Chapter 7
7
Victoria
No matter how hard I tell myself I shouldn’t be walking this way, I can’t stop my feet from carrying me in the direction I’m heading.
The old boathouse sits at the far edge of the estate. A forgotten structure that has long been left abandoned and replaced by a new building closer to the house.
No one comes here.
Which is why when I saw him walking in this direction, I couldn’t help but follow.
The first thing I see as I round the path is peeling white paint. Ivy also crawls up one side as if trying to reclaim it for nature.
The next thing I notice is him.
My heart sputters in my chest with excitement. I knew he would be here, of course, but his presence still takes my breath away.
You got it bad, Victoria.
I blame my sheltered life.
In all my seventeen years on this planet, stuck in this gilded cage, I’ve never met a boy like him. One who awakens feelings inside me that I’ve never had before.
Speaking of the devil…
There he is.
Lorenzo is currently crouched near the door. One hand braces the splintered frame, and the other grips a screwdriver with the kind of focus I usually reserve for surviving dinner with my parents.
“What are you doing?” I ask, slipping past him.
“Trying not to lose a finger,” he mutters. “Door sticks. Figured I’d fix it before it caves in and takes someone with it p>
“What a hero,” I say. “Next, you’ll be rescuing cats from trees and winning humanitarian awards p>
He doesn’t look up. “That was the original plan p>
“Bet you love it p>
He looks up then. Eyes dark and unreadable. “Maybe… Do you p>
“You know that no one comes in here, right? You’re wasting your time p>
His shoulders lift into a shrug. “I got nothing else to do on my day off, so I might as well keep busy p>
“You’re fixing a door on your day off p>
“Not everyone is allowed to use the pool p>
I’m not even sure how to respond to that, so I don’t. Instead, I drop onto the dusty bench near the back window. Sunlight filters through warped panes, bringing a strange dimension to the space. It’s almost cinematic how the light bounces around, making his silhouette dance across the floor in shadows.
Not wanting to be caught staring, I reach into the bag I brought when I thought I was heading to the beach and pull out a book.
“Wuthering Heights?” Lorenzo asks, and I lift my gaze to find him squinting at the book cover.
“Have you read it p>
“No p>
“Then don’t knock it. It’s not all corsets and rain p>
“I didn’t say anything p>
“You made a face p>
He takes the book from my hands and turns it over to examine it. “This is what you think I want to read? Doomed love p>
“I think you’re broody enough to qualify as a Brontë character.” I shrug. “Besides, it’s not about love. It’s about obsession. And consequence. And class.” The moment the words pour from my mouth, his eyes narrow. Shit. What did I say? Oh… I want to bury myself in a hole for speaking about class. Way to put your foot in your mouth.
“Is this supposed to be relevant p>
“Relevant?” Smart, Victoria… play dumb.
“Relevant as in, talking to you… or the fact that I’m not supposed to p>
“Who said that p>
“Everyone p>
My eyes widen. Did my parents say something? Shit. “Calm down. Just other members of the staff. Your secret is safe for now p>
“My secret p>
“That you don’t mind talking to the staff p>
I open and then shut my mouth, not really knowing what to say. “Who would I be in this story… since it’s so relevant p>
“I never said it was relevant. You did p>
“Heathcliff p>
“Again… you said that. Not me p>
“Just answer p>
I hesitate, then sigh. “That depends on how you end it p>
He tilts his head. “You think I’m going to destroy everything and haunt the girl p>
“I think you could,” I respond quietly. “But I don’t think you will p>
That shuts him up for once.
He finishes fixing the door.
I lean back on the bench until my back hits the wall behind me, arms crossed, watching him like he’s a puzzle I want to solve. If only there were a cheat code.
“Do you read?” I ask.
“Of course I read,” he huffs.
Is it possible for me to sound like a bigger bitch? I keep saying shit I don’t mean and look like an idiot. I chalk it up to nerves. Lorenzo has me wrapped in knots, but jeez, I need to think before I speak. “I meant for pleasure. Not everyone does p>
“When I can steal the time p>
I stretch my arm out to place the book in his hand. “You could read this p>
He flips to the first page. His gaze drifts over the words before he closes it and hands it back. “Or you could read it to me p>
That catches me off guard. “Seriously p>
He nods. “You brought it. Might as well commit p>
I stare at him for a long second, then open the book.
“Chapter one,” I start. “1801. I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary neighbor that I shall be troubled with p>
He chuckles. “Sounds familiar p>
Lorenzo stands, then does something that takes me completely by surprise. He plops down on the bench next to me.
“You haven’t even met my neighbors p>
“I meant you.” He laughs. The sound does crazy things to my belly, but rather than focus on that, I playfully roll my eyes. “Well, what are you waiting for? Keep reading p>
So I do.
We sit there for almost an hour. Each word hangs in the air, heavy and weighted. The longer I read, the closer he gets, and at some point, he’s right beside me. Only a breath away. Our bodies almost touch, and I want desperately to cross the space.
I don’t, though. I read. He listens.
Occasionally, he asks questions. Most are dry and sarcastic. “Why is everyone in this book miserable?” or “Has anyone ever made a good decision on the moors p>
It’s easy. Too easy. And I like it. Which is probably why I start to feel something close to nervous. Not because I don’t know what I’m doing. But because, for once, I don’t care. I’m playing with fire being here with Lorenzo, but I don’t care.
“Why did you come here today?” His voice is soft, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to me.
I look up from the book and at him. “Here p>
“The boathouse that is clearly abandoned, as you pointed out earlier p>
I consider what to say. To be honest? Or not? I opt for a half-truth.
“Because this place is real. And you’re not boring.” I don’t say I followed him, but it’s implied.
He snorts, having the courtesy of not calling me out. “High praise from the glass tower p>
“Don’t mock me, Lorenzo p>
“I’m not.” He looks at me. Really looks. “I like that you read books and talk back and don’t flinch when someone tells you no p>
“Is that a compliment p>
He shrugs. “Don’t let it go to your head p>
“Too late. You ever think we’re just the background to someone else’s story?” I ask.
“Everyday. Especially when I’m working in the kitchen,” he says. “But otherwise, when I’m not in this house, I’m the main character p>
“Of course you are p>
He smirks. “So are you, Little Bird p>
“You keep calling me that like you think it’s charming p>
“Not charming.” He lifts his brows. “But true p>
I don’t have a comeback. So instead, I open the book again.
Because it’s easier to lose myself in someone else’s storm than admit I’m standing in the middle of my own.