Love Beyond Words (City Lights: San Francisco Book 1) (15 page)

She took the glass, conscious of his nearness. The mere presence of him made her breath quicken. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he said, and then returned to his post behind the kitchen counter, as if it were some sort of protective barricade. Natalie had never seen him like this before. So out of himself. But then, she felt just as disoriented.
This place, but for the library, is not like him.
Another thought suggested that maybe she didn’t know him quite as well as she thought she did.
You don’t know him at all, do you?

Natalie retreated to the books.

She hadn’t noticed at first but the library was decorated with sculptures, paintings, and a small handful of exotic-looking knickknacks, artfully arranged. African wood carvings shared shelf space with brightly-colored porcelain animals that brought to mind South America. A sumptuous oil painting of a man and a bull, high above one bookshelf, appeared vaguely Eastern European.
Croatian,
she guessed.
And his mother is Colombian.
She smiled faintly.
Maybe from Cartagena, like Mendón.

A figurine on one of the bookshelves caught Natalie’s eye.

It was a bright blue pony—electric blue, like a pure summer sky—done in delicate blue porcelain, and big enough to hold in two hands. Swirls of yellow and white dotted its body in nickel-sized spirals, and it wore a saddle and bridle of melted gold. Natalie recognized it instantly.

“Oh, hey!” she laughed. “This is exactly like the pony figurine Karina buys at that Argentine market in
Above.
You know, that Mendón book I love so much?”

Natalie ran her finger down the horse’s muzzle. Out of her periphery, Julian had frozen and was watching her intently.

Natalie looked beyond the figurine to the books behind it. “
Exactly
like the one Karina…”

She cocked her head and peered at the items on this particular shelf. There were no regular novels but sets of black and white composition books, bound together with rubber bands. Seven sets in all. Each collection of notebooks had a label taped across the spines.
The Common Thief,
read the label on the group of six books Natalie stared at now.

“What…?”

She read the other labels.
Red Water. Lira and Jamie. Starshine: Collected Poems.
Her heart clanged in her chest until she got to
Coronation—
that one made her heart stand still. And the oldest, most worn collection of books with a faded label…

“
Above.”

Natalie set her wine glass down on a different shelf and carefully drew forth the collection of five composition books. With trembling hands, she slipped the old rubber band off the set, and opened the first notebook. Tiny, typeset-sized script filled the page in blue ballpoint pen, its neatness marred by alterations. The second sentence crossed out and redone. Notes in the margins. Messy scribbles that canceled one word in favor of another. And in between these corrections, the words she knew by heart, words that began the journey she had taken so many times to escape her own static, grief-stricken life. She spoke them aloud, reverently and with awe, for here was their birth.

“
‘He’s gone, Javier.’ Her voice was old. She sounded like
Abuela
. And
Abuela
’s
abuela
. Layers of voices; generations echoing down to him from the place where dead weeping wives still sew and cook and mend, gnarled fingers flying because hunger and illness run faster than idle hands, and they curse their inconstant men but never loud enough for the children to hear. ‘He’s gone, and if you are a man and not a boy, you will find him and bring him back.
’”

Natalie closed the notebook and held them all to her chest for long moments. A peculiar sensation gestated deep within her, unfurling at a rapid, eye-blink pace; an amalgam of shock, exhilaration, and something akin to panic. Her heart pounded so loudly, she could hardly hear her own thoughts.
One word resounded again and again.
Impossible
.

She turned her head, intending to ask Julian…something. Why he would pull such a terrible prank. Why…?

Julian studied the counter before him, rubbing it aimlessly with a cloth. He didn’t meet her eyes, couldn’t look at her, and Natalie’s body began to tremble. She looked back at the composition books in her hands and returned them to their place on the shelf. The sweet smell of the soup wafted to her. A Colombian dish, he’d said. Natalie almost laughed but she was too close to tears.

“Oh my god,” she breathed. She turned to him, imploring.

Julian raised his head with a sheepish, half-smile. “Dinner’s ready.”

Natalie took several halting steps from the bookshelf. In her mind’s eye, the days and weeks of her time with Julian at the café returned to her: bits of conversations, strange comments, questions unanswered and topics diverted. A pointillism painting she’d been standing too close to; none of it made sense. Now, if she stepped back…

“No,” Natalie whispered as Julian came from the kitchen to stand before her. “It’s impossible. You’re...him?”

“Yes.” Julian eased a sigh—a long exhalation—and shook his head, incredulous. “
Maldita.
I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for ten years.”

She marveled that he could look so relieved. Her own heart churned with a turmoil that left her certain she’d never feel something as simple as relief ever again. She moved on shaking legs to the couch and sat down hard.

“You expect me to believe…
No
.” She shook her head. “Mendón is in his forties. You’re twenty-eight years old. It’s not possible…”

He sat down beside her on the immense couch, but far enough away to give her space. “Most of what you’ve read about me is false. A diversion—”

“
Above
came out ten years ago. You would’ve been
eighteen
when you wrote it.”

“Seventeen. I turned eighteen the summer it was published.”

She stared, open-mouthed. If he was lying he had zero compunction about it. His expression was open, his eyes met hers unflinching.
You saw the notebooks…
Her gaze strayed to the library where the handwritten
Above
sat on a shelf with handwritten versions of every other Mendón novel she’d read a hundred times.
Not versions. Rough drafts.

A thrill shot up her spine and then morphed into panic. She trembled, shell-shocked by duel emotions: euphoria and fear, hope and humiliation. She clapped her hand over her mouth, not sure if she were going to laugh or burst into tears

“You…you should have told me. Right away. You should have told me the first time I mentioned him.”

“I couldn’t. I haven’t. Not in ten years. Only David and my editor, Len, know the truth.”

“But…why?”

He sighed. “I made a vow to my dying mother and kept it, long after its usefulness had expired. By then, so much time had passed…” He shrugged. “Call it habit or cowardice…fear of breaking out—”

“Fear?” She rose to her feet, carried on a tide of something that felt close to hysteria. “What could you possibly be afraid of? You’re wealthy, talented—a
genius
…”

He stood up too, held out his hands to steady her. “Natalie, wait—”

She tore away from him. “No! I feel all turned inside out. I don’t…You lied to me. For six
months
. Every day, every time I saw you, you were sitting there, lying to me.”

“I didn’t lie to you—”

“Didn’t you?” Natalie cried. “I seem to recall something about a trust fund…”

His arms dropped to his sides with a sigh. “Okay, yes, but that—”

“But that’s not the worst part,” Natalie said, her voice thick with tears. “I gushed about Mendón—about
you
—like a lovesick idiot and you said nothing. You let me talk and talk and talk, and all the while I never knew, never could have guessed.”

“Natalie, please…”

“Every word I’ve ever said about him—about
you
! It’s all ringing in my head like some clown’s bell. But that’s not bad enough. No, the worst part is that I used
your
books to try to get over
you
when you left.”

“Of course you did!” Julian cried. “Of course you did,” he said again, gentler. “Natalie, that connection you have to the writing? It’s my writing. It’s me. Everything that I am is in those books. And you found them. You found me, and by some miraculous twist of luck or fate, I found you. Or maybe it wasn’t luck at all. We were drawn to each other. I walked into that café because I was searching for you.” He smiled, his eyes shining. “My work is your refuge? You are mine, Natalie.”

She sucked in a breath as the truth of his words finally broke past the shock and confusion; shattered the fear of believing that something so impossibly good could be real. “Really?” she said, her voice watery. “Are you really…? Those are your books?”

“My books,” he said, smiling softly. He moved closer to her. “
Above
and
Coronation,
and all the rest. And that one,” he gestured to the stack of composition books on the desk in the library. “That one is for you.”             

“For me. Rafael Mendón wrote a book for me.” The half-laugh, half-sob escaped her, and she fell against him, the tears coming in earnest when she felt his arms go around her.

“I’ll write you a thousand more if that’s what you want.”

Natalie said nothing but held him and let herself be held. Finally, she lifted her tear-streaked face and looked to the new stack of composition books. Taking Julian by the hand, she went to the desk and rested her hand on the topmost book. She imagined she could feel its pulse, but it was only her own.

“What is it called?” she asked.

“I don’t know yet.”

“What is it about?”

“You. It’s your book, Natalie. It doesn’t exist without you.” He pulled her close. “I love you, Natalie.”

She laid her hand over her heart that suddenly felt wondrously heavy and full. “You do?”

“I do.”

She raised her head, smiling through her tears. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Natalie. So much.”

She nodded. “I want you to know that I love you, Julian. I loved you before I knew. Remember that, okay?”

“Okay.”

She slipped her arms around his neck and as his mouth met hers, as he kissed away her tears, a thrill of pure joy suffused her. The last vestiges of pain and uncertainty evaporated. He was everything she’d hoped he would be and, when she was ready to confront it, he was so much
more.
She smiled into his kiss, feeling as if she’d just won the lottery and then turned around and won it again.

He held her and kissed her for what seemed a long while, and she knew he was giving her time. “Would you like to eat dinner now, or—?”

“No,” she said, over the thundering of her pulse. “After.”

He grinned, though his voice was husky. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

She felt another laugh try to burst out of her. She kissed him instead, infusing it with all the joy and euphoria that was welling up in her, moment by moment.
This real. At long last…

The kiss deepened, became sweeter, then harder. She melted against him, and could feel the desire coiling in him, feel it humming under her hands where she touched him, emanating from him like heat. She marveled that she was the object of such intense desire…and that he could kindle the same in her. No more stops. No more hesitations. A thought whispered that this was Rafael Mendón in her arms, but she brushed it aside.
No, this is my Julian…

He lifted her easily and carried her past the kitchen where the dinner he’d prepared sat, cooling and forgotten, and down the hall to his bedroom, kissing her always. Natalie was vaguely aware of more austere colors and furnishings, a bed that was an ocean of gray linen made silver in the light streaming in from the window.

He set her down and kissed her gently, touched her slowly, assuring her that he wouldn’t rush anything. But she felt as though she were burning from the inside out. She wanted to tear his clothes off and feel his skin on hers more than she’d ever wanted anything, but she didn’t trust her shaking hands could do anything besides reveal her own inexperience.