Matt steps around me and unlocks the door with the same card he used in the elevator. He pushes the door open and gestures for me to enter.
I go in and gasp when I see the place. The living room, dining area and kitchen are one huge open plan room, big enough for my childhood home to fit in and still have space left over. The wall opposite me is all glass, giving me a gorgeous view over the city. We’re high enough up that even with the glass wall, the place feels private.
I take a step forward and then I slip my shoes off, conscious of my heels on the hardwood flooring. I move them to the side of the door and look around again. The kitchen area is immaculate, the countertops and appliances gleaming. There’s a big mahogany table with eight chairs beside the giant window at the kitchen end. In the living room area, a big black leather couch takes center stage, a glass coffee table in front of it. On the wall, a huge TV.
Opposite the window is an aquarium, lit up, and full of fish of every color built into the wall. Bubbles float lazily up to the surface where they pop, each one giving off a tiny spray.
The whole apartment is decorated in muted creams and browns. Tasteful, masculine, yet far from a bachelor pad.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe.
“Thanks,” Matt says. “Although I can’t take much credit for it to be honest. Give me a restaurant and I can design you a perfect dining area, but give me a home, and I’m lost. This is all Chance’s design skills. He’s the arty one.”
“Your brother?” I say.
Matt nods.
“Yeah. Chance is the arty one, Seb is the numbers guy, and I’m the foodie. Everything I told you about my childhood was true. My mom really did instill a love for food in me. I guess that’s why I was attracted to the restaurant side of the business. And now you know why I didn’t train to be a chef. My dad would have never allowed it. Our paths were clear. Grow up and get involved in the business.”
“You make it sound so normal. Like growing up a billionaire is nothing,” I say.
Matt shrugs. “The thing is, to me it is normal. It’s just the way it was. Come on, sit down. I’ll pour us some wine and then put our dinner on. Are you hungry?”
I give him a small nod as I walk to the long counter that separates the kitchen area from the rest of the room. Tall stools run the length of it and I perch on one of the stools, watching Matt as he goes to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of rose wine.
“You did say you preferred rose right?” he says.
I can’t help but smile as I nod. Maybe Matt lied about a lot, but it’s becoming clear to me that while we were together, he did listen to me. I told him in the restaurant we went to that I would have ordered rose wine.
He pours two glasses and hands one to me. He pauses for a moment and then he lifts his glass. “To honesty,” he says.
“I’ll drink to that.” I clink my glass against his.
He takes a drink from his own glass and then he moves around the kitchen, chopping, dicing, frying and doing all manner of clever things with chicken and vegetables.
“You really can cook then,” I say.
“I like to think so, but you haven’t tasted it yet,” Matt smiles. “But don’t worry. Whatever happens to our main course, I have dessert in the fridge, made by a world class pastry chef.”
I go quiet, reminded once more of the difference between our lives. Matt and his world class dessert chef. Me and a cheesecake bought from Kroger.
“You’ve gone quiet,” Matt points out. “My mom would be really upset to think you weren’t looking forward to her world famous Pavlova.”
“Your mom made dessert?” I say.
Matt nods.
“Yup. She’s by far the best dessert maker I’ve ever known. And I’ve known a lot of pastry chefs.”
I pause at this. Maybe Matt and I aren’t so different after all. I mean everyone thinks their mom’s cooking is the best don’t they? “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” Matt says, serious suddenly.
“Where’s your bathroom?” I finally smile.
Seeing I have mellowed a bit, he relaxes a little. “Through the living room, down the hall, the last door on the right,” he says.
I hop off the stool and follow his directions. It’s exactly as I pictured it. Black granite surfaces that gleam, a huge claw-footed bathtub, a shower that looks big enough to hold a football team, and a quite impressive array of lotions and potions. I do my business and wash my hands and then I go back to my perch. “You have quite an impressive collection of toiletries,” I grin. “How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?”
“I just roll out of bed, looking this good.” Matt winks. “They’re just decoration.”
I almost smile then choose to roll my eyes. It’s starting to feel normal between Matt and me. Too normal. Like we haven’t got this giant weight hanging over our heads. Maybe I should forget all of my questions and just enjoy a civilized goodbye dinner with Matt, but I know I’ll regret it if I don’t get the answers I need.
“It’s almost ready. Why don’t you go take a seat at the table?” Matt says.
I get off the stool and swallow down the rest of my wine, enjoying the warm feeling in my stomach. I want to be just tipsy enough to be brave and ask everything I want to ask. But I don’t want to be drunk.
Matt tops off my glass before I go to the table and then he hands me the bottle. “Might as well take it to the table,” he says. “You’re probably going
