Page 152 of Masked Sins
“What about Sparrow?”
“You’re not staying at your house tonight. The paint fumes still need a day to air out.”
My brow creases in confusion. “What paint?”
He smirks, but we’re peeling away at the green light before he answers.
Once we arrive at my house, he parks his bike in my driveway. I remove the helmet and adjust my crossbody bag, and then he removes a familiar black box from a storage compartment on the side of his bike.
“Hey,” I tease, snatching the belated birthday present from his hands. “Did you take this from your apartment?”
His lips tug into a devilish smile. “Didn’t you know that presents are meant to be opened?”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I was waiting for the perfect time.”
“Which is when we get inside.”
“Fine.”
He chuckles as we make our way to the front door. I remember the last time we were here last week. How we had a moment of something.
He waits for me to unlock the door, and when I do, cool air greets me.
“Ah,” I say, smiling, walking over to the thermostat. I turn it off since I won’t be staying the night. “You know I’m going to pay you back, right?” I ask, referring to the new unit he had installed for me.
“Sure.” His arms are crossed, and he’s standing by the hallway looking… nervous? “Come here. I want to show you something. Bring your present.”
Setting my bag down, I carry the black box to the first door. My library. Also known as, the bane of my existence. Orion switches the light on, and I nearly drop the box.
The walls are painted a robin’s egg blue, which reminds me of Felicity. I picked it out six months ago because of that, but of course hadn’t had time to actually paint other than half a wall.
The dark wood built-in shelves that line the room are stained with a gorgeous walnut color, but that’s not what catches my attention.
The shelves are carefully organized by author.
He did this. He organized my books.
Emotion catches in my throat as I walk around, taking everything else in. Fairy lights are delicately draped along the top of the shelves, casting a gentle glow that dances off the books and gives the room a magical ambience. In one corner, a plush reading chair with oversized pillows beckons, all in muted tones of cream and white that complement the wall color. A throw blanket is casually draped over one side.
A small wooden side table holds a few miscellaneous books, and a floor lamp with a soft yellow shade stands nearby. A thick Persian rug covers the floor, somehow complementing the blue, brown, and cream. A few houseplants are strategically placed around the room on various shelves.
My eyes brim with tears by the time I turn to face Orion. “You did this?”
He dips his chin and points at the black box in my hands.
I sit down on the chair and untie the satin ribbon. Then I lift the lid. Inside is something wrapped in bubble wrap, and my hands are shaking as I turn it over and over, revealing?—
I gasp.
“Oh my God.”
The Phantom of the Opera.
“A first edition?” My shaking hands flip to the copyright page, and sure enough…
Press of Braunworth & Co. Bookbinders and Printers Brooklyn, N. Y.
First Edition, 1909.
