Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 98226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98226 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
I swallowed, walking over to touch the soft, velvet-like fabric of the comforter as Duke Ellington began to play. The comforter was a deep sea green, the bed so massive I was sure Theo could roll over six times and still not hit the edge of it. It was piled high with pillows, the four posts draped with floor-length, steel gray curtains that matched the color of Theo’s eyes.
“I must admit, I’m a bit surprised,” I said, still marveling at how soft the comforter was under my fingers.
“Didn’t expect me to have a four-post bed?”
I chuckled, turning to find him by the record player with his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t expect you to be such a fan of the 20s.”
“Ah,” he said, leaning forward on his toes as he looked around the room with me. The upbeat jazz coming from the record player made me feel even more like I was in a dream or a movie, far removed from reality. “Well, you’ll be even more surprised when you see my penthouse in New York, then. It’s like traveling back in time — well, other than the state-of-the-art appliances, of course.”
I smiled, letting my eyes sweep the room until I found three framed photographs on the bookshelf. I walked directly to them, picking up the first as my grin grew wider. “Are these your parents?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Whitman in the flesh,” Theo said, sidling up to my left. He pointed at the man first, an older gentleman with a full head of dark blond hair and a mischievous smirk much like Theo’s. He wore a black suit and thin black tie, the edges of his eyes crinkled with his smile. “That’s Dad. He’s wearing that proud grin because this was taken on the day Envizion was named number one on Fortune’s list of Most Admired Companies.”
“Makes sense why he’s got the proud father hand on your shoulder,” I remarked, tapping the middle of the picture where a slightly younger Theo stood. “Nice suit, by the way. Is that burgundy velvet?”
“You bet your ass it is. I was going for jazz meets royalty. What do you think?”
“I think you already know what I think.”
Theo smirked. “I still like hearing it.”
I rolled my eyes, nudging him before I pointed at his mother in favor of stroking his ego. “And this is Mum?”
Theo chuckled. “Yes, that angel of a human next to me is my mother.”
She was quite a bit shorter than Theo and his father, with light brown hair styled in a wavy swoop that made her look like she was still in her twenties. She wore a floor-length, cream gown with elaborate gold beading and a halter neckline, and even though the photo was just a five by seven, I could see the ginormous diamond on her ring finger.
“She always made it seem effortless, going to events like that,” Theo said. “She would charm the pants off every man in the room and make every woman wish to be her best friend.”
“Well, now I know where you get it from,” I remarked, smiling as I looked over my shoulder at him. “And your eyes, too.”
Theo smiled. “And who do you get your eyes from?”
“My dad,” I said. “Mom likes to tell the story of when they first met. It was a camping trip, they were both in their late twenties, and her group of friends couldn’t figure out how to set up their tents. My dad offered his help, and Mom says when he finished putting the tent up, he grinned at her from where he was hammering a stake into the ground, and the Colorado sky reflected in his eyes.” I shook my head. “I swear. She talks about rolling clouds of white and green leaves and all this romantic flowery stuff and Dad just blushes and shakes his head.” I shrugged. “It is one of my favorite stories, though.”
Theo smiled, following me along the edge of the bookcase as I picked up the next two photographs — one of him and his Envizion partner in their Harvard days, and one of him skydiving in New Zealand. He made a comment about how one day, he’d have my first TIME Magazine-featured photograph framed there, too, and I just laughed him off the same way I had the first day we met.
I let my fingers wander the records next, leaning into every word as Theo told me about his favorite jazz musicians. Finally, I picked up a very worn copy of The Waste Land by T.S. Elliot, a first edition that looked so mangled I was certain he wouldn’t have purchased it that way.
“I think these things are supposed to be kept in a glass case with protective film,” I remarked, carefully paging through the book.
“Not in my eyes. What are books for, if not to be read?” He paused, watching me as I flipped through before he said softly. “The awful daring of a moment’s surrender which an age of prudence can never retract. By this, and only this, we have existed.”