Betrayals
Page 91
“Which you also bought,” she said, walking over and checking through the pile, still in the plastic. “Your taste is a whole lot better than mine.”
“My budget is a whole lot higher than yours. Temporarily.”
She looked around the room, the fading sun suffusing it with a warm glow. “Wow. Just wow. I’m going to keep saying that. In case you’re wondering about the thank-you part, I’m waiting until after the tour, or I’m just going to keep saying that, too, and making you very uncomfortable.”
Which was not untrue. His thanks came from her expression and the glow in her eyes.
“There are bookshelves in the attic,” he said, “but I thought you might prefer them in whichever bedroom you choose as an office. I’d suggest the one with the triskelion. It has the best light.” She popped back into the hall and waved at the other front room. “That’s your room, then?”
“The spare bedroom,” he corrected.
“The only person who’d sleep in it is you. Unless I kick Ricky out of bed.”
She laughed at that, suggesting the number of times that had happened—or was likely to happen—was zero. Regrettably.
Olivia zipped into the spare room. Gabriel followed, more slowly this time. He had considered taking another, perhaps the small, dark one beside it. The second front bedroom, while it lacked the half tower, was still big and airy, with oversized windows and stained glass. It seemed, yes, frivolous to put a bed in there.
He could tell himself he was selecting a guest room—not his room—and that’s why he’d chosen the better one. But Olivia was right that no one else would use it, and he’d decided that if it seemed not to matter which he took, he might as well take what he wanted. Which should be easy. He spent his life taking what he wanted. Olivia was correct here, too, though, that there was a difference between buying his greystone office because it best suited his needs and buying it because he liked it. Practicality versus frivolity. Logic versus emotion.
“The other two rooms are unfurnished,” he said. “There is furniture in the attic, if you decide to stay. The elders say it all comes with the house. I’ve put the table and chairs in the dining room and added basics to the kitchen—a set of dishes and cutlery, pots, a coffeemaker.”
“Gotta have the coffeemaker.”
“I thought so.”
She turned to him. “All right, then, counselor. Convince me I won’t be shooting myself in the foot if I move in temporarily.”
He gave her his argument, namely that the elders understood the purchase of the house in no way indicated she was leaning in their direction, no more than living at Grace’s did. It was the safest arrangement. It was also a balanced one. Cainsville provided Olivia with shelter, and her living there provided the town with greater access to her than the Cn Annwn had.
“Do you want it?” he asked as he finished.
“Yes, but—”
“Do you honestly believe that a house, however much you like it, would make you side with the Cainsville fae if you did not believe it was the right decision?”
“No.” She took a deep breath. “I guess that answers my question.”
“It does, and having decided, I suggest we put that coffee-maker to use and step into the garden.”
“Which is going to need some serious elbow grease.”
When he said nothing, she looked over at him. “No …”
He shrugged, and she hurried down the steps, through the house to the back window. What he heard then was not quite a girlish shriek, but very close to it.
“It’s only cleared,” he said as he walked up behind her. “It’s too late for planting, but Rose said the garden ought to be put to bed properly.”
She turned and gave him a wide grin, a bouncing-on-toes, little-girl-at-Christmas grin. Then she put out her arms and said, “Can I? Just say no if—”
“You can.”
She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, fairly strumming with excitement, and he thought, I did it. Also Top that, Ricky, and yes, he did feel a twinge of guilt, but it was a very small twinge, and really only because it was not quite sportsmanlike to compete against someone who didn’t realize there was a competition.
But Gabriel hadn’t gotten where he was by being sportsmanlike. And he did respect Ricky enough that he would never try to seduce Olivia away in any more overt way. Which wasn’t, to be honest, a moral choice so much as the admission that, there, he would probably fail. But there was some degree of—if not morality—personal respect, the same quality that knotted his stomach when he thought about the river tunnel and the kiss. He did feel guilty about that. He really did … even if that guilt took a while to arrive, following well after other emotions that accompanied those particular memories.
“Sorry,” Olivia said. “I’ll stop hugging you now.”
You don’t have to, he thought, but in the time it took for him to realize he could have said that, at least with a smile, she’d already backed off and the moment had passed, which was probably best. For now.
“Okay, so coffee …” She turned slowly, as if in a semi-daze, still glowing with excitement. “Is that—? That’s not a coffee-maker, Gabriel.”
“It makes cappuccinos as well, which I’m told can be used for mochas.”
“That’s … You didn’t need to …”
“My budget is a whole lot higher than yours. Temporarily.”
She looked around the room, the fading sun suffusing it with a warm glow. “Wow. Just wow. I’m going to keep saying that. In case you’re wondering about the thank-you part, I’m waiting until after the tour, or I’m just going to keep saying that, too, and making you very uncomfortable.”
Which was not untrue. His thanks came from her expression and the glow in her eyes.
“There are bookshelves in the attic,” he said, “but I thought you might prefer them in whichever bedroom you choose as an office. I’d suggest the one with the triskelion. It has the best light.” She popped back into the hall and waved at the other front room. “That’s your room, then?”
“The spare bedroom,” he corrected.
“The only person who’d sleep in it is you. Unless I kick Ricky out of bed.”
She laughed at that, suggesting the number of times that had happened—or was likely to happen—was zero. Regrettably.
Olivia zipped into the spare room. Gabriel followed, more slowly this time. He had considered taking another, perhaps the small, dark one beside it. The second front bedroom, while it lacked the half tower, was still big and airy, with oversized windows and stained glass. It seemed, yes, frivolous to put a bed in there.
He could tell himself he was selecting a guest room—not his room—and that’s why he’d chosen the better one. But Olivia was right that no one else would use it, and he’d decided that if it seemed not to matter which he took, he might as well take what he wanted. Which should be easy. He spent his life taking what he wanted. Olivia was correct here, too, though, that there was a difference between buying his greystone office because it best suited his needs and buying it because he liked it. Practicality versus frivolity. Logic versus emotion.
“The other two rooms are unfurnished,” he said. “There is furniture in the attic, if you decide to stay. The elders say it all comes with the house. I’ve put the table and chairs in the dining room and added basics to the kitchen—a set of dishes and cutlery, pots, a coffeemaker.”
“Gotta have the coffeemaker.”
“I thought so.”
She turned to him. “All right, then, counselor. Convince me I won’t be shooting myself in the foot if I move in temporarily.”
He gave her his argument, namely that the elders understood the purchase of the house in no way indicated she was leaning in their direction, no more than living at Grace’s did. It was the safest arrangement. It was also a balanced one. Cainsville provided Olivia with shelter, and her living there provided the town with greater access to her than the Cn Annwn had.
“Do you want it?” he asked as he finished.
“Yes, but—”
“Do you honestly believe that a house, however much you like it, would make you side with the Cainsville fae if you did not believe it was the right decision?”
“No.” She took a deep breath. “I guess that answers my question.”
“It does, and having decided, I suggest we put that coffee-maker to use and step into the garden.”
“Which is going to need some serious elbow grease.”
When he said nothing, she looked over at him. “No …”
He shrugged, and she hurried down the steps, through the house to the back window. What he heard then was not quite a girlish shriek, but very close to it.
“It’s only cleared,” he said as he walked up behind her. “It’s too late for planting, but Rose said the garden ought to be put to bed properly.”
She turned and gave him a wide grin, a bouncing-on-toes, little-girl-at-Christmas grin. Then she put out her arms and said, “Can I? Just say no if—”
“You can.”
She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, fairly strumming with excitement, and he thought, I did it. Also Top that, Ricky, and yes, he did feel a twinge of guilt, but it was a very small twinge, and really only because it was not quite sportsmanlike to compete against someone who didn’t realize there was a competition.
But Gabriel hadn’t gotten where he was by being sportsmanlike. And he did respect Ricky enough that he would never try to seduce Olivia away in any more overt way. Which wasn’t, to be honest, a moral choice so much as the admission that, there, he would probably fail. But there was some degree of—if not morality—personal respect, the same quality that knotted his stomach when he thought about the river tunnel and the kiss. He did feel guilty about that. He really did … even if that guilt took a while to arrive, following well after other emotions that accompanied those particular memories.
“Sorry,” Olivia said. “I’ll stop hugging you now.”
You don’t have to, he thought, but in the time it took for him to realize he could have said that, at least with a smile, she’d already backed off and the moment had passed, which was probably best. For now.
“Okay, so coffee …” She turned slowly, as if in a semi-daze, still glowing with excitement. “Is that—? That’s not a coffee-maker, Gabriel.”
“It makes cappuccinos as well, which I’m told can be used for mochas.”
“That’s … You didn’t need to …”
