Defending Pacer, стр. 36

I continue waving back at them; it’s almost sad to leave. But I’m craving alone time with Pacer. We leave the little cove of Hunter’s Hill and I sit back into the leather chair and watch Pacer enjoying the ride. This day has surpassed any expectation that I had of Pacer and his family. None of the news reports, police files or accusations of his family’s crimes ever show the other side to the infamous Leganos. They never show the love and deep connection they all have for and with one another. Watching the dimly lit houses that sit along the waterfront, I can’t help but consider my own family. Sure, my family love each other, but their strength has never been tested like Pacer’s family … until now.

At a time when a family should be showing unity like Pacer’s family, mine is showing signs of imploding.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The boat ride home was the obvious clue that Pacer’s house is right on the water. As we round the corner into Vaucluse, he pulls the boat’s throttle and we slowly drift into the bay. We float up alongside the jetty that’s closest to the beach and Pacer jumps off the boat.

As he ties off, I grab my bag and the basket. Pacer’s chivalry does not falter and he immediately leans down and takes both items that I just picked up. He raises the bar a level—expert —when he tucks my bag under his arm and holds his gloved hand out for me to take.

He’s not just a magician, he’s a fucking sorcerer!

Like my obsession with him wasn’t bad enough already. I bet I’ll love his house and we’ll live happily ever after. I just know it. I can feel it.

Trailing up to his house, we pass a pool next to the jetty. I can just make out the structure of the house in the moonlight. It sits up a steep ledge, amongst the trees. What is with him and his treetop love-nests?

We walk up a lit cobblestone stairway, and climb each stair for what feels like forever. Exhausted from a solid Italian drinking session and an hour’s boat ride home, my head and legs feel like rubbish by the top of the stairs. Pacer catches sight of me under the doorway light and smiles.

“Come on. Let’s go soak in the bath. It’s been an intense day for you.” He puts my bag down and unlocks the front door.

The door swings from the centre. The house is modern, but not as minimalist as the treetop love-nest. For one there is more artwork in here. After hearing him play Nelly in his car, and his Mum having an unfortunate taste for all things euro-trash, I would not have picked him to be an art lover. The first piece right in front of the door is a huge and instantly recognisable piece by the renowned artist, David Bromley. Anyone who’s into the Sydney art scene would recognise a Bromley. His work won the prestigious Archibald Prize for so many years, and he knows my family—but that’s nothing rare. Everyone knows my family.

I recognise this particular piece. She’s nude, as most of Bromley’s paintings are. Her upper torso and perfect breasts have so much detail within single black brush strokes. She looks like someone you wouldn’t mess with—her gaze is killer. I know this particular version of the painting, too. She’s one of the only ones who has butterflies and flowers around her. I was there when she was unveiled … because she was named after me.

“How long have you had this piece?” I watch for Pacer’s response.

“She was the first Chelsea I ever fell in love with,” he says with a smile.

I try not to act like a complete girl with his love confession, and answer as quickly as I can. “Do you believe in serendipity?”

“Sure.” He shrugs nonchalantly.

I laugh. “I’m serious.” His eyes narrow while I talk. “What if I told you that this painting was named after me?”

He looks at the painting, then back to me. He searches between the two of us a couple more times.

“It’s not of me; it was just named after me. See? We were meant to meet, eventually.”

Now I sound like a crazy stalker. I need to shut the fuck up, right now.

We stay standing in the foyer, Pacer still contemplating the whole situation. “I’ve had her for a long time. What if between Ma’s praying and my saying ‘Hi Chelsea’ every time I walked in my house, it somehow made us slowly gravitate towards one another?”

My eyes widen. I nod like a loon. “See?”

He laughs loud and gives me a quick, soft kiss on the lips. “God, I love you,” he says casually, and he walks away.

My body freezes after hearing those words. He said it. I replay the moment. Yep, he said it. Albeit a little too casually, but he said it nonetheless.

There’s no way I can turn around from our relationship now. Not with the ‘I love you’ out in the air. There is no stopping this train now. I’m bolting down that track and the emergency brake is officially broken.

***

Pacer’s bath is incredible. It sits on the balcony of his main bedroom. The shutters beside the bath can be pulled out to enclose the whole balcony for complete privacy. I watch Pacer turn the bath on and light a cigarette. I’ve never condoned smoking until I watched Pacer blow out one of his long, sexuality-filled breaths of hazy air. Fuck me he makes smoking look good, whether he’s in clothes or naked. It looks good no matter what.

Dragging my eyes from Pacer, I take in the view from the upper level of his house. This whole floor is one bedroom. The place is massive. I can’t even begin to think what Pacer must’ve thought of me when he saw my apartment that night; no wonder he wanted me to come here. He must think I live like a hobo. But I did explain to him that I didn’t need to waste my money on a house. I wanted to wait until I was ready to settle down. Looking around at how Pacer lives, I kind of feel as if I haven’t grown up.

The view is pretty from here. The lights on the harbour sparkle through the trees. The public beach within view is a little concerning though.

“Do you ever worry about people seeing you from the beach?” I point my thumb in the direction of the strip of white beach that’s visible, even at night.

I catch Pacer’s smirk as he grabs the wide shutters and glides them effortlessly along the wall nearest to the beach. When he gets to the end, nothing can be seen other than the glittering harbour through the gum trees but that’s it. Pacer still has that same cocky smirk smeared across his face when he turns back to me. He’s right without even saying anything. Why did I ever doubt his understanding of privacy?

As the bath fills, he comes past and kisses me with a little bit more dominance. “I’m going to get the drinks organised. Feel free to get naked.”

His boldness makes me giggle. I watch him leave down the stairs and quickly turn my attention to my monogramed weekend bag on a really expensive-looking grey armchair.

Grabbing the bag, I race into the bathroom at the far end of the room. As soon as I turn the light on, I notice how much of a mess I look. My hair is completely windswept and my nose is brighter than Rudolf at the front of a sled.

Shit!

I frantically zip the bag open and rifle through, searching for the lacy black number. As soon as I feel the material, I rip it from the bag and start stripping. Coat, boots, jeans, woollen sweater, they all get madly flung around the room as I desperately try to get myself together.

Scrambling into the black lacy thing, I finally get it into position on my body. I lean onto the bench with my palms spread. Holy shit, that was a work out.

I grab the discarded clothes and pile them next to my weekend bag, and pull out my makeup bag. Tossing my fingers through my hair, I quickly moisturise my face to at least blend in my leftover foundation from this morning’s application.