Chapter Eight
Stacia
“The Berkshires?” I questioned, turning from the town car’s window to Ian who sat to my left. Ever since we’d left the hotel in Seattle, he’d refused to tell me where we were going. It was a secret that he apparently didn’t want getting out. After we landed, I was able to surmise that we were in Massachusetts. I’d been to the private airport where we’d landed on a number of work occasions. But there were a number of places in the northeast that we could get to from this location. Even when the town car picked us up at the airport, Ian remained silent as to where exactly he was taking me.
Only after more than two hours in the car did I catch the sign that made it clear we were entering the Berkshires.
“Yes.” He nodded.
I grinned and turned back out to face the snow-covered sidewalks, trees, and rooftops. The lamp poles lining the city streets were all decorated in Christmas wreaths and lights. It was a sight that made me smile like a schoolgirl in awe.
“My place is about thirty minutes outside of town.”
I looked back to Ian. “Your place?”
He nodded at the same time he squeezed my hand in his.
“How often do you come up here?”
He pushed out a breath. “Not often enough.”
I shook my head. “If I owned a place out here, you’d never get me to leave.”
“You grew up on the East Coast, and yet you’ve never been out this way?”
I shook my head. “I grew up in East Hartford. Not the worst place to live, necessarily, but we struggled. My mother could sometimes take us to New York, especially during the holiday season, but that’s because we could take the train. Getting out here would’ve been nearly impossible in her beat up Oldsmobile. You probably have no idea what an Oldsmobile even is,” I laughed.
“I’ve heard of them,” he chided with a sideways grin.
Call me crazy but I liked this side of Ian Zerlinger. The softer, joking side.
We rode in silence the rest of the way. I suspected Ian was letting me take in the sights of the neighboring towns and people dressed in their high snow boots and thick coats, bracing themselves against the winter chill. When we turned up a long, uphill driveway I knew we’d arrived at Ian’s place. Something he owned could be guarded by such a huge iron gate that only he had the access code to. However, I had no idea just how magnificent his place would be until we finally reached the top of the hill.
My eyes widened at the sight of the three story, log-cabin style home. From the outside, I couldn’t tell how many rooms it encompassed, but safe to say it was plenty.
“Is someone else staying here?” I questioned, noting that all the lights were on.
“I had my staff ready the house for our arrival. They’ve made sure it’s warm, the refrigerator is stocked, wood is piled high for the fireplace, and—”
“Anything else we could think of,” I added.
“Which includes plenty of your favorite spiked eggnog.”
I grinned widely. “Well, why didn’t you start with that?” I grabbed Ian’s awaiting hand to get out of the car. “Lead the way.”
Ian gave some final instructions to our driver before guiding us to the front door. After entering the house code, he pushed the wooden door open and stood to the side to allow me to enter first. I entered and looked up, my breath instantly catching. The house looked spectacular from the outside, from the inside it was a dream. The home technically could be described as a log cabin but this had to be the mansion-style cabin because this was no rinky dink cabin in the woods. The home was three levels, and about ten feet from the entranceway were two spiraling staircases. Of course, the inside was wooden and all the furniture was rustic in style. But it’d all been decorated beautifully with Christmas decorations, including a huge tree in the cabin’s living room space off to the left.
I turned to Ian. “Your staff decorated, too?”
“Of course.”
He said it so casually.
“They did an excellent job.”
“I only hire the best. Let me take your suitcase.”
“I can carry it,” I tried to insist, but Ian gave me a warning glare that killed any further protest right on lips. I happily handed him my suitcase and my two other bags.
“I’ll put these in our room. Make yourself comfortable.”
I watched as he easily maneuvered the stairs with my suitcase and bags as well as his own duffel.
I unbuttoned the long, white coat—which Ian had insisted on picking out for me for this trip just before we left Seattle—and hung it on the coat rack next to the door. On instinct, I followed my nose down the hall and came upon the large kitchen. There was a note just behind a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies on the black, stone countertop.
I picked up the note and smiled as I read. It was addressed to Ian, of course, and explained that the food had been left warming in the oven for his arrival. Noting the mention of hot chocolate and marshmallows in the cupboard, I placed the note down and began rooting around for the sweet treats. I quickly found the Swiss Miss hot chocolate packets and the small marshmallows, and pulled down two mugs. Next, moving to the refrigerator I pulled out the half gallon of milk and poured some into a sauce pot that I found in another one of the cupboards. Ian had told me to make myself comfortable and I did so, as I prepared two cups of hot chocolate and loaded them with the marshmallows.
Just as I was finishing up, I turned to see Ian entering the kitchen.
“Here you go.” I handed him one of the mugs of hot chocolate.
“Thank you.”
I watched as he took a tip. “That’s good.”
“Right? Swiss Miss was my favorite on cold winter nights.”
“I remember.”
Pausing from bringing the mug to my lips, I twisted my neck. “Did you tell your staff to have Swiss Miss for me?”
“You said you liked it.” He brought the mug to his lips, staring at me over the edge of it as he took another sip.
If I hadn’t been drinking the hot chocolate I could’ve easily assumed the shiver that moved through my body was a result of being cold. When Ian stared deeply into my eyes in that way he only did whenever we were alone, my body always reacted the same way.
“Thank you,” I murmured just before taking another sip.
“Thank you,” he returned.
“For what?”
“If it hadn’t of been for you, I’d be letting this place go to waste another holiday season as I continued to pack in gala after gala after another holiday party over the next four and a half days.”
“You deserved some time off.”
“You deserved some time off. I’m just selfish enough to have you spend it with me. Let me show you around before we eat. I had the staff prepare a pot roast, roasted potatoes, and sautéed green beans. All of your faves.”
“I saw it on the note that was left.” I jutted my head to the counter.
Ian nodded before taking my hand and leading us out of the kitchen. He showed me the remainder of the first floor—which included two guest bedrooms, a full and a half bathroom, the dining area, study, and a living room space, which was where the Christmas tree had been set up. The second floor held the master suite along with another guest bedroom, a media room, and an office. The third floor held two more bedrooms, another full bathroom and half bath, as well as what I deemed would be some sort of play room for children, except it wasn’t fully decorated.
“What about the basement?” I asked once Ian lead us back into the kitchen.
Ian peered at me.
“I could tell from the outside that there was a basement.”
He hesitated, and I instantly knew that whatever was in the basement was something special to him.
“You’ve brought me this far, you might as well let me see the rest.” I moved and wrapped my arms around his waist, lifting on my tiptoes to plant a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Whatever he kept in the basement I wanted to see it because I wanted to know everything about this man. For what reasons I didn’t know. Our time together was supposed to be short. Hell, it wasn’t even supposed to include all that it had.
“Friends don’t keep secrets from one another,” I encouraged.
“Fine,” he replied, pushing out a harsh breath. He turned, leaving me to follow him down the hall where he stopped at a door that we had passed on our initial tour. Unlike the first time, this time I noticed the doorknob had a padlock for a keycode on it.
Ian turned to me. “The staff isn’t allowed down here,” he explained before entering the keycode.
I heard the door unlatch and Ian turned the knob, pushing the door open. Unlike when we first entered the house, Ian didn’t step aside and allow me to enter first. He moved more cautiously down the steps, leaving me to follow. And, naturally, I did so, although I couldn’t see much. That was until Ian flicked on the light switch, illuminating the entire downstairs.
The basement was different than the previous three floors. It wasn’t decorated in a rustic, woodsy style. The basement was unfinished with its cement floors and walls. However, the walls were lined with a number of clay pots, plates, bowls, vases, and more. All varying in shapes, sizes, and colors. I found myself drawn to the brightly colored vases that sat on the middle shelf at the far right of the basement. When I finally turned to see where Ian was, I noticed he was peering at me as he stood in front of something.
“What’s that?” I questioned, moving closer to him at the center of the basement.
Slowly, Ian moved to the side, allowing me to see the well-used pottery wheel. My eyes widened as I looked from the wheel to Ian and then to the various pots and vases that surrounded us. I also noticed, for the first time, an area even farther back that held an easel and painting supplies.
“You made all of these?”
Ian looked around as if examining his own work for the first time. Or, perhaps, seeing it through the eyes of someone new, for the first time.
“Yes.”
“These are beautiful, Ian,” I stated, honestly. “Can I?” I questioned as I moved toward another wall that held a variety of bowls.
I could see the uncertainty on his face but he nodded, granting me approval to take a closer look at his works. I marveled at the various bowls and pots that were so beautifully sculpted. I peered at the different designs that had been painted in an array of colors. My favorites were the paintings that featured outdoor scenery. I completely halted any movement when I spotted a particularly large plate that was sitting upright. The plate had been painted with a breathtaking scenery of what I presumed to be a scene from a movie. It featured snow-covered pine trees as children sled down a hill from a mountain top.
“Y-you painted this?” I questioned, my eyes still captivated by the stunning detail of the painting.
“You asked me that already,” Ian’s voice retorted just behind me.
My body naturally eased backwards into his embrace as he wrapped his arms around me.
“I know but … I had to ask again. These are breathtaking, Ian.” I spun around and cupped his handsome face in between my hands. I pulled his head down until our lips fused together. “You are so talented. You said you loved art and I could tell it was a passion of yours, but I never suspected all of this.” I waved my hand out, gesturing to the works surrounding us.
“It’s not something I advertise.”
“Why not? You’re so great at it. If I had talent like yours, I’d tell the world.”
“Not if you had my father,” he mumbled before attempting to walk away.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Are you ready to eat?” he asked, moving back toward the staircase.
“Hey,” I called, reaching for his hand.
He stopped and turned to me.
“What do you mean by that comment about your father?”
Ian sighed. “I told you what he said about friends, right?”
I nodded.
“So just imagine his response when his fourteen-year-old son tells him that he wanted to pursue a career in art.”
“I’d assume that conversation didn’t go over well.”
Ian huffed. “Damn near tried to take out my other eye.”
I gasped.
Ian smirked a little. “Not literally, but he came damn close. Either way, he quickly let me know that no son of his was going to waste his fucking life begging for handouts while waiting for his big break to come as an artist. He let me know my sole purpose in this life was to carry on the Zerlinger mantle. Along with my older brother, of course.”
The words flowed so freely from Ian—as if they didn’t hold any weight whatsoever—but I could see the line in his forehead as he talked, and the look in his eye, and the lowered tone of his voice. His father’s lack of support had taken something from Ian. Something that could never be replaced. But it hadn’t broken him.
I took one last look around the basement.
“But you still kept your passion alive.” Strangely, I felt proud of Ian for doing so in the face of such supreme opposition from the person who should’ve been encouraging him to follow his dreams.
“No wonder you’re so surly,” I stated later, as we ate our dinner in front of the fireplace.
I grinned when Ian’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. He angled his head, narrowing his gaze. My nipples pebbled beneath the sweater and lacy bra I wore.
“Surly …” He trailed off as if thinking over the adjective I’d assigned him. “I prefer straight to the point.”
I shook my head. “No. You were surly and mean. I was trying to be polite.”
“Fine. I was an ass. We’ve established that.”
I smiled, satisfied with his admission. “But now that I realize it wasn’t totally your fault, I forgive you.”
I giggled when Ian suddenly pulled me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me. “You forgave me weeks ago.”
I sighed, but remained silent, not wanting to fully admit that he was correct. Ian was harsh upon first meeting him, but it didn’t take long to realize there was more beneath the surface with him.
“Hmmm,” I moaned, tilting my head backwards when I realized that Ian was massaging small circles into my scalp—something he often did late at night while we were in bed together. In fact, he often found one reason or another to put his fingers in my hair.
“Why do you like playing in my hair so much?” I questioned as my eyes drifted shut.
“I like it. It’s … you.”
I opened my eyes and turned to face him. “What do you mean it’s me?”
“Exactly what I said. When we first met, you were like everyone else. You plastered on a fake smile—”
“It wasn’t fake. I was doing—”
“Your job. I know. And you enjoy your job, so in that sense, yes, it was real. But it wasn’t genuine. It was the smile and presentation you gave everyone else. The same presentation you thought was acceptable given your surroundings and it was fine. For everyone else. But this …” his hand went to my hair again, stroking a few short curls, tenderly, “this is what you wear when you get a chance to just be you. It’s genuine.”
I lowered my lashes, letting his heartfelt words settle. He was right, although I’d never thought of it that way. I wore my hair, makeup, and the uniform of my job a certain way because that was what was expected. I’d been taught to cover up and smile and create a pretty picture to the outside world, even when you didn’t feel like it, at a very young age.
“I was nine when my mother met my stepdad,” I began as I leaned my head against Ian’s shoulder, snuggling into his warmth. The crackling of the fire in front of us was the only sound for a long while.
“Keep going,” he encouraged.
“My mother was young when she had me. Only nineteen. My father was her high school boyfriend. But when she told him she was pregnant, he told her it was her problem, and basically that was that. My mother made the decision to have me on her own and she struggled because of it. She worked as an administrative assistant and was just barely able to make ends meet, but we were okay … for the most part. When she received bonuses is when she would take me on trips into the city. We didn’t have much but we were close. At least, until she met her husband, William. He’s about ten years older than she is. They met at work. He’s a CFO at a major corporation in New York. From there on out, he ran the show. It no longer became okay for me to wear mismatched socks out in public, or sneakers that were old and kind of run down, or for my hair to be out of place because I’d been playing all day. We were the family of a man with power and money and had to look it. Within a year, they were married and a few months later, my mother was pregnant with my younger brother, Raymond. Once he came, my mother became consumed with all of the duties of being a stay-at-home mother, ensuring that her youngest had the best of everything. She didn’t forget about me, per se, but aside from making sure that I always well put together and went to the best schools, she neglected to check-in with me as much. You know? Just to see how I was coping with all of the changes, or normal life changes and growing up. As long as I smiled and looked okay on the outside, it was all good.”
“It’s the nature of the world we come from,” Ian said after a short while. “Look the part. Perform. Achieve. That’s what I was taught since before I can remember. Nothing else mattered but achieving and earning more power. My mother did exactly as my father wanted. Put us in the best schools, dressed us in the best of everything, and made my brother and I available to him for business meetings and lessons whenever he demanded. Theirs wasn’t a marriage so much as it was a business negotiation. She gave him what he wanted and she got to live the life she’d become accustomed to, growing up the heiress of a former luggage company. After a while it becomes difficult to differentiate between the real and the fake. That’s the real reason why I don’t have many friends. Because my father was right, as far as his world was concerned. Most of the people I came in contact with growing up would smile in your face one day and slit your throat, or have someone do it for them, the very next day if it meant they could gain something from it.”
I sighed. “It’s a terrible way to live.”
Ian grunted before pressing his lips to my forehead.
“Thank you for sharing with me, friend.”
I didn’t expect Ian to respond, so I was surprised when he replied with, “Anytime.
“I almost forgot.”
I lifted my head from his shoulder to give him a curious look. A knowing smile passed over Ian’s lips. Out of the corner of my eye I saw his right arm raise. I looked up and smiled when I saw what he held in his hand.
“We’re under the mistletoe.”
“That we are,” I agreed before leaning in and fusing my lips with Ian’s.