Pride and Papercuts (The Austens #5) - Staci Hart Page 0,96

minutes, but it felt like a lifetime.

Georgie talked about their trip, and I listened—or tried to. My mind was busy with the anxiety of seeing him. What could I possibly say to express my regret? Would he hate me? Would he reject the apology and show me spite? I’d deserve it if he did.

But I really hoped he wouldn’t.

Ten minutes—just enough time to worry, not enough time to consider what would happen after. When we stepped into the lobby and walked to the elevators, we fell silent. But she never let go of my arm, and I was grateful for that. It made me feel so much less miserable.

My heart rate doubled when we stepped off the elevator and walked through the door.

For a moment, there was no space to be nervous—I was struck with awe at the sight of their home. It wasn’t just beautiful. It was astonishing. The space somehow managed to feel both modern and timeless. Mid-century furniture with clean, tidy lines was Liam. Touches of softness in sheepskin and lux textures were Georgie. Just like them, it was dark and light, from the floors to the upholstery to the sunlight bathing the room and the shadows that light made. I found it both familiar and foreign, a manifestation of something I’d only known in my heart.

“Hello?” Georgie called from the entryway as I wandered into the living room.

But when I saw the dark figure by the window, I stopped mid-stride.

My head cocked. “Jett?”

He smiled in brilliant exaltation, his eyes quirked in curiosity. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

But before he could answer, his gaze shifted behind me, and I ceased to exist.

Jett floated to where Georgie stood, stunned and flushed and hopeful.

“What … how …” she breathed.

“Liam,” he said, cradling her face in his hands. “He brought me here.”

“I was wrong,” came a rumbling voice from behind me, the timbre sending a shock of electricity down my spine.

I turned to find Liam, his eyes touched with both sorrow and joy. His eyes met mine—how had everything about him changed?—and he smiled before turning his attention back to them.

“I was wrong about many things, most of which lie in my lack of defense in the matter of you two. I should have fought for you sooner, but until yesterday, I’d convinced myself that I was doing what was right. Catherine won’t stand in your way, and neither will I.”

Georgie’s face broke open like the sun from the clouds, her eyes glittering with tears and her cheeks flushed with emotion as she looked up at Jett. He pressed his forehead to hers, and when her eyes closed, Jett kissed her with such tenderness, the room was filled to the brim with it.

Liam’s fingertips on the back of my arm stole my attention. With a small smile, he jerked his head toward the other end of the house. And with a nod, I followed.

We made our way through the kitchen, then down a hallway before he turned into a library.

Again, I found myself in a state of wonder as I took in the room. The only wall not covered in brimming bookshelves was the one made of windows that overlooked Central Park, which was on fire with shades of fall. Overstuffed chairs, a couch, and a few end tables were the only furniture, the space designed for comfort and a singular purpose—to read. I approached one of the bookcases to trace my finger along the spines, reading the titles. This shelf seemed to be all science fiction, with old copies of everything from Jules Verne to Kurt Vonnegut. The next was comics and graphic novels. There was a fantasy shelf and two filled with classic fiction, as well as nonfiction and trade reference books. I even caught half a shelf packed with bodice-rippers and shot him a smile.

“These are yours, aren’t they?”

A little shrug. “You caught me.”

“Which one’s your favorite?”

“Georgie made me read one once about a pirate and the girl he kidnapped. It was a little rapey, if I’m honest.”

“The old ones often were,” I said on a chuckle, but my smile faded when he moved for the shelf.

“They were my mom’s. Sometimes I wonder how many times she read them.” He took one from its place and turned it over in his hand. “The creases in the spine, the curl of the pages. She dog-eared pages too—Georgie comes in here sometimes and just reads the ones Mom marked.” He slid it back