Page 107 of Chandelier Sin
Sliding open the glass door, I stepped inside and was met by the refreshing scent of lemon and sandalwood. I stood there for a moment in his well-cared for home, inhaling the world of Atticus Sinclair. His cozy living room featured a luxurious couch that would be easy to fall asleep on.
I walked farther in to explore more of his domain.
Strange how the things you believed you’d never do could become yet another thread in the fabric of your morally gray existence.
His kitchen was all stainless-steel appliances and Spanish tiles.A central marble island had a blue glass vase in the middle of the countertop, and at one end a stack of magazines and yesterday’s copy of theL.A. Times.
This was the kind of atmosphere that would be fun to hang out in.
I found only a few items inside his fridge—a couple of bottles of Modelo beer, some low-fat milk, and some left-over fettucine. I wanted to go grocery shopping for him and fill it with organic fruits, fine cheeses, and gourmet meals.
I wanted to spoil him.
A compelling thought to have for someone I hardly knew.
It surprised me that Atticus could be satisfied with such a small place. Then again, I’d always lived in vast houses, and they’d never felt like home.
Curious to see the second floor, I climbed the stairs. This was a modest sanctuary that reflected his personality. Like these black and white photos on the walls of the stairwell, taken at a lavish masked ball. I had to wonder if they were taken at the mythical Chrysalis.
No indication of an interior designer. It made this home feel real.
Like Atticus.
I liked being close to him again.
On his bedside table sat a well-worn copy ofThe Sun Also Risesby Ernest Hemingway, and beneath that lay a stack of books includingThe Princeby Niccolò Machiavelli,The Art of Warby Sun Tzu, and alsoThe 48 Laws of Powerby Robert Greene.
He appeared well-read and for some reason that made me smile.
Beside the books sat an electric clock, its digits flashing like the power had been cut. I resisted the urge to reset it.
Draped over the end of the bed was what looked like a fake fur throw. I ran my hand over it and then onto the navy-blue duvet, admiring its softness, and imagining him sitting up against the headboard and reading late into the night.
I wondered who might be lucky enough to sleep beside him.Looking around for evidence of a female presence, I didn’t see anything.
Inside his walk-in closet, I ran my hand along his neatly lined jackets, all of them well-made. The impressive labels proved he dressed in understated elegance when not wearing scrubs.
His Bottega Veneta suit hung regally on its own, as though waiting for the gentleman to return. It was the one he’d worn the night I’d met him. Caressing the fabric between my index finger and thumb, it reminded me of the way he’d made me feel during the first few minutes after we’d met.
My attention fell on the middle aisle. A console showcased a collection of fine watches. I lifted the glass top and reached in to retrieve one of them, examining the Bulova, admiring its quartz Marine Star. Turning it over, I read the inscription on the back that saidNitimur in Vetitum,signedCRC.
A female admirer?
I didn’t do stuff like this—invading the privacy of others. I’d never had a reason to enter a stranger’s home and go through their things. Usually, I was stuck in my own world and rarely left the confines of my house.
But I wanted to know everything about Sinclair.
A blue Ralph Lauren shirt lay thrown over the back of a corner armchair, as though Atticus had been in a hurry and had discarded it there. I lifted it to my nose and breathed him in, savoring the luxurious scent of the fine material.
Him.
A familiar fragrance of burning sunrises and scorching moments, evoking a multitude of emotions, somehow, someway, connecting me to him.
I was transported back to those first few seconds when I’d heard his voice in the wine cellar, bringing a rare passion to my existence.
He was intoxicating.
I placed the shirt the way I’d found it.
