Living Out Loud (Austen, #3)(92)
In the park, that sparkling magic remained, so in we went, looking for a knoll where we could build a snowman. Greg had even brought charcoal briquettes, a moth-eaten old scarf for his neck, and a carrot for his nose. It didn’t even matter that he was a little lopsided and his middle briquette button wouldn’t stay on. He was one of the most perfect things I’d ever seen.
We took two selfies with my little camera, our snowman, Kevin, photobombing us like the joker he was, and the second our pictures were safely stowed, Greg chased me, pelting me with snowballs while I squealed, scrambling for handfuls of snow that I threw blindly behind me, my feet slipping around like a baby deer until I fell.
I rolled over onto my back, laughing so hard, I could barely breathe. When Greg tried to help me up, I pulled with all my weight, and he tumbled down on top of me, the two of us laughing until we were kissing, kissing until we didn’t feel the cold at all. And all the while, my heart thumped like a ticking clock, steady and reliable and sound.
I’d already grown used to the normalcy even though I’d never known it. The affliction I’d known all my life had all but disappeared, and more than anything, I found myself awed by the real understanding of how everyone else lived.
To Greg’s we went so he could change into his suit and get his bag, and by cab, we made it to the apartment where my family was waiting to hear the recount of the audition. And when I changed and packed a bag of my own for our vaguely named overnight trip, my family caravanned all the way down to Delmonico’s for dinner.
The building was a striking brick wedge that filled the triangular space of a split street, the entrance to the restaurant at the juncture. The inside was just as incredible, rich and decadent, with dark wood–paneled walls and deep colors that gave it a very old-boys’-club feel. And though I was destined to a life of eating well for my heart’s sake, I cheated and ate a filet mignon that melted in my mouth in a way that I’d had no idea meat was capable of.
My family was happy, I was happy, and Greg was at my side, smiling.
Nothing could have been more perfect.
A few hours later, Greg and I were in a cab, headed into Midtown, snug and warm and quiet, my body curved into his, his hand on my thigh, my head resting in the crook of his neck. We never stopped touching, not in the cab, not through dinner, his hands and my hands twined together, fingers shifting, hearts thrumming the same note like they ran on their own frequency. And every time our eyes met, it was accompanied by a spark of anticipation.
Because tonight was another night of firsts.
When the car came to a stop at the curb of The Plaza, I was caught in a rush of sights that overcame all other thought.
Crimson carpet lined the steps under the wide awning, soft and plush under my heels as we entered the building. The lobby was lovely, the floor a mosaic laid to look like a Persian rug, with a magnificent chandelier hanging over the center of the room. Tourists snapped photos, milling around and gaping like I was, but Greg and I didn’t stop for long.
We checked in at the front desk, our eyes meeting and agreeing silently that we didn’t belong, sharing a note of worry that they’d figure it out and boot us back through those gleaming brass doors and onto the sidewalk. Instead, they handed him keys and offered a smile, directing us to the elevators, and away we went, smiling like we’d gotten away with something.
Every detail spoke of another era, another time, from the caged elevators to the frescos on the walls. And down the hall we walked, hand in hand, to our room.
It was as rich and lovely as the rest of the hotel, dominated by the bed, which was piled up with pillows and framed by an elegant gilded headboard.
Greg set our bags next to the dresser and turned to me, his eyes touching on my face with desire and restraint, with devotion and reticence. And for a moment, he didn’t move other than the rise and fall of the broad expanse of his chest as he drank me in.
But the weight of his gaze didn’t calm my mind, which was three steps ahead of where it should be. The stillness sent uncertainty trickling through me, the quiet moment before we began, the anticipation cold and heavy and distant, as it was consuming, waiting for the starting bell with every nerve on alert.
Knowing me as he did, he recognized the tightening of my nerves from across the room. My mind’s train had run away, and the smile he offered pulled the brakes with the skill and ease only he possessed.
His long legs paced him into my space, where I always wanted him, and the moment he was close enough, he brought his fingers to my jaw, tracing it with a feather’s touch.
“Are you afraid?” he asked simply, honestly.
“No,” I answered with the same regard. “I just don’t know what to do.” The words slipped into a whisper.
His eyes, touched with protection and longing, looked into mine and saw all of me, to the depths of my soul. “Are you sure you’re ready? Because I’m in no hurry. I’d wait forever for you, Annie.”
I knew that to be an absolute truth.
Nerves flitted around the cage of my ribs, landing, then taking flight, then landing again as I took a breath and spoke the words I’d rehearsed for so long.
“I want this first to be ours, just as I want the rest of my firsts to be ours. I know…I know that I’m young, and even though I don’t know much about love, I know what it is at its very center. Love gives itself without condition or expectation simply because it must. Love is devotion, and I find myself devoted to you, body and soul. I love you. As little as I know, that is the thing I am most certain of.”