Page 74 of The Cruelty of Thorns

MYRA

A desperate need

THE FOYER OF Julianus’s house was warm and moody and furnished with a dark wooden bench and a round table on which sat an empty cut glass vase. I wondered about that, if he had someone who came in regularly and cleaned the house and filled the vase with flowers. From what I could see, the place appeared immaculate, no dustbunnies near the baseboards or cobwebs in the corners. Just a big, well-lived-in old house.

I followed him past the staircase to another arched doorway, this one topped with a wide transom with a stained glass insert. Below it were tall carved pocket doors which he slid open to reveal a spacious, paneled sitting room. The arched, floor-to-ceiling windows that faced the front of the house were also stained glass, flanked by heavy gold draperies. A low fire burned in the marble hearth, with an antique cherry wood seating group arranged in front of it. Julianus headed for the brocade settee and sat, taking my hand and pulling me down beside him.

“I feel like I’ve stepped back in time,” I said, looking around.

“It is very well-preserved. That’s what attracted me to the house.”

“Do you like old things?”

Despite his quick smile, there was a sadness in his eyes. “I like things that connect me to the past. Maybe someday I’ll let go of that and embrace this era, but for now this gives me comfort.”

It seemed a strange thing for a young man to say, but then, I reminded myself, he was European and probably grew up around historical buildings. Maybe this made him feel closer to home.

“I’d show you around, but the house can be very cold. This and my bedroom are the only rooms where the fireplace works.”

“I can imagine heating an old house this size would be an undertaking,” I agreed. “Is it just you living here?”

He nodded. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s a lot of house for one person, but I like large spaces. I’d feel claustrophobic in a small house.”

He was still holding my hand, and now raised it to his lips, his eyes holding mine while he planted a warm kiss across my knuckles. “You’re the first person I’ve ever brought here.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Surely there have been other women…”

He smiled. “Of course, but none I’ve cared to bring home. You…you’re special.”

I still couldn’t wrap my head around what he meant by that. A man like him, with his looks and obvious wealth, had probably met dozens of women in his life. He barely knew me. Why did he think I was special among all of them?

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I find that hard to believe.”

“That you’re special?”

“That you think I am.”

He leaned closer, his scent overwhelming me in the heated space. The whole room smelled of him, of his presence. Everywhere I looked I saw him, from the golden glow of the ceramic lamps to the thick patterned rug under foot to the leatherbound volumes on the bookcases that flanked the fireplace. It was all Julianus. This was who he was, how he lived his daily life. This is what he woke up to every day.

The thought of that made everything seem real finally. Before he had just been this fantasy to me, a lover I had conjured in my imagination. A drawing I had created from a fevered memory. This…this was reality, and it was coming at me too fast. I pulled my hand away and tried to stand, but the room spun around me and I collapsed back on the couch.

“Myra! Are you all right?”

He scooted back on the settee to give me room to lie back, his expression knotted with concern.

“I’m fine, really. Just a little light-headed.”

He frowned. “When’s the last time you ate?”

I thought about the abandoned muffin in the cafeteria this morning and grimaced. “Dinner last night…with you.”

“I should have taken you to get something to eat.”

“No, really, I’ll be fine. I think I have a pack of crackers in my purse.”

He reached down to pick up the purse where I had set it on the floor and handed it to me. I rummaged around inside and came up with the packet. It was a little crushed from being carried around for what was probably a month, but there were still a few whole crackers in there. My dad had always insisted I carry something to eat on me since I was bad about skipping meals. You’re too thin, Myra. You’ve got to eat more regularly.

I opened the packet and shoved a cracker into my mouth. “See? Eating.”

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