CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Aidan was called over by an older male patron whom, he whispered, was a war-veteran. It touched me to see Aidan so respectful around older people. This was a gentle, kind Aidan. I recalled with distaste his smug, almost outright rude disregard towards my unofficial date Cameron and his dismissive attitude towards Tabitha and her date. But as Aidan started to reveal his true essence, particularly around people devoted to benevolent and lofty causes, I saw nothing but a gentleman.
Seated at our table were some of the people I recognized from the last dinner. Bryce was as troubling as usual with that salacious stare that rarely made it past my cleavage. Eek. Seated next to him was Jessica. A cold sensation settled in my gut. Nevertheless, I tried my hardest to ignore both of them. How she’d ended up at our table was a matter for Greta, I suppose.
Aidan didn’t hide his displeasure as he headed towards the table. His soft gaze, directed at me, turned acidic when his eyes landed on Jessica. Instead of taking a seat, Aidan headed over to Greta and whispered something in her ear. He had that stern, scary look in his eyes. Poor Greta just shook her head and shrugged.
The food was predictably sumptuous. I was so hungry that I wolfed down my soup, silently oohed over the ridiculously fresh seafood salad, and ate my medium-rare steak as a vampire would her first meal of blood in a century. My body obviously needed replenishing after all the vigorous sex.
Aidan glanced over at me. “Haven’t you eaten for some time?”
About to pop a potato in my mouth, I peered up from my plate. “I tend to eat a lot. I love food.”
“I’ve noticed. And I love that about you. You’re a rare flower.” His blue eyes shimmered tenderly.
Unable to help myself, I glanced over and saw Jessica watching us. I couldn’t understand why she was putting herself through this. It must’ve been torture. She was clearly still in love with Aidan. And he was not holding back on his display of affection towards me.
“It’s Clarissa, isn’t it?” asked the same man whom I’d spoken about art at the last function.
I glanced up. Despite recalling his face, which had reminded me of my father— whom he was now seated alongside— I couldn’t recall his name. “It is. Wonderful to see you again.”
“I don’t think we were introduced last time. This is Dorothy, my wife. And I’m Rudi.” His dark, amiable eyes beamed.
“Pleased to meet you,” I said, putting down my utensils. I took a sip of my wine to help wash down the food.
“We enjoyed that little discussion about art at the last gala. In fact, we came tonight because of that.” Rudi glanced at his wife, who nodded with matching enthusiasm.
Rudi allowed his wife, who seemed ready to erupt volubly, to speak. “We wish to invite you to our next soirée.”
I nodded slowly. “That sounds very interesting. Is there a theme?”
“I’m glad you asked. We’re hosting an evening of nineteen-century art.” Dorothy spoke with a slight German accent.
“Oh,” I replied. Aidan placed his warm hand on my thigh. I almost lost my train of thought as it seared into my flesh. “You’re having an exhibition?”
“Not as such. We host soirées regularly. Aidan’s attended a few,” she said, regarding him with the fondness of an old aunt. Aidan returned an approving nod.
“That sounds very entertaining,” said my father.
“It does. It reminds me of Gertrude Stein,” I replied.
Most of the younger guests, including Jessica, looked lost at sea. Not Dorothy, whose eyes widened with excitement. “Oh, what a colorful character,” she exclaimed. “We are passionate admirers, and of that era too.”
“She was affiliated with Picasso,” I said, glancing over at my father.
“And Hemingway,” he added.
Rudi switched his attention to my father. “And that invitation extends to you, Julian.” He regarded me again. “Your father and I have a lot in common it seems, in our love of English literature. Aidan has shown me his extraordinary library.”
Returning to the subject of the soirée, Dorothy said, “We were wondering if you would speak a little on any artist that you admire from that era. We enjoyed listening to your insights at the last dinner so much that both Rudi and I thought it would be an honor to have you there.”
My eyes reached out to Aidan, who cast me a reassuring look.
“I suppose I could,” I said hesitantly.
“It doesn’t have to be long, maybe half an hour at the most.”
I thought about it for a moment. “Aidan made me a gift of the Klimt catalogue from the Belvedere in Vienna.”
At the mention of Vienna, their faces lit up. Rudi said, “Oh, that would be spectacular. We’ve visited that gallery. What a joy that would be. Would you? I mean, we don’t wish to impose on you. It’s not for another month.”
Aidan nodded. “I’ll be here. I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he said, focusing on me.
“Well, why not, then,” I said. “I can turn some of the images into slides and talk about his seminal works.” I smiled. “I do love him.”
Dorothy clapped her hands. “That sounds glorious. We’re hoping to have music from that period. And poetry.” She regarded my father. “Julian may be able to help us there, we hope. You have got such a musical voice.”
My father resembled me in his modesty, but Greta, beaming with pride, impelled him to accept.
“Maybe some T.S. Eliot? In my earlier college days, I trod the boards,” he said, chuckling.
Aidan kept his hand on my thigh, burning a hole. When I accepted their strange offer, he squeezed my leg. I looked at him, and his eyes sparkled with admiration.
The night continued on gloriously. Devina had the guests enthralled, her hips swaying sensually in her slinky black-satin dress. The charismatic diva looked every bit the provocative chanteuse. With her bedroom husk, she introduced her first number, “The Man I Love.”
Aidan, who had been chatting about his projects to Rudi and my father, turned to me. “I love this song. Will you dance?”
“I’d love to, only I don’t know how to waltz,” I said.
He took my arm. “Come, there’s nothing to it. Just let me lead.” Aidan took my hand and led the way.
It was so effortless being in Aidan’s arms that even in my impossible shoes I floated along. My head fitted cosily into his shoulder. Thanks to my heels, I was the perfect height.
“You’re a fantastic dancer, Aidan.”
“And you, Clarissa, are very light and graceful, easy to lead.” Aidan spun me around.
“Have you taken lessons?” I asked.
“My mother used to be a ballroom dance teacher, and when I was a young boy, she would get me to dance with some of her students.”
That was so unexpected my brows hit my skull. “You’re kidding?”
Aidan shook his head. “No, I’m not.”
“There’s so much about you I don’t know, Aidan. Why have you never spoken of your mother?”
“Because she’s not a good person, that’s why.”
“But she’s your mother,” I said, sensing stiffness in his body.
“That she is.” Aidan held me tight again. “I’ll tell you about her one day. Let’s not spoil this memorable moment.” He kissed my neck, and I forgot everything. His lips had that mesmerizing effect on me.
We danced and danced and danced.
Occasionally, we rubbed shoulders with my father and Greta, who, like us, had drifted off into their own romantic bubble. My heart filled with bliss. Were it not for Jessica, the night would have resembled a fairy-tale.
When Aidan wasn’t in my arms or hanging close to me, he chatted about his renewable-energy project to any willing audience. While he was thus engaged, I left him to it and visited the powder room.
Soon as I opened the door, I recoiled at the sight of Jessica in the mirror.
A wry smirk grew on her face. “Oh, it’s the belle of the ball.”
Reluctant to feed into a bitchy standoff, I produced a tight smile.
“Have you been together long?” Jessica asked in a neutral tone.
“One month,” I replied, reaching into my purse for my comb.
“The honeymoon period, Aidan’s insatiable at this stage,” she said, leaning into the mirror to fix her eye make-up. Her almond-shaped green eyes were very striking. With that thick red hair cascading down to her tiny waist, Jessica was definitely a stunner.
I remained quiet, my core tightening by the second.
“You’re another one of his PA’s, I believe.” Jessica stared down at my cleavage.
Curiosity got the better of me. “What do mean by ‘another one’?”
“Only that he’s fucked most of you.”
“You’re lying. You’re just jealous. It’s written all over you.” I sharpened my claws.
She snorted. “How old are you?”
“None of your business,” I said, clasping my clutch-bag tightly.
“You don’t know about young Amy?”
“I do, in fact. Aidan told me about her.” I tried to maintain a cool tone.
She arched one of her thin eyebrows. “Oh, did he?” Her voice went up a register. “Did he tell you the bit about his fiancée being pregnant at the time?”
I froze. The blood drained from my whole body. “What?”
“Yes, that’s right. Look shocked. Because it was pretty fucking shocking for me too,” said Jessica bitterly.
“What happened to the baby?”
“Good question. I miscarried.” With a twisted smile on her face, she added, “I found them fucking, and I ran out in such a hurry that I fell over, and that was it, the end.” Although Jessica wore a blank expression, she was out for a scalp—mine.
It was working. My skin was suddenly infested with a swarm of creepy-crawly nasties, sending me into a meltdown. Beneath me, my legs were numb, useless even, as I clutched onto the basin for balance.
“I’m only telling you this because you’re young. You could get any man you want—an honest, handsome, rich, untainted man. Aidan is a dark character.”
“I get the impression you want Aidan back even after that.”
She nodded. Her cold green eyes were determined and steely. “I do.” She ran her hands down her slinky dress, adjusting her silicone breasts so that they jutted out as far as possible. “You see, Aidan and I are very similar in many ways.” Her icy stare froze my heart. “I, too, fucked my teacher when I was sixteen.” Jessica had a wicked glint in her eyes.
My eyes widened in shock. “What?”
“He didn’t tell you about that either? Fuck, he told me on the first night we met. Just after I’d swallowed everything that big fat gorgeous cock had to offer.”
I pushed past her and got to the cubicle just in time to vomit, disgorging everything. My soul included. I remained there until her heels clip-clopped out.