He laughs as he releases my arm and exits the car. Following suit I grab my handbag, leaving my few market purchases in the car, and head towards the elevator. We ride it up to the thirtieth floor, and as we exit, I notice there is only one door on the entire floor. Of course.
Standing behind Saxon, I fiddle with the straps of my bag as he unlocks the large wooden door. He stands aside to usher me in the apartment and as soon as I step in and glance around my surroundings, I stop mid-step. It’s the most luxurious place I have ever seen.
I mean, Nate and I have a beautiful home, but it’s exactly that: a home. It’s warm, cosy and comfortable, welcoming and very much lived in. Saxon’s apartment is none of those things. As beautiful as it is, it’s also cold, uninviting, and I hate to say it, sterile.
The apartment has an open concept and the first thing to draw my attention is the glass bi-folding doors and windows directly in front of me which run along the whole apartment, covering the open plan area of the lounge room, dining, and kitchen.
Furniture is scarce, but what furniture there is must be top-of-the-range and highly expensive as the apartment looks like it fell directly out of a magazine. The furniture is stark white and looks uncomfortable. Its hard edges and cold colours are very unappealing.
It’s like I’ve stepped into a display home and as much as I love it to look at, I could never live in a place like this. No rugs, cushions or even colourful artwork.
I wonder if that’s why he spends so much time at the office. I’d definitely rather be in the measly apartment attached to his office than here in this depressing space.
As I continue my perusal I wonder if the windows are the same in the other rooms. I glance to my right where I see a hallway and assume it leads to the bedrooms.
“Did you want a tour?” Saxon asks, and I can hear the smirk in his tone. Damn it, he must have noticed my sticky beak having a nosey around his apartment.
“Sure,” I say, trying not to sound too excited to see the rest.
He laughs as he takes my bag and places it on the small table near the door. He grabs my hand and pulls me down the hallway.
Showing me his home office, second bathroom, and two spare bedrooms, all I can think is I don’t see any part of Saxon in this place at all. Not only in the decor but in personal items as well. No photos, no sentimental artefacts, and not even a piece of clothing or dish out of place.
Is this really his house? Does he even live here? I have never seen anything like it.
“Who decorated this place for you?” I don’t mean it, but there is clear disgust in my voice.
Saxon lets out a shocked laugh. “I take it you don’t care for my apartment?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” I say, feeling stupid. “It just doesn’t really feel like you.”
He gives me a grin, letting me know he’s just messing with me. “No, it’s not really me. Jeanie decorated it for me.”
I can’t help but laugh out loud at this. She was always on me about our place. How she knew several designers who could help me ‘sort out the clutter’; it’s no surprise she got her way with Saxon.
I’m still laughing as he shakes his head at me and steps aside to let me in his bedroom. My laughter is instantly halted when I take stock of his room. It screams Saxon, and I know Jeanie didn’t get her hands on this room.
There is a large king-size bed resting against the wall with a navy blue patterned bedspread looking out to the bi-folding windows, which do run through the whole apartment.
My God, I can only imagine what it would be like waking up to that view. The quilt looks thick, and I’m guessing it’s probably feather, and all I can think about is snuggling down in that bed on a cold morning, sleeping in the clouds.
Across the room is a dark stained chest of drawers and on them rests a gold watch, some gold and diamond cuff links and some small change. The matching bedside tables have simple white lamps and a glass of water on one. This room is definitely used, and I’m excited to see another glimpse of the real Saxon.
“I’m guessing Jeanie didn’t approve of this room,” I say sarcastically.
He chuckles. “No, definitely not. There is something very wrong about the only mother figure in your life decorating your bedroom.”
I laugh. “Well, it’s definitely my favourite room.” Saxon’s eyes go wide as a slow smile creeps across his face.
“Oh my God, don’t be so disgusting. Come on,” I say as I turn to leave his bedroom. “What are you cooking me for dinner?”
“I’m not cooking,” he says matter-of-factly. I stop, turning to look at him with confusion in my eyes. “I can’t cook, Brooke,” he laughs.