Chapter 295

The inside is a dark musty stairway, concrete with a wrought iron bannister edging the stairs. I can see other internal doors as though this is an apartment block of several small units and looking up shows a couple of floors in the space where the stairs go. Alexi heads right to the foot of them and I follow quietly. Intrigued by this run-down building and the lack of grandeur I’m used to seeing him surrounded by. It’s borderline inhabitable and the kind of place you expect to find rats and cockroaches in every corner. A reminder of where I stayed after I left the hospital and reinvented myself as Meghan.

“Top floor, although it’s only a couple flights.” He adds, not looking back and I try to stay close. Uncertain about our surroundings and trying not to step on any creatures I’m convinced might be lurking in the dust and dirt of each solid step.

It’s dark, no natural lights at all as there are no windows, the dim electric lighting overhead is all we have, which is dull as hell because most of the bulbs are out. That flickering, buzzing kind of light that gives you a headache. The building feels deserted, and the lack of maintenance suggests not many people use this.

“I thought you came from money. This place is a bit rough isn’t it?” I point out when we climb the stairs quickly, passing more chipped and battered doors, and the concrete beneath our feet could do with a good sweep. It’s so dusty it's choking me and stirring up all kinds of unwelcome smells. The clouds of dust circle around my feet. Definite signs of disuse. I’m guessing a lot of these apartments are empty nowadays.

“I did. I just didn’t want to be a trust fund baby and always rely on my father’s wealth in life. I found this place once I secured a job nearby and rented it. I went it alone for a while.”

Well, that’s a revelation and I wonder how old he was when he did that. Moved out to the city alone and stood on his own two feet. I blink up at his tall figure in front of me and really take stock of that little titbit of info. There really is more to him than most silver spoon babies from wealthy backgrounds.

Alexi leads us to a black, more recently painted glossy door that seems a lot more maintained than the rest of the building. Signs of cleanliness around it too as though someone tends to this hallway here and the apartment behind it. The overhead light at the entry is bright and clean and illuminates us more successfully. Making me blink as we stand under it.

Opening it, he pushes the heavy door inwards and reaches in with his carrier bag hand and flicks on some lights to illuminate the interior.

“I don’t understand. I thought you went straight into the family business with your father?” Now he has me stumped and I blink as the smell of chemical cleaners and air fresheners waft strongly in my face, out into the damp stairwell and draw me into a much cleaner interior with healthier air to inhale. He obviously has someone regularly keep this place in check, there is not a hint of dust or dirt or any signs of disuse in here.

I always envisioned, after his mother turned her back on him, that he followed his father to the city and worked as one of his henchmen. I mean, I assumed after taking someone out, his father saw the promise in his son and mentored him to be his replacement. Took him under his wing and turned him into the cold leader that became infamous in this city.

“Nope. Come on, you can question me inside when I get this place opened up. It’s been a while since I was here.” Alexi walks in ahead of me as the apartment lights flicker on, both overhead and underlighting, as the cosiest looking loft apartment I have ever seen, comes into view.

It’s nothing like the club or his apartment I stayed in before.

It’s urban and industrial and homely. Leather armchairs all battered and scuffed, a wall lined with bookshelves, books, trinkets, photos. Neutral tone paintwork with lots of textures from various objects and soft furnishings galore. There are rugs on the floor and some that overlap for a warm, inviting floor space that requires barefoot investigating, and an electric fire already burning bright in a hearth in the centre of the wall, with lamps that came on when he flicked the main switch.

The whole place has been set up to be homely, filled with junk shop finds or cheap decor and reminds me of a secret reading nook in an old library, or a professor’s office in his home. It has an air of a hidden, magical place, a little nook secreted away in a dark, disused corner of New York, and I absolutely love it.

There’s a whole wall of battered metal signs and car license plates displayed neatly, all set out in a gallery and some from random places in New York.

I like it a lot. I could see myself happily hiding here for weeks on end. It’s not a place I would ever have put him in a million years though. It’s human and warm and screams of someone sentimental with a love of the simple pleasures in life and a love of this city. There’s a tacky, bronzed statue of liberty sat on a shelf near the signs and some odd postcards from far and wide propped around it. Signs of someone sentimental who keeps unusual tokens. Like lipsticks.

Alexi veers right to the tiniest kitchenette along the wall that the door is on, and as I come in and close it behind us as I do a full scan of the room. Taking everything in easily as it’s so small.

It’s tiny. A square room with an open-plan living room and kitchen, there’s a door in the far corner which I guess is a bathroom, seeing as there’s a black metal staircase leading up to a platform ten feet over my head. It covers half the ceiling and has a matching metal balcony which doesn’t conceal a small bedroom space. Mattress on the floor, more rustic bookcases I can see from here and only just enough room to stand up. It’s cosy as bedrooms go and very urban chic.

I would never imagine him staying anywhere like this and it’s not the style of the Alexi I know.

It’s like a time warp of some mythical safe haven where adventures start. It’s typical New York living for those on a normal factory wage who make the most of the space they can afford. You pay per square footage and this is the space you would expect a low earner, the living wage to wage type can afford. Evidence of cosy nights in as he was budgeting his income are all around. DVDs, CDs, books galore and this space is well worn and lived in. I can almost imagine a young Alexi coming home and discarding his boots and jacket by the door and being enveloped into this physical hug of a place. He made a home for himself to be less alone. Filled it with things to make it his. I know all about replacing feelings with possessions.

Alexi is opening a fridge and depositing two bottles of wine from his bag on the counter and some beers in the door. He holds out the white box with a smile, bringing my full attention back to him with how at ease he seems in here and I take it carefully with a hint of suspicion.

‘What’s this?’ I eye him up and then look down at it. A lightweight cardboard box that is no bigger than a muffin case.

“Your Chocolates and flowers.” He adds with a wink and goes back to flicking switches on the wall which are connected to a thermostat panel. Not elaborating more than that. I assume he’s putting the heating on to kill the chill in the air.

The place doesn’t feel unused, but it’s a bit chilly considering the season we are in and warmth will just complete its perfection. I’m also sure he must have had a cleaner recently as there is not a speck of dirt and the whole place smells fresh with a washcloth hanging on the tap over the sink. It looks damp and is hung neatly to dry out. Everything is gleaming from a very recent scrub, most likely in the last few hours. It’s cute that he got this place worthy of a visit. As always, his attention to detail is something we have in common.

“This looks too small for both,” I add with a giggle, anticipation pushing me to flip up the lid on the cardboard box that’s barely big enough to fit a mug, or maybe a corsage. I laugh out loud when I spy the chocolate cupcake covered in pastel-coloured sugar flowers. A generous-sized cake for one from my favourite bakery. I would recognise one of their cakes anywhere.

“Smart arse.”

It’s touching and gives me a warm gooey feeling.

“You like cake … so …” he shrugs, like the confident, cocky arse that he is and carries on opening cupboards and pulls out glasses. I gaze at the cake and then at him and once again feel like I underestimate him at every turn. He seems to be a never-ending surprise when you least it expect it.

He won’t ever bend to someone else’s commands, but he will compromise so he can stay true to who he is. Sometimes in clever ways, much like with this gift. He’ll never give me chocolates or flowers by the conventional standards, but I think his version of romance might actually warm me more than I expected. He’s trying, for me. Never thought that would ever happen.

A warm, fuzzy feeling moves up within me, enveloping me and relaxing me, and I gently lay the cake box on the counter and push it back for later as I watch him. He looks different tonight. Younger, carefree and less intimidating when surrounded by a place where he obviously feels he belongs. He looks happy and I appraise him with a fresh eye. He just seems different. Maybe because he’s taken himself out of his empire and dressed like a normal Joe Bloggs for the night, removing us from grandeur, command and anything that ties him to the man he has become. Knowing him, that was his intention, and all of this was a well thought out plan.

Putting us in a place where he created a blank slate. No ties to the club or anything that’s normal for us. I can see why he chose this over a restaurant.

“You were telling me why you lived here.” I remind him and pull off my coat so I can fix my messy hair. I must look a fright after being assaulted by that helmet. I throw it on the back of the nearest armchair, pulling out my hair pins one at a time so I can smooth my hair back into place and neaten it up by touch alone. I was always good at doing my hair without a mirror and it can’t get any worse than what I can feel falling around my ears.

I return to watch him pour two glasses of red wine. He is obviously paying attention to the details, as red is my wine of choice and he rarely drinks it. He is trying to impress even if he doesn’t act like it and it tugs an involuntary smile to my lips. Amused by it.

“I decided that I wanted to do my own thing and find my own way in life. My father put his foot down on me joining him in the ‘family business’ and I was rebelling.” He hands me my glass, picks up his to chink against mine in a motion of ‘cheers’ and nods to the cosy room in front of the fire. Gesturing for us to go sit down.

I’m itching to sit on the plush rug, down in front of it and haul out the albums I spy as we walk across but I’m a good girl and sit in a chair instead. Acting demure and inquisitive, subtly. My eyes scanning the room intensely and trying to pull out all the little details in a place Alexi started life in. It’s weird he brought me here because this is nothing of what I imagined of him. It’s so personal and a contradiction to anything I know about him.

“He said no to you being what you are now? Then how?” I bring my eyes back to his as he hauls off his jacket and throws it on top of mine as he sits down on the chair opposite me, leaning forward to the beat-up wooden trunk that serves as a coffee table. It’s rustic and well-loved and I wonder what sort of treasures are hidden in its belly. It has a lock on one side and a padlock keeping the contents safe from prying eyes.

The whole place is decorated in antique shop finds, retro possessions and random things. It’s eclectic and inviting in so many ways. A movie set for some student boho movie or artsy film.

“I get the feeling you’re going to ask a million questions now we’re here. What do you want to know, London? I brought you here to let you get to know me, so I guess I better do that.” Alexi puts his glass down, pulls the cushion from behind him and tosses it on the floor before sitting back and putting his feet on the trunk too. Getting comfy in a strangely casual way. It’s obvious that this place helps him unwind and as hard as I try to place him here, it just doesn’t fit the man I know. I feel like we’ve stumbled into an alternate reality and Alexi just took off his dark cloak and mask to reveal some young hero, one that I don’t know at all.

I narrow my eyes at him, a million questions poised in my head and take a long, slow deliberate sip of my drink, sliding off my shoes to pull my legs under me and I haul my own cushion around to put on my lap to rest my hand and glass. I get comfy too, delay the barrage of questions to let him think I’m sussing out my surroundings. Which I am, I guess.