Page 5 of Craving
She wanted to cry, but she wouldn’t. Eyes watery, she pulled back. Unable to resist, she let her hands slide to his arms and gave them one last squeeze. “Thank you, Marlon. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
His frown hadn’t gone away. He shook her off. “Okay. Well. If you need anything, I’m just down the hall.” He stalked out, leaving her to explore her space.
A gigantic, old, navy-and-cream rug spread out over the floor under the bed, stretching nearly out to the walls. She had a four-poster bed. A four-poster bed! A little squeak of delight fell from her lips. She moved closer and saw the creases in the sheets that told her they had been folded for a long time. Upon closer inspection, she decided they looked brand new. Had Marlon done that? When?
The built-in closets had gorgeous little golden knobs shaped like seashells. The fireplace mantel had curlicues and swoops. The window sashes were thick and dramatic, and probably needed to be scraped down to bare wood and repainted, but they were charming all the same.
It was so beautiful she thought she was dreaming. She kicked off the torture devices on her feet and felt the worn rug beneath her toes. She couldn’t stop smiling. Even though this was temporary. Even though she’d used every last penny to make that final loan payment. Even though her finances were in an incredibly precarious spot, she couldn’t help the wave of bliss that overtook her.
Marlon wouldn’t regret letting her stay here. Not for a minute. She’d make sure of it.
Stripping off her bridesmaid dress, she hung it up in the closet and found a pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved tee. She had to roll the sweats twice at the waist so they didn’t drag on the floor—she was tall and generously proportioned, but she’d purposefully bought them a couple of sizes too big for maximum coziness—before throwing open the door to her bedroom and stepping into the hall.
The single bathroom upstairs was two doors down, and it had a clawfoot tub. Camilla just about died when she saw it. She touched the intricate patterned tile on the floor with the tip of her toe and let out a happy sigh. Then she went off in search of Marlon. His bedroom door was open and the room beyond was empty, so she headed downstairs.
She found him in the kitchen, which had obviously been renovated sometime about thirty or forty years ago. It wasn’t original, and it didn’t have the same charm as the other rooms, but it was big, and judging by the windows lining the far wall, it would be flooded with light in the morning.
Marlon looked up from his position at the sink, where he was filling up a bright-red kettle. “You want some peppermint tea?”
Was he kidding? Of course she did! “Yes!” She beamed at him. “I’d love that.”
He stared at her face for a second too long, expression serious. Then he shook himself and moved to the stove. Gas, Camilla noted. Wonderful! This whole place was just fabulous.
“You can go to the front room; I’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”
“Sure.” She padded out along the hardwood—original floors, she thought, and in good condition—and ducked into the sitting room she’d spied when they walked in. There was another dramatic chandelier in here, along with a gilt-edged mirror above the mantel of a second fireplace. The crown molding was about a foot tall, and there was honest-to-goodness stained glass in the top sections of all three of the bay windows.
The furniture didn’t go with the architecture at all. It looked like the kind of stuff a college kid would pick up from the side of the road. But Camilla sank down into the old sofa and let out a happy sigh. She didn’t have to wait long for Marlon, who walked in carrying two gigantic mugs. He handed her one that was pale green with white polka-dots all over it and kept the navy-and-white striped one for himself.
“Probably needs to cool another few minutes,” he said when Camilla brought the mug to her lips.
She took a sip anyway, burned her mouth, then agreed with him and put the mug down on the coffee table. Marlon took a seat on the armchair opposite her and set his own mug down. He had coasters that looked like mosaic tiles. They were fantastic, and Camilla wondered if he’d chosen them himself.
There was an odd little silence while they studied each other. Then Camilla took a deep breath and put her hands on her thighs. “Marlon,” she started. “I just want to say thanks again for letting me stay here. I’ll only be here for, like, maybe a week. Two, max. And I promise I’ll be the best roommate you’ve ever had. Your house is so, so gorgeous, and I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you.”
At her words, Marlon frowned. He glanced around the room as if seeing it for the first time. He didn’t seem to agree with Camilla’s assessment, because the creases between his brows got deeper.
“I don’t know how much Leo told you, but I’m in a bit of a bind right now. I can’t afford to pay you market rent for this place, but I’ll contribute any way I can while I’m here. I can cook and clean, and—”
“You don’t need to do all that.” He waved a hand. “I can cook for myself.”
Camilla straightened. “Oh. Okay. I just…I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage of you. I’m not a leech.”
“Never said you were.” He picked up his drink and took a deep swallow. His throat moved as he did, and Camilla couldn’t help but keep her eyes on the motion. Why was that so hot? Why did she suddenly feel flushed?
No—she needed to get a grip. This was an important conversation. If she was going to stay in this house with Marlon, they had to come up with house rules. They had to be on the same page so that resentment didn’t build, even if she was only here for a short amount of time. She would not mess this up.
Camilla had learned what it was to stand on her own. From the time she’d moved out at seventeen, she’d made a litany of mistakes, but she’d learned. She cherished her independence, and she didn’t want any favors. Not one as big as this. This was the beginning of her new, debt-free life. She’d start it on the right foot.
“I’d like to contribute any way I can,” she repeated. She brushed her hands down her thighs to get rid of the dampness that had gathered on her palms. “I want this to be fair for both of us. You’re doing me a favor, but I don’t want to take advantage of you. It’s important to me that I contribute.”
Marlon followed the movement of her hands, his eyes coasting along her body with an unreadable expression on his face. Maybe she shouldn’t have worn sweatpants for this conversation. Maybe he was judging her? It was late. Should she have waited until morning? He probably just wanted to sleep after the excitement of the wedding.
His expression changed when his eyes dropped down to her feet, his mouth thinning. Did he hate feet? Why hadn’t she put socks on! He probably thought she was some gross slob who was going to take over his house and never leave, and—
“What happened to your feet?”
She blinked. Looked down. Saw the red marks where her shoes had blistered and ripped open her skin. She had small scabs forming near her big toe, and her heels were red and puffy. He probably thought it was disgusting. She really, really wished she’d worn socks. “Oh. That’s just from my shoes. I didn’t break them in properly. I’m sorry. I’ll grab some socks.”