Page 25 of In Love with Lewis Prescott
“I’m glad that the money will help,” Lewis says after a moment.
The question that popped in my head earlier today resurfaces. Part of me knows it’s none of my business to ask. But the other part of me is bold enough to forge ahead due to the nearly full glass of Riesling I’ve just downed.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.” His gaze remains on the hillside, and I’m mesmerized by the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows his drink. All that golden skin and stubble, all those thick veins gliding along that even thicker throat...
I blink.
Stop being such a creep, Harper.
“How come you made the donation anonymous?” I ask.
He turns his head to me, but his expression is unreadable.
“I mean, I totally get that you’re a private person, but if you had attached your name to your donation, people would have noticed,” I explain. “And I think it would have gone a long way in helping them forget about the bad press you’re enduring right now.”
He doesn’t say anything at first, only staring at his socked feet.
“I’m not really about that. Doing things for show, I mean.” His tone is low and soft, but there’s an edge to it. I notice he’s clenching his jaw too.
I instantly regret my question. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to suggest that...”
He shakes his head, his expression easing. He’s still not looking at me, though.
“Really, Lewis. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way,” I say in a soft tone. “It’s just that the whole point of you hiding out here is to create some distance between you and what happened on your old show and at Chateau Marmont. I thought that publicizing the donation would help with that, but you’re right. I guess it could come off the wrong way to some people.”
My shoulders fall forward as I focus on the rim of my wineglass. When I face him again, I’m taken aback at the look on his face. He’s staring at me with wonder. Or shock maybe? And there’s an intensity I don’t remember seeing before.
“What is it?” I ask.
The corner of his mouth hooks up. I notice that happens almost every time he’s caught off guard. I decide right then and there it’s the most endearing physical quirk I’ve ever seen.
“It’s gonna sound ridiculous,” he says.
“Well, now you have to tell me.”
He chuckles. “It’s just that you were really quick to apologize for something that honestly wasn’t a big deal at all.”
“Okay...”
“I’m used to people saying ‘sorry’ like it’s a reflex but not really meaning it—more like to appease me because they want to get something out of me. It’s refreshing to be around someone who seems genuine down to the bone.”
“Down to the bone,” I repeat.
He shrugs as a laugh falls from his lips. “Maybe that was a weird way of putting it.”
“No, I love it.”
He points to my empty glass. “More?”
“Actually, I’d be up for something harder. You wanna switch to some vodka with me?”
“Absolutely.” He hops up and slips back inside, returning with two fresh glasses in one of his massive hands and a frosty bottle of vodka in the other.
“ApongBernie—my grandpa—always told me that the most important thing you could ever be in life is honest and true,” I say as Lewis pours me a glass. “That’s always stuck with me. And I guess I just try to do my best to live that way.”
“Sounds like your grandpa was a stand-up guy.”
