Page 87 of From West, With Regret

“It’s your studio.” He steps farther into the room. He wanders past me, admiring the view before moving in front of the table. He runs his fingers over the unopened packs of charcoal, then lifts his gaze to mine. “If you want it to be yours, of course.”

“I don’t…” I quiver, unable to comprehend that he did all of this for me.

His brows pinch with worry.

“No, no, I didn’t mean that. I just meant I don’t know what to say. This is…”

His thick shoulders sag with relief.

“I was tired of watching you in that little closet,” he says. “You deserve better. A studio where you can thrive and create. I don’t know if this one is worthy of you.” He massages the back of his neck. “You have no idea how difficult it was not to pick up the phone and tell Asher I wanted to buy whatever building he had available so you had all the space you could ever need.Other than the fact that I knew you wouldn’t want that, doing this was also a little selfish of me.”

“How?”

“If you want to use this as your studio, you’ll be closer to me. I’ll get more time with you this way.”

I look around in awe, not knowing what to look at first or second. It’s all too much, yet perfect at the same time. No one has ever done anything like this for me. It’s a grand gesture in a beautiful space, and I already know I’ll be able to get so much more work done here. Surrounded by the city and West all at once.

“I don’t deserve this, West,” I croak, tears still streaming down my face.

“You deserve the world, London.”

I cross the room as fast as my feet will carry me and leap into his arms. I wrap my legs around his waist and drape my arms around his neck. He catches me, wrapping his arms tightly around me. He inhales a sharp breath, and I stare into his blue eyes. Those kind blue eyes that I’m absolutely head over heels in love with.

“Thank you,” I whisper just above his mouth before claiming it.

Removing one hand from under me, he grips the back of my head, holding me to him.

His kiss consumes me, like pouring kerosene on an already raging fire. The feeling is vast, and while there are so many things still unclear, one constant remains:

West.

Everything about him feels right: my feelings, him, the bits and pieces of dreams. Fragments of what I think are memories that all lead to him: the necklace, the dirt-covered hands, the nickname that caused the spark of a flame in my mindlike a piece of flint.

It feels like free falling. I open my arms and let it swallow me up.

I pull away from West’s mouth and search his face, steeling myself for the words I want to say.

“I’m falling for you, Weston Knight.”

I already know I’m in love with him, but something keeps me from committing to saying it out loud. As if saying it will throw some bad karma out into the world, and all of this will just fade away, like the memories I’ve lost.

“I’ve already fallen for you. A million times over,” he muses, and my heart explodes.

I look around the room, still in West’s arms, and if I ever thought I was happy before, I was wrong.

So wrong.

This is much, much more.

TWENTY-FOUR

LONDON

Hours later, I’m caught up in finishing my nineteenth piece for The Veiled Door.

West ran out a while ago to check on a few of his bars and stop by his office, promising he’d be back with lunch to spend the rest of the day wrapped up in me.

Part of me must admit that while I love the amount of space West has given me and being here in his place, surrounded by everything that makes up who he is, I miss the noise and company of the bar. I’ve grown close to Alden, Lewis, and Piper, among some of the other frequent customers. It’s an adjustment, and I know it will only take some time.

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