Page 62 of Forged

Neomi steps into my space slowly and I watch her take it in.

The ceilings are high, with exposed dark wood beams. Floor-to-ceiling glass along the far wall. The city spreads below us in long grids of light and movement. The furniture is lush and comfortable—deep charcoal upholstered sofas, low leather chairs, and a rug that softens the concrete underfoot. Art lines the walls, pieces I’ve collected over the years. A massive abstract canvas dominates the far wall with dramatic reds and blacks cut with streaks of gold.

She doesn’t look impressed—just curious.

“It’s cozier than I expected,” she says.

“My world is harsh,” I reply. “I need comfort when I’m at home.”

Her mouth curves. “Makes sense.”

I follow her into the living room.

“This floor is mine,” I tell her. “Violette’s right above us, but she spends most of her time at the family estate right outside of the city. Then Enzo and his wife, Zara, have the top floor.”

She turns toward me. “You all live in the same building?”

“My family owns this building. We like to stay close.”

She walks toward the windows, hands sliding into the back pockets of her jeans as she studies the skyline. I stay where I am for a moment, watching her in my space. I’ve never had a man or woman in my home since Leilani. It’s been my sacred space, my safe haven, and I never felt any emptiness in it until now.

Her presence here makes me realize it was waiting for her.

“You can see the river from here,” she says, snapping me back to reality.

“Yes.”

She turns away again, absorbing the layout.

I cross the room, take her hand and gesture toward the hallway. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest.”

The kitchen sits off the main living area, a wide space with marble countertops, a professional six-burner gas range, double ovens, wine storage built into the wall. Everything is functional but top of the line.

She runs her fingers lightly over the counter.

“Is this where you create your culinary masterpieces?” She smiles.

“When I’m home, yes.” I nod.

“And when you’re not?”

“I eat wherever Enzo drags me.”

She smiles at that.

We move down the hallway. Guest suite first. I show her my office next, with windows that can be frosted with the touch of a button. A dark wood desk with monitors sits in the room with a bookcase-lined wall behind it.

She pauses at the doorway.

“You work from here?”

“Sometimes.”

She doesn’t step inside, just nods, so I lead her up the stairs to the second level. My bedroom door sits at the top of the landing. I open it and let her walk in first.

The room is large but not excessive. Dark walls and a low king bed centered against an upholstered headboard. Soft lighting built into the coffered ceiling. A sitting area near the windows with two wide chairs and a small table between them. Thick curtains pulled back to reveal more glass and another view of the city.

She stops near the foot of the bed.