by Naima Simone
Of course, she recognized the pair of diamond earrings fashioned in the shape of rosebuds. Caroline’s. They’d been his mother’s. And once they’d been Caroline’s mother’s, an heirloom passed down from mother to daughter. The same earrings her father had stolen and pawned after Caroline’s death.
“I-I can’t,” she whispered, voice shaking. She reached out but stopped short of actually touching the small pieces of jewelry. “Aiden, I can’t.”
She started to shift backward. From him. From the jewelry that reminded her of the only mother she’d ever known. From her own overwhelming desire to wear them.
“You can, and you will,” Aiden said, his tone gentle but brooking no argument. He caught her wrist and drew her forward. “Hold this.” Maybe he didn’t trust her to comply, because he worked open her hand and placed the box on her palm. He carefully plucked one earring from the case and, with ease, put one earring in, and then the other. Stepping back, he studied her, his gaze inscrutable. “Beautiful,” he murmured. Touching one lobe, he swept a caress over the jewelry and her skin. “Perfect.”
“Aiden,” she objected, her fingers curling around the box. “This isn’t right. They’re your mother’s and should go to whoever—”
“Mother to daughter,” he interrupted. Something flickered across his face, there and gone too quickly for her to decipher. “That’s how it’s always been. And she considered you hers. This has nothing to do with you and me. Just as she would’ve left you the money in the will, I believe she would’ve given you these as well. So, they’re yours.”
Tears that she fought against with every ounce of her will clogged her throat, momentarily strangling her. Reverently, she brushed both earrings with fingers that hadn’t stopped trembling since he’d removed the box from his pocket.
“You think she really would’ve given them to me herself?” she asked, voice thick.
Expression solemn, he slipped his hands into his pockets. “I know she would have.”
“Thank you,” she rasped. “I… Thank you.”
He didn’t reply, except to lightly grasp her elbow and turn her toward the foyer. “We should leave now, or we’ll be late.”
Noelle’s idea of a dinner party resembled a small gathering of family and friends around a long dining-room table with conversation and laughter. Maybe soft music playing in the background. Not that she’d ever been to one; her father’s idea of a dinner party would’ve been a card game around a kitchen table. Still, she could imagine.
But her imagination had been light years away from Sydney Oliver’s “dinner party.” Instead of being at her and Lucas’s home, Noelle and about thirty other guests stood in the spacious ballroom of an exclusive country club with a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The tables were exquisitely set with fine tablecloths, cutlery that sparkled, and tall vases of blooming lilacs. Elegant, refined, and obviously wealthy. Those three words could describe everything from the venue to the decorations to the guests.
And Noelle was none of those things. Her dress could compete with any of the others, but the similarities ended there. They were the high-society, cliquish Boston elite, and she was…not.
Damn, what the hell had she been thinking coming here? And with Aiden? If she had a dollar for every cutting look she’d received from the women in attendance, Noelle could buy her gallery outright. Then there were the whispers and not-so-subtle once-overs. None of them snubbed her, but she attributed that more to Aiden’s presence than manners. However, not all of the women had treated her like an oddity in Lincoln Park Zoo. Sydney had been as warm and welcoming as Noelle remembered. And then there were the two older women Sydney had introduced as Yolanda and Melinda Evans, sisters who ran a youth center in the Brighton area. When Sydney had informed them Noelle was an artist, they immediately asked her if she would be willing to teach a couple of classes at the center. There’d been nothing shy about the no-nonsense, straightforward women, and Noelle had happily agreed to visit the center.
But those three had been an anomaly. The women stared, and the men leered. Maybe not as obviously as the men she’d known, but they were just better at hiding it.
“Noelle, are you doing okay?” Sydney arrived, breaking into Noelle’s morose mental lambasting with a smile and a glass of wine. “Here.” She pressed the delicate flute into Noelle’s hand with a wry chuckle. “You look like you need this. Wine is the one drawback to being pregnant.”
Noelle glanced down at the baby bump under Sydney’s gorgeous, purple, empire-waist dress. “I’ll drink for you then,” she said, gratefully accepting the glass.
“Gee, thanks,” Sydney drawled, smiling. “So…how long did it take Yolanda and Melinda to hit you up to teach at the center?”
Noelle laughed. “About twenty seconds after you introduced us. They didn’t bother beating around the bush.”
“I didn’t think they would,” Sydney said, shaking her head, grinning. A blind man couldn’t mistake her love for the two women. “When I mentioned you last week, they started plotting to corner you tonight. Don’t feel obligated, Noelle. I know you’re starting graduate school in another month or so, and with your job…”
“No, it’s fine,” Noelle assured her. “I would be glad to help. Really.” Teaching at the center would provide her with experience for the program she planned to implement in her gallery one day. “Besides,” she said with a snort, “I seriously doubt they would’ve taken no for an answer.”
“You would be right about that,” Sydney agreed. “I—” Someone called her name, and she glanced in that direction, pasting a cool smile on her lips. Since Noelle had been on the receiving end of Sydney’s amused grin, she could tell the difference between the real thing and her hostess smile. “You know, this started out as a small, intimate get-together for friends.”
Noelle arched an eyebrow, surprised. “They aren’t all your friends?”
“The Evans sisters and a few others—they’re real friends. The others? Acquaintances or friends of friends who invited themselves. Next time I plan a dinner, I’m swearing every person to secrecy under threat of bamboo shoots under their nails.” Noelle snickered, and Sydney’s true smile returned. “Thank you for coming, Noelle. I know from personal experience being in a roomful of people you don’t really know is difficult. Don’t let them steal your joy, though.” With a small squeeze to Noelle’s free hand, Sydney left.
Don’t let them steal your joy.
Forty-five minutes later, Noelle clung to the advice as if it were a life raft in the middle of a turbulent sea. Dinner had been torture. Aiden had conversed with Lucas and the other two men at their table—business associates, as far as she could tell—and while Sydney had drawn her into conversation, the women joining them had deliberately ignored her. Usually, she didn’t give a damn whether people judged her or not, but tonight it hurt. Like a bitch. Tonight had drilled home the knowledge that she didn’t belong in this circle, this world into which Aiden seamlessly fit.
As they rose from the dinner table, she touched Aiden’s arm. He immediately excused himself from his conversation and turned his attention to her.
“I need to go to the restroom. I’ll be back.”
He nodded, his narrowed gaze searching her face. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She forced a smile to her face, and it felt brittle and fake. “Of course. Excuse me.”
Before that too-perceptive-for-comfort stare could decipher more than she wanted, she circled him and exited the ballroom. As soon as she located the women’s restroom, she pushed into one of the large stalls and leaned against the wall, exhaling.
Just as she closed her eyes and her shoulders wilted, the outside door opened and two voices carried into the bathroom.
Oh, just great.
“Did you see her? Tattoos,” a woman said with a cackle that would’ve made the Wicked Witch of the West jealous. “How vulgar. Where did Aiden Kent pick her up at? A biker bar?”
The second woman joined in
her friend’s laughter. “You’re being too kind, Jen. I was thinking more along the lines of the red-light district.”
Pain and humiliation seared Noelle’s insides like a blowtorch. Her. They were talking about her. She eased off the wall, careful not to make any noise that would betray her presence. A peek through the door panels revealed two women she didn’t recognize touching up their makeup as they ripped Noelle up one side and down the other.
“I had lunch with Jocelyn Davis a week ago, and she told me about Aiden’s date,” the first woman, whom the other had called Jen, shared. “Apparently he calls her a family friend.” She snorted. “He’s probably her uncle,” she sneered.
“I don’t know what he could’ve possibly been thinking, bringing her here. Maybe men bring their whores to respectable places in Chicago, but in Boston we shouldn’t be forced to endure her company,” the second woman sniffed.
“I heard Sydney invited her,” Jen said, snapping her purse closed and running a hand down her straight blond hair.
“Well, Aiden is Lucas’s best friend and business partner. But this is carrying friendship too far. Do you suppose…” The rest of her gossiping vitriol trailed off as both women exited the bathroom.
Noelle didn’t move. Her legs wouldn’t cooperate as anger and embarrassment poured through her, drowning her in its slick, oily sludge. After several minutes, she slid the lock back on the stall door and stepped out. The wall-length mirror caught her attention, and she stared at her reflection. Eyes dark with hurt, skin pale so the make-up that had been lovely stood out garish and harsh. A whore. They thought she was Aiden’s whore because, of course, why else would he be with someone like her? Once more she was back in high school with the mean girls who had made those four years miserable.
Stop it. Who gives a damn about them? They don’t know jack shit about you.
The whispered hiss snapped her head up. She was no longer that teenager; she was a grown woman who’d scraped her way out of her broken circumstances to earn her way, to capture her goals and dreams. Everything she owned, she’d worked her ass off for. And she wasn’t ashamed of it—not when she could have so easily followed in her father’s and brother’s footsteps. Jen and her BFF most likely wouldn’t know anything about good, honest hard work. They could call her whore, gold digger, or vulgar, but as long as she didn’t answer to any of those epitaphs, those bitches could suck it.
Straightening her shoulders, she again met the mirror’s reflection. The hurt lingered, but at least she didn’t look like she’d been hit by a bus. Hiking her chin up, she pulled open the door and stepped out into the hall. She headed toward the ballroom, when her cell vibrated inside her purse. Other than Lo, only one person would be calling her. She removed the phone, and a glance down confirmed her assumptions.
She swiped her thumb across the screen. “Tony, I’ve been trying to reach you,” she snapped in lieu of hello. Since the night Aiden had accused her of being in cahoots with her brother, she’d called Tony’s phone daily. And he’d avoided every one of those calls.
“I know, Ellie,” he said, a hint of a whine in his voice. God, how did women find that shit attractive? “I meant to call you back, but I’ve been busy.”
“Really,” she drawled. “Doing what? Working?” Before he could reply, she charged on. “No, of course not. Or else you wouldn’t have called Aiden behind my back and asked him for money.”
“See?” Tony crowed. “I knew you weren’t telling me the whole truth. You have seen him.”
“Don’t try to turn this around,” she snarled. “You threw me under the bus, and for what? To get under Aiden’s skin? To remind him you’re breathing? You two hate each other. What did you expect?”
“That bastard owes me,” Tony snarled, fury vibrating down the phone line. “The very least he could do is loan me a few dollars. It’s not like he has a shortage of them.”
By “loan,” Tony meant “give,” because he’d never repaid a debt in his life. But his previous statement snagged her attention. “What do you mean he owes you?” she asked. Silence met her. “Tony,” she pressed.
“Fine,” he snapped. “I can’t believe you don’t know already, though.” He paused, his deep inhalation of breath loud. “Peyton and I… We were in love.”
“Oh, Tony,” she breathed.
“Don’t take that tone with me,” he growled, offended. “Of course you would take his side. Yeah, the reason I went after her in the first place might have been for revenge—”
“Revenge?” Noelle interrupted, confused. “What did she do to you?”
“Not her. Aiden. You think I forgot how I found you crying your damn heart out over him?” he snarled, and Noelle smothered a groan. Damn. She’d forgotten about Tony catching her in a weak moment during those weeks after Caroline’s death and Aiden’s defection. Normally, she wouldn’t have dared confide anything in her brother, who couldn’t hold water. “I hated him for hurting you. For tossing you aside like trash just because he had money.”
“No, Tony,” she objected, voice soft. “It had nothing to do with—”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses for him; you were always so weak when it came to him. But that was just the original reason. Soon, I did fall for Peyton, and…” He broke off, but his rough breathing echoed over the line. “He had everything—has everything. But after he ended their engagement, she dropped me. Couldn’t face the pressure from her parents after they found out about me. So yeah, that bastard owes me.”
Deep sorrow immobilized her and froze her vocal cords. Maybe Tony had loved Peyton—as much as her selfish brother could love anyone besides himself. But in all the years they’d been in each other’s lives, she’d never known him to place someone else above his needs or comforts. Because her brother didn’t comprehend the meaning of sacrifice. Or honor. And he might have had feelings for Aiden’s ex-fiancée, but Noelle would’ve bet her most prized graphite pencil set that Peyton’s money had been as much of a lure for Tony as her stunning beauty—if not more. If he’d truly loved Peyton, he would have insisted she end her relationship with Aiden first before becoming involved with her. But that probably wouldn’t have occurred to him, because the thrill of getting one over on Aiden, who he’d resented and been jealous of for years, would’ve been too great.
“Tony,” she whispered.
“Noelle.”
She jerked her head up, meeting Aiden’s hooded, emerald scrutiny.
“I’ll talk to you later. I have to go,” she told her brother before hanging up, ignoring his loud objection. Slowly, she dropped the cell in her purse and snapped it closed.
“Who was that?” Aiden asked, his expression inscrutable.
Tony’s name lodged in her throat. She hated lying—detested it—and the knowledge that she was going to do it soured her stomach. But the one thing she hated more than lying was glimpsing the frigid ice and betrayal in Aiden’s eyes at the mention of her brother. Admitting that Tony had called, and that she’d spoken to him, would snap the tenuous truce they’d established over the past few days. She didn’t want to see him return to the cold stranger he’d been when she’d arrived in Boston—the one who had greeted her last week after Tony’s first phone call. That ticking clock she’d been determined to put out of her mind chimed louder, impossible to ignore. The expiration date couldn’t be denied, but greedily, she yearned for just a little longer. A little more time.
“Lo,” she said, the untruth rancid in her mouth. But she swallowed past it and continued. “She just needed some information from me about an artist for the show.”
Several heartbeats passed, and the swill in her belly churned harder. Finally, he nodded. “They’re serving after-dinner drinks, but if you’re ready to go, I can make our excuses to Sydney and Lucas.”
Relief streamed through her—both that he hadn’t questioned her and that they could leave this place.
“Yes.” She dipped her chin and accepted the hand he extended toward her. “I’m ready
.”
Chapter Fifteen
Noelle entered her bedroom and, sighing, toed off her shoes. The beginnings of a headache pulsed at her temples, and she massaged the area. Stress and tension, courtesy of the evening from hell.
And the lie.
She crossed the room and perched on the bed, staring sightlessly at the far wall. Her shoulders slumped as if weighed down by the burden of her deception. One woman—the one he’d been ready to pledge the rest of his life to, the one he’d given his heart and trust to—had lied to him in the worst possible way. Now, Noelle herself also deceived him. Not on the level of Peyton, but to someone who had been violated by a lie… Aiden probably wouldn’t see the difference. And if Noelle were honest, neither did she. The stink of the untruth seemed to permeate her until it was all she was able to think about, smell, feel…
Shoving to her feet, she retraced her steps and exited the room. She couldn’t allow fear of his reaction or of him rejecting her transform her into the very thing she’d worked so hard to avoid all her life: a no-good, lying Rana.
Her footsteps whispered across the floor as she hurried down the hall and staircase before the anxiety coiling and twisting inside her could convince her to retreat to the safety of her bedroom. Problem was, she would be holed up in there with herself. And unless she told Aiden the truth, that bedroom wasn’t big enough for her, her conscience, and the lie.
A quick glance into the living and dining rooms didn’t reveal Aiden, so she headed for the room he seemed to favor when home. The door to the library stood open, and she zoned in on him as if he emitted a signal for her to follow. Her heart thudded, the heavy drum echoing in her ears. Why did it feel like she’d lost him when she’d never had him?
“Aiden?”
He turned, a tumbler of dark alcohol in his hand. Behind him, the Boston skyline provided a gorgeous backdrop that still couldn’t rival him in beauty. Though her stomach knotted, she couldn’t help admiring him, tracing each feature, from his sharp cheekbones, sensual mouth, and down his tall, lean frame. He’d removed the tie and jacket he’d worn to the dinner party, and the white shirt stretched across his wide shoulders, hugging him. Was it crazy to be envious of a shirt?
