Page 176 of I Was Always Yours (RCA: Royal Crown Academy)

The interior is just as beautiful as the exterior and I find myself exploring. I walk between adjoining areas through to the living room and then to the dining room.

The house is completely deserted and unfurnished. Clearly, it’s been uninhabited for some time, but it doesn’t give the impression of being unkempt.

I exit the dining room and weave across the hall to the next door. Opening it, I discover a beautiful private library with oak walls and built-in shelves.

All of the rows are bare except for one abandoned book, perfectly placed in the center of the shelf.

Curiosity means that I can’t just close the door and move on. I have to see which book it is. I walk over and reach for it, pulling it off the shelf and flipping it over to reveal its cover.

The Count of Monte Cristo.

Phoenix’s favorite book. He either bought a copy and placed it here or this one’s his. Based on the aging and signs of wear and tear lining the corners of the book, it’s his copy.

“I knew I’d find you in this room.”

I turn and Phoenix is standing there in the doorway, looking at me like no time has passed.

His physical appearance is another story. Anyone else would probably say he looks normal, handsome as usual, but I’ve gotten used to dissecting his every micro expression and I know that’s not real.

The giveaway is in the crease of his eyes and the stiffness of his closed mouth smile.He’s tired and unsure. Even though he’s the one who asked me here, he hesitates on the threshold.

Maybe this has been as hard on him as it has been on me.

As usual, his presence assaults my senses and I feel my heart start to beat faster. Especially when I take in the way the black t-shirt he’s wearing highlights his sinewy frame and tattooed arms. His hands are shoved into the front pocket of his jeans, every muscle in his biceps and forearms defined under the overhead light.

“Is this yours?” I ask, clearing my throat and holding up the book.

“Yes.”

“What’s it doing here?”

“This is my house.”

My gaze snaps up to meet his. “What?” I ask, looking around me incredulously.

Why would he buy this place?

“Actually, it’s our house, not mine. I had the paperwork drawn up in both of our names.”

“You bought a house? This house?” I repeat, dumbly. “Why?”

“Open the book.” He orders.

“Why? Phoenix, why did you ask me to come here?”

“Flip through the pages.” He directs, ignoring my question. His eyes are firmly fixed on the book.

I do as he says and open it, flipping through the pages, unsure of what I’m looking for until I see it.

My fingers brush against the dried petals and stems of the flowers I find stuck between the pages. They’re affixed to the pages, permanently obscuring the words they cover.

“Is this,” I start, looking back up at him in confusion, “the flower crown I gave you?”

His throat works and I have my answer.

He walks slowly up to me and I watch his approach with equal parts anticipation and caution.

“I kept it on my desk as long as I could, until the petals started falling off.” He reaches out and grabs the book from my hands. “I couldn’t get rid of it. Not then and not now. I could never have thrown it away becauseyougave it to me. I thought I could save it by pressing it, but I didn’t know you were just supposed to place it in a book. I added glue, don’t ask me why. When I went to check on it a couple of months later, the flowers were stuck to the pages.”

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