Ready For It
(Darcy)
I expect us to go back into the kitchen, instead Liam leads me into another room. It’s off one of his sitting rooms, and has a wall of glass with a glass door. Inside, it’s cool and the walls are lined with wine bottles. One wall is all white wine, the other all red.
“It’s to keep the different types at the correct drinking temperature,” he says as I crane my neck around.
“Of course,” I say.
Liam opens another glass door, and asks, “Pink or white?”
“Pink. Champagne, I assume?”
“Of course.” He pulls out a bottle of Champagne, which I recognize as Perrier-Jouet because they have my favorite labels of any bottle.
“For you,” he says, handing me a flute of pink bubbles.
“Cheers,” I say as I take it from him.
We leave the wine cellar, and sit in the opulent room beside it. One wall is the glass wall that separates the wine cooler area, another wall has several large windows with stunning views over Central Park.
Liam sits on the sofa, and I cuddle up beside him, my legs draped over his, my head on his shoulder. Everything feels so right, so perfect, and I have to keep reminding myself that this is real. Surprisingly, I don’t even have to remind myself once not to run away. Running is the last thing on my mind.
I trace my fingers over his tattoos on his exposed chest muscles, wondering how I got here from my crazy actions at the Fat Kok.
“I did something this afternoon,” he says.
“Oh? Like what?”
“I spoke with your friend, Kirsten.”
“Huh?” What the hell did he speak to her for?
“I made her promise she wouldn’t speak to you about our conversation, so don’t be mad at her. But I read online about your charity’s main donor pulling out, and I’ve replaced their donation, plus tripled it.”
I’m speechless, all I can do is suck on the rim of my Champagne flute.
He carries on, “According to her, that should be enough to fulfill all of the charity’s goals for this year, but I’ve told her I’d make another donation if necessary.”
“Holy shit,” I mutter. “Are you sure? I’m not sure I should take your money, just because, you know, we’re involved.”
“Sweetheart, of course you should. Think of all the people you’ll help,” he says, stroking my hair.
I can’t argue with him, he’s right. “Thank you,” I say, and kiss his cheek.
“But what I want to talk to you about, not necessarily now, is establishing a trust fund, so you’re not as insecure and dependent on donations.”
Shaking my head, I say, “That’s incredible. But so much money, please think it over. Maybe you’ll be tired of me in the morning, and realize you’ve been wearing… Champagne goggles.”
Liam throws his head back and chuckles, “I’d never get tired of you. How could I?”
With his hand, he squeezes my shoulder and pulls me tighter into him. If Liam is genuine about donating such a large amount, all my hopes and dreams for the charity would be achieved. When Tanner died, I struggled to find anywhere to turn to support me, but also give me answers about how this could happen to someone so young and healthy. The only way I could cope with my grief was the resolve to help other people in the same situation, and especially to help victims who were lucky enough to survive.
With such a large donation, all the hopes and goals I’d ever had for the charity are achieved. We fall into a silence while I process the idea. A calm comes over me, a sort of closure. It’s as though a chapter of my life has ended — one full of heartache and a scrambling need to cope with the grief any way I can — and I’m turning the page on a new one, unsure what I’ll find on it.
Before I can dwell too much on the meaning, I change the subject. “Your apartment is amazing.”
“Thanks.”
“No, seriously. Is it the biggest in the city, or what?”
Liam laughs again, “I don’t know, I’m not in the habit of comparing myself to others.”
Now I laugh, and glancing down at his exposed body say, “I guess you don’t need to enter any pissing contests, huh?”
His huge dick twitches at my words and the heat of my gaze.
“Not really,” he says.
Liam cups my chin, and brushes his lips against mine. I part my lips, and he closes his mouth over mine for a short kiss, before pulling away.
“I don’t like people knowing who I am, because then they’d know how much money I have and I’d be a target.” His voice is soft, concerned.
“A target for what?”
“Criminals who want to get their hands on my money.”
“There are so many people with lots of money, it doesn’t happen often.”
“It’s not a chance I’m willing to take.”
“But at what cost? You locking yourself up in here and not even letting anyone into your apartment? Your own doorman doesn’t even know who you are,” I say, gesturing around the room. I pause before adding, “And what about friends?”
Immediately I feel bad, like I’ve overstepped a line. But I want to say more. I want to know if he realizes how much of life he’s missing out on by locking himself up in his palace.
“I’ve let you into my home.” Liam smiles so broadly and earnestly at me that my heart melts, though his eyes are filled with sadness. I can’t resist brushing my lips against his cheek.
“I’m glad you did.” Although he didn’t really let me into his home, he dragged me into it kicking and screaming. Thankfully.
“I was serious earlier, when I said I want to enter into this relationship with full disclosure.”
“Well, I’m not going to do any blackmailing. I can promise you that much.”
“I know. I trust you, sweetheart. I really do. We’re meant to be together, I know it.”
A tear wells in my eye at Liam’s words. He’s so genuine, so full of tenderness toward me, that I can’t help but acknowledge my own intense feelings for him.
Wrapping my arms tightly around him and pressing my body against his, I say, “Okay then. Who are you really, Liam Jones?”