“You can’t do things like that,” I whisper, commanding myself not to levitate. “You’re the mayor now.”
“Watch me.”
Elijah might not have a single romantic notion about me, but he’s a good friend. God, why can’t that be enough? Why can’t I be satisfied? “Can I go now?”
After a long hesitation, he nods and I’m out the door a second later, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. As soon as I hit the bottom of the stairs, I’m calling the closest Uber, not wanting to have another encounter with Elijah outside the building. Maybe he’s right about romance ruining everything. I’m already trying to avoid him, aren’t I? My best friend. My other option is being in his company and pretending I don’t want to make out with him, though, so this is where I’m at right now. Out of choices.
Thankfully, my Uber pulls up within three minutes and I slink down in the backseat, letting out a shaky breath when we begin heading in the opposite direction of my apartment. In no time at all, the houses get bigger, more opulent. The parked cars turn expensive. I lower the back window of the car and salt air lands on my tongue. I’ve never been to Elijah’s mansion before and didn’t know the exact address, so I used the park across the street as my destination when I called the Uber. The driver lets me off outside now without a word and I stare at the three-story—home?—across the street. It sits on the corner, looking more important than any other mansion along the Battery. It’s white with a balcony on each level, decorated with black wrought-iron rails and pillars. Wind sweeps off the Ashley River and rustles the palm trees in quiet welcome.
I swallow and cross the road. The gate groans when I let myself into the courtyard, but I bury my wince. If the neighbors look out their windows at me, so be it. I’ve been putting up the owner of this house for months and he’s given me the damn key. I have a right to be here.
Briefly, I wonder what my mother would think. Or my grandmother. To know I’m about to walk into the Du Point mansion, pretty as I please, considering neither of them were allowed inside after what my mother did. Maybe it’s the eerily still night or the old-fashioned style of the house, but I’m hit with a sense of nostalgia. A sense that I’m righting a wrong done to the women of my family. That feeling keeps my chin held high as I unlock the door, cross the threshold and flip on the light—
My mouth drops open, heart going wild in my ears.
Light from an overhead chandelier sets the floors gleaming, like a lake of cherry wood fire. Staircases hold out their arms to me on either side of the massive foyer, an architectural welcome. The musky smell of disuse hangs in the air, but there’s an undercurrent of wealth. Professionally cleaned carpets and oiled wood and pine.
It’s extraordinary. No, it’s…more than that. Exquisite. Timeless.
I want to run back outside and slam the door.
Who has Elijah been kidding? He preferred my dusty, cluttered Christmas-themed apartment to this place? This…millionaire family man’s respite on the water?
No. No, he’s been avoiding his life. Back in his office, I had the fleeting realization that Elijah had been staying with me—in year-round Christmas—to avoid reality. And what happened with Naomi. That theory cements itself now. Hard. He’s been hiding away with me. I’ve been giving him an excuse to hide. A place to do it.
This is where he belongs. Not with me.
I’m holding him back.
My vision blurs as I close the door behind me. With the click still hanging in the air, I slump into a cross-legged position on the floor. Beneath my fingertips, the floor is smooth and rich, even through a layer of dust. This place is unfamiliar to me, yet I don’t feel like a stranger. Because it’s so Elijah, right down to the masculine class and robust ceiling beams. It’s a false sense of comfort, though, because he can’t have this place and me as a friend. It was easy to pretend in my out-of-the-way two-bedroom, but this? This is a life to be embraced.
There will be a wife and kids in this place one day. There might even be a chance for Elijah to win back Naomi. But not as long as I’m spending time with him. Causing people to whisper about us and speculate. Allowing him to avoid his future.
I’m hurting him. I have to let him go.
But not before I fix everything.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Elijah
Du Pont victorious in mayoral election despite Getaway Girl scandal.
Gets busy at his desk without delay!
—Southern Insider News
I pull up behind the moving truck and shift into park. In front of me, men are already hopping out of the front cab, putting on gloves and taking one final pull of their morning coffee. A man in coveralls throws me a salute, then rolls up the back hatch, probably waking up half the neighborhood. At least someone will be awake. I’m more zombie than human this morning.