Page 41 of Envy

“Don’t you exercise for a living? This should be a piece of cake.” She shakes her head at me in mock disappointment

“Yeah, well, you’re not the one who had to carry all those books we bought at Hatchards after that tea … those sandwiches wouldn’t satisfy a two-year-old.”

“I can’t believe we went to Hatchards!” she says excitedly.

After I took her to Fortnum and Mason’s, we walked next door to Hatchards, the UK’s oldest bookstore.

I only knew about it because Apollo had been going through a phase a couple of years ago when she read nothing but historical romance. And this bookshop was mentioned all the time. Even after more than two hundred years of operation, it’s very much like any Barnes and Noble in terms of its inventory.

Otherwise, the building is nearly untouched since it opened its doors more than two hundred years ago. The moss green exterior, large bay windows with wooden frames and the huge royal Warrant over its door make it look like something out of a Charles Dickens novel.

For book lovers like Apollo and me, it was a must see. We climbed up the original staircase to the third floor to take a picture on the famous tufted green leather sofa that sits with its back facing the window. We sat and stared at the feast of books in front of us and listened to the hubbub of the Piccadilly behind us. It had been a great day over all.

Except that I almost kissed Apollo. I know it’s stupid to be so prudish about this shit. I’ve been out of there for six years. But Mama reminds me almost every time I see Apollo that I need to finish school. That Apollo is still a girl.

So, I’ll wait. But once I finish my degree and get my master’s, I can get a good job.

I have a plan. From teaching to administration. And then, I’d have a salary that could make us comfortable. We’d still have to fly economy, but I could afford a hotel in London and a meal at The Savoy.

I could have picked a more lucrative career path, but I really want to teach. Reading a book is what put me in the right place at the right time when the sun fell from the sky and needed me to rescue her. And before that, my book was the hope I clung to even when I thought the world had forgotten I existed. I want to give that to other children.

Apollo believing I can makes me think I can, too. Now, it’s not just an idea. It’s a conviction. I wish the path was a little smoother, but nothing worth having is easy to attain. And Apollo is worth everything.

Interrupted

Apollo

“We’re almost there. Come on,” he says and looks back to his phone. I let him lead me, content to be able to watch him as he tries to follow the directions on the maps app on his phone, instead of trying to figure out where we’re going and take the chance to feast my eyes on him.

After he left Cain’s Weeping, we exchanged letters, books, and phone calls for three years before we saw each other again.

When I got back from my trip to Fredericksburg that summer, the first thing I did was drop that letter in the outgoing mail of the hotel’s concierge.

Maman was home. She seemed better. And for a while after we got back, she was.

We still lived in one of the penthouses of the Locklear Casinos. My father’s younger brother was now the head of the organization. The first decision he made was that they should move their corporate headquarters to Delaware. So, they did. He, my cousin Josh, his wife, and their dogs, all moved, too.

It was just Maman and me. We rubbed along okay. We spent a lot of time together. But we never talked about Papa and Arti. On my birthday in October of that year, she had a panic attack. The first of many that resulted in long bouts of agoraphobia and depression. The first one lasted nearly an entire month.

She didn’t leave her room, except to use the bathroom. She needed me to

do everything, and she didn’t want anyone else in the apartment.

I became Mama’s companion, caretaker, maid, and cook. She hired a teacher to school me at home, and we almost never left the house. When Graham’s first letter arrived more than a year after I’d last seen him, it had been a lifeline. Even though we couldn’t visit each other yet, we wrote constantly, shared books, and talked on the phone.

I remember being so afraid that the memories I had of him were based on a childish fantasy that he couldn’t possibly live up to in person.

Instead, he was even more incredible.

He’d been a beautiful boy.

As a man, he’s devastatingly handsome. Thanks to his devotion to the gym, his six-foot-four frame has gone from lanky to ripped and broad. His closely cropped dark blond beard hides the dimples that give his smile an air of innocence.

Now, when he shares a wide, full mouth smile, it’s nothing but sexy. Whenever it’s aimed at me, my knees go weak. But my favorite thing about Graham are his stormy gray eyes that are like a gravitational force. They ground me. When he looks at me, I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

And then there’s that hair. Once when I teased him about growing it to impress me, he’d told me that it was the only way he could sleep.

He had nightmares about the day his head was shaved. When he started growing it, he’d started sleeping better. He said it reminded him that he was the master of his own destiny.

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