, took the bouquet, and ushered her inside.

“This way, miss.”

Bernie led Natalie across the marble-floored lobby. A set of richly upholstered couches and chairs took up the middle space, and live potted plants added warmth to the austere décor. A security guard sat ensconced behind an immense mahogany desk, his uniform a sedate blue bearing a large badge on the front. A desk lamp with a green glass shade illuminated a leather-bound tome.

“Miss Natalie Hewitt to see Mr. Kovač.”

“How did you know?” Natalie asked.

Bernie’s smile was grandfatherly. “Mr. Kovač told us to expect you.”

“Standard protocol, ma’am.” The security guard lifted the great book and rested it on the upper surface of the desk. “If you would just sign in, Miss Hewitt.”

Natalie did so, hoping she didn’t look as half as out of her element as she felt.

“Thank you, Miss Hewitt. Would you, Bernie?”

The doorman beamed. “Of course. Come, my dear.”

The security guard bid her good night as Bernie led her to the elevators across from the desk. When the doors opened, he gestured for her to step inside and then handed her the bouquet.

“Have a lovely night, Miss Natalie.”

Natalie felt a bolt of panic as she realized she didn’t even know what floor Julian was on. But before the doors could close on her, Bernie punched a button. Natalie blinked as the little disk marked “15PH” lit up.

“Thank you, Bernie,” she murmured as the doors closed.

The elevator glided upward until a gentle, refined
bing
announced her floor—the fifteenth floor penthouse. The doors parted and Natalie was confronted with a small anteroom with lush carpet and an elegant mirror hanging on the wall. At the end of the hall was a door left ajar. Julian stepped out.

“I thought I heard the bell.” Julian’s faint smile slipped. “The driver was supposed to give the flowers to you at your door.”

“I met him downstairs before he could come up,” Natalie said. “They’re beautiful,”

“They make a poor showing next to you.”

“Thank you.”

“Come in. Please.”

Julian took the flowers and kissed her cheek—an awkward, nervous peck—as Natalie stepped into his home.

A sense of disorientation swept through as she looked about his apartment. The ceiling in the anteroom was deceptively low. Here the walls—in a muted beige color—stretched up to vaulted ceilings so she felt as if she’d stepped into another building altogether. A gorgeous chandelier of downturned glass pillars, each with a small light glowing in its base, hung from the juncture of ceiling angles. To her right, a formal dining room sat in the dark, looking as if it hadn’t been used in ages. The main living room was expansive and curved toward a kitchen of cherry wood cabinets and a gray granite-topped bar. Her shoes clopped on dark hardwood floors, and one wall was entirely comprised of windows that glittered with the panorama of the nighttime cityscape.

Behind the kitchen, the apartment kept going into unknowable reaches; if there was child’s room it would be there, but the space as a whole showed no signs of a child’s presence. In fact, Natalie thought, there was no sign of
Julian
here either. The apartment was beautiful, but austere. Every piece of furniture, every design piece, was modern and sleek and didn’t reflect Julian’s warmth in the slightest.
It’s a textbook example of ‘bachelor pad,’
she thought, and rubbed her shoulders.

And then she came around the front entry and saw another space, open to the living and kitchen areas.

“Oh, wow.”

Where there might have been a sitting room or office, there instead was a library. It had no door but seemed as though it should, as if it didn’t belong with the rest of the house. The warmth that was lacking everywhere else was here in abundance. Bookshelves of rich mahogany stretched upward on three walls, their shelves replete with a library’s worth of tomes. The floors were the same dark hardwood, but overlaid with a stunning rug of an ornate floral pattern in green, gray, and blue.

The centerpiece of the room was an antique desk—old, scratched, worn with time and care—and a plush chair that appeared chosen for comfort rather than beauty. On the desk stood a small Murano glass desk lamp, its multicolored shade glowing warmly in the dimness. Its light illuminated a stack of black and white composition books, bound together with a rubber band.
The café book
, Natalie thought absently as she moved to peruse the bookshelves.

The books that resided on the polished ledges were in all makes, shapes and sizes. Leather-bound volumes cozied-up beside paperbacks. Hardcovers flanked yellowing antiques, the ordering force being the authors’ names. It was clear Julian felt every book in his collection was worthy of sharing space with its conditional betters. Natalie stared in open-mouthed wonder.

“If I had money, this is how I would spend it,” she murmured, then snapped her mouth shut, realizing she’d voiced her thought aloud. She glanced at Julian, her cheeks burning. But he apparently hadn’t heard. He was busy setting out a bottle of red wine and two glasses on the kitchen counter. Natalie cleared her throat.

“Dinner smells wonderful,” she said. “What are you making?”

“
Bandeja paisa y crema de platano verde.
”

She felt her cheeks grow hot; his accent had to be the sexiest thing she’d ever heard in her life.
“What does that mean?”

“Creamy plantain soup to start, and the Paisa platter is a variety of different things…both Colombian dishes.” He pulled the cork free and poured the wine into two glasses.

“Where did you learn how to cook Colombian food?”

“From uh, my mother.”

“Not too spicy, I hope,” Natalie said.

“No, I remember you don’t care for spicy food.” He approached her with a glass of wine. “Please. Make yourself at home.”