Page 59 of Angels Are Falling

I lingered a second inside the car before stumbling out. I caught up just as he was punching in the code for the door keypad. Either the owner of this house really trusted Kai, or, more likely, he owned the property. I had no idea why he had brought me here, but I didn’t have the guts to ask after my insensitive rant at lunch.

He let the silence stretch between us as we entered a home that could only be described as a mansion. The architecture had an old-school feel to it, a preserved diorama of curated memories. A sunken living room with a sun-faded Persian rug that probably cost an arm and a leg. The grand piano looked as if it hadn’t been played in years, and the rows of leather-bound books were preserved like in a historic library where you weren’t allowed to touch the ancient artifacts.

Kai didn’t offer a tour or tell me anything about the place, but I felt the weight of burrowed bleakness, making the air heavy with more than nostalgia. He let me wander the shelves while he hovered by the living room. I stopped when I saw framed pictures of a young Kai at his graduation, with a couple smiling proudly at the camera.

“This is your childhood home,” I guessed.

Kai nodded, watching me take it all in with an odd expression.

“Did you inherit it?” It was a stupid question, but for once, I was grasping at straws for an opening with him.

I sighed in relief when he said, “Yes. But I barely visit. We have a housekeeper who maintains it. I told her to keep everything as is.”

“I’m glad. It’s beautiful.” I looked up at the high ceiling and the staircase. The home was elegant and surprisingly cozy for a mansion. Fireplaces and overstuffed couches countered the grand French doors. Floor-to-ceiling windows gave you a glimpse of the water. The wide lawn swept down to the manicured lake.

I tried to summon the image of a younger, playful Kai, one with knees scabbed from running over stone, who played hide-and-seek behind velvet curtains. Maybe he even threw tantrums back then or flipped the board if he lost at Monopoly.

I glanced at Kai, who was mimicking an army stance with his rigid posture and immediately burst into laughter. The image of a rowdy child collapsed as quickly as it had manifested.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“I’m trying to imagine you as a kid. I bet you were a misbehaved, wild child.”

He smirked. “The wildest.”

“Probably wore your heart on your sleeve and talked about your feelings nonstop.”

“I cried at sad movies, too.”

I laughed, my eyes watering. “I’m not surprised. You’re a total drama queen.”

The corner of his mouth lifted. It wasn’t a full smile, but it changed his face entirely, and I caught myself looking at it a beat too long. Neither of us spoke, the house filling the silence between us.

I couldn’t make sense of our random field trip. I assumed Kai was furious with me for how I’d spoken to him at lunch. But now, he seemed far from angry. Was it possible he was sad and needed to share bits of his past to lift his spirits? But the dismissive way he spoke about his parents’ death made me skeptical.

The rest of the day was solemn. Kai didn’t make any grand gestures, but rather his movements were restrained and measured. He gave me a tour of the upstairs—a study, a few guest bedrooms, a small library, and ended with his old room.

He pushed open the door to his childhood bedroom. It was smaller than I expected, preserved just like the rest of the house. A mausoleum. The bed was made with military precision, a desk in the corner, a shelf of trophies. I stepped inside, and Kai followed, and for a moment, the room felt half the size it probably was. He always stood so close that sometimes it was difficult to breathe around him. I quickly busied myself with the row of trophies on the shelf. He also let me look through his old yearbooks and the superlatives—most likely to succeed.

There were comfortable silences between us that felt naturally domestic. At the end of the day, he guided me to the lake. We watched the sun dip over the water from two rocking chairs in the backyard. Arms at his sides, jaw set, eyes fixed somewhere between the water and beyond. I watched him from slightly behind. The last of the light was catching the side of his face, the line of his throat, and I thought it was almost unfair for any single human to possess such objectively good genes. His hands were loose for once, not crossed or braced. I didn’t know what to do with mine. I thought about touching his arm because I sensed he wanted comfort. My fingers lifted slightly off my knee. Then I put them back. There was an odd, hollow sense of a thing left undone. So, I sat still beside him, and together we watched the sunset.

“Why did you bring me here, Kai?” I asked out of the blue.

He shrugged. “You said you knew nothing about me.” He held up his hand, gesturing at his childhood estate. Somehow, I knew the words he’d never utter—This is me.

“Oh.” I glanced back at the house he had preserved since the monumental tragedy of his parents’ death. He didn’t want to talk about it, which was understandable, so he gave me something else. Access to his childhood because I had asked about it.

The gesture was deeply touching. Someone as private as Kai didn’t let people in, especially into intimate parts of their lives. Until now, I had assumed this was a silly contract marriage, something a wealthy man was doing to amuse himself until he got bored.

For the first time, I considered that this marriage might mean something to him. I still didn’t understand why me when he could have anyone.

“Thank you for showing me your childhood home.”

“Now that I’ve told you about my childhood, I believe it’s your turn to share,” he said.

He had barely told me anything, yet I instinctively knew it was more than he had shared with anyone else. I sighed. “What do you want to know?”

It turned out that he wanted to know everything. I thought my story was fairly straightforward—I was born in Beirut, then moved to the United States when I was little—but Kai’s persistent inquiries proved otherwise.