There was a long pause of silence as she took in the view and the way his breath rose and fell in steady intervals against the sensitive curve of her neck.
“Thank you,” he finally whispered. “Thank you for tonight.”
“You’re welcome,” she whispered back, relaxing her hand on his forearm, considering all the implications of allowing him to cradle her body against his own.
“I’m fairly certain we should be sharing that award since The Spire was a Van der Meer project.” The voice called out from behind them. “But as usual, you’re taking all the credit for everyone else’s accomplishment.”
Hans pushed towards Inez and swept the frosted sculpture away from her. Sven raised his drowsy head as if he had been asleep and faced the sound of his brother’s unmistakable voice.
“Yes, you run our business, Hans. But I’m the architect. The Spire was my vision and my design.”
“And I’m the one who got it approved and funded,” Hans asserted. “And like all things between us, you didn’t even bother to thank me for it.”
“And like all things between us, you steal everything away from me because you assume it’s your right to have it.”
“Oh, boys.” Inez slipped between them. “Can’t we just kiss and make up?”
“No,” Sven replied. “Because there is no brotherly love between us.”
“That’s usually the outcome when you try to kill someone,” Hans countered.
Sven lunged at him with the threat of violence, but Inez blocked his path. “I only regret not succeeding,” he seethed.
“Sven…no. Don’t—” she insisted, barely holding him back. Fueled by rage and alcohol, he was aggressive and unpredictable. She was uncertain as to whether or not he would sweep her aside or heed her protests. “Not here. Not tonight.”
She tugged on the lapels of his suit coat, like she was attempting to control a wild stallion. His nostrils flared and his hot breath fumed against her chin. Whatever credentials she thought she had going into this job, horse whisperer was not one of them. Desperate, she forced him to look at her with a slap—a clean, bitch-don’t-take-no-prisoners crack against his hard cheek that shuddered him into submission.
“Did you just slap me?” He stared at her, eyes glossy and incredulous, while rubbing his cheek.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she insisted, dragging him away from Hans and into a secluded corner of the ballroom. The band’s trumpets blared through the melodic jazz piece. Inez glanced around the room, hoping no one had noticed the altercation.
“Look at me.” She redirected him by his chin. “What did he mean?”
“Whatever will justify his actions to make me Cain to his Abel.”
“Very biblical, Sven. But newsflash: this is modern day America. Which means you don’t just get to go around threatening to kill people for the fun of it. So please tell me this has something more to do with than Celeste?”
As if she had finally said something that resonated in his heart, he looked deeply into her eyes before turning away, unwilling or unable to answer her.
“Well, I hardly think I’m worth fighting over, especially when you’re already engaged to someone else.” The spritely female voice cut into their moment of privacy and answered for him.
Ugh. Inez reluctantly turned towards Celeste’s unpleasant clown smile.
“And such a precious moment tonight,” Celeste drawled, waving her champagne flute through the air. “Dedicating your entire acceptance speech to someone you’ve only known for…how long?”
“You sound jealous, Celeste,” Sven retorted, fixing his eyes on the slinky black velvet gown that clung to her curveless body and her perfectly moussed French bob cut across her high cheekbones, accentuating their severity.
“Not jealous, Sven. Just…unimpressed.” Her eyes smoldered beneath purple eye shadow while narrowing her gaze onto Inez like she was nothing more than a sock puppet. Celeste scanned her hand with a frigid glare. “I’m surprised you’re engaged without an engagement ring.”
“And I’m surprised that Sven just received the Genius Award and you haven’t even congratulated him,” Inez shot back.
“Sven knows I’m his biggest supporter.” Celeste lowered her voice as if directly addressing Inez was beneath her. “I may not be the fiancée who receives his praise in his public speeches, but Sven knows I’m the one who supported him—and his work on The Spire—from the very beginning. Even when very few people wanted to.” Celeste unexpectedly pushed closer to him and reached out her thin fingers to stroke his cheek. “And even after the accident.”
Sven flinched, deflecting her touch. “Your memory is flawed, Celeste. I was alone after the accident. You had already chosen to leave me in favor of my brother.”
Celeste dropped her hand like he had shot it with a bullet. “It’s a curious thing how our memories revise the past, Sven. The only thing I remember is choosing to move on from our relationship because you refused to commit to me.”
“I committed to you for two years, Celeste,” Sven replied.
“Because I was committed to supporting your work.”
Like divorced parents, Inez watched them escalate their conversation into an uncomfortable rehashing of past wounds and blame.
“I think the only thing that matters now is that Sven enjoys his night,” Inez interjected, slipping between them. “After all, he is officially a genius now.”
“And as my reward, Inez promised to get me home early to give me a bath,” Sven announced with a carefree grin.
Both women turned and stared at him. He hiccupped and drew Inez towards him, nestling his nose into her neckline. Inez held her ground, enduring Celeste’s smoldering stink eye, while Sven’s hot breath whispered over her bare shoulder. It was all for show. Clearly, all for show.
“Well, I can’t imagine when you intend to get married,” Celeste countered. “Especially since Sven is expected to participate in the Li Long project in Shanghai at the end of this week.”
Sven raised his lips from Inez’s neckline. “I haven’t decided whether or not I’m going to Shanghai. And I’m certainly not going without Inez.”
Inez stared at him. They had never discussed their “arrangement” extending beyond that week, much less extending overseas. She replayed Eliot’s warning to her. “What happens if you don’t go to Shanghai, Sven?”
“He will miss out on the most prestigious commission of his career,” Celeste answered for him. “The Li Long Towers will make The Spire look like a rough draft in comparison. All of Chicago knows about the van der Meer brothers because of The Spire, but the whole world will know about Sven if he designs the Li Long Towers.”
“Not if Hans and Eliot Watercross take all the credit for my work,” he replied.
Celeste laughed, the pitch in her voice rising with a nervous flutter. “They can only do that if you let them. It was your design of The Spire that was revolutionary, and no one else can design the Li Long Towers better than you. They need you, Sven. They know it. And you know it.”
Devin zipped up to them and handed off another shot to Sven. “Another Stoli for you, Mr. van der Meer.”
The bugles and snare drums closed the band’s set with dramatic verve. The audience clapped and the chandeliers briefly flashed. Devin’s manager flagged him from across the room.
“Okay, there’s my cue to start making the rounds for clean-up and final drinks. Is there anything else I can bring you all?”
Sven downed his shot and tossed another hundred onto Devin’s tray. “Just a final request to the band.” He leaned in and whispered into Devin’s ear and handed over another hundred dollar bill.
“You got it, Mr. V.”
“And Devin—” Sven called after him. “Tell them I’ll tip them a grand if they can find a singer to do justice to the song. I want to dance with my fiancée. The slower, the better.”
“Us? Dancing?” Inez protested. “We can’t. Not in front of all these people.”
/> “No?” He frowned at her, wounded by her rejection.
“Sven is one of the best dancers I know,” Celeste interjected, sipping her champagne and seizing the opportunity to ease the expression of disappointment on his face. She inched closer to smooth down Sven’s shiny rose quartz tie. “Too bad your fiancée won’t appreciate it.”
“Put on some Macarena, and maybe I’ll be persuaded,” Inez slung back.
Celeste turned on her heel and tossed a sidelong glance at Inez through her spider lashes. “Congratulations on your engagement. Hans and I have put our own wedding on hold until he returns from Shanghai. I suggest you consider doing the same—for Sven’s sake.” Celeste strode past Inez, bumping against her shoulder before catwalking like a model across the ballroom.
“Celeste is always such a bright ray of sunshine to be around, isn’t she?” Inez mused.
“She’s still angry at me for not marrying her.” Sven swayed to one side. Clearly, the effects of his fifth shot were wearing on him.
Inez rushed to offer her support. “Well, I can’t imagine why you didn’t sweep her off her feet and carry her down the aisle when you had the chance. Especially since she acts like she’s always plagued with wedgies that she can’t pick or scratch.”
Sven shrugged. “Maybe she’s right. Maybe I was only committed to her because she was committed to supporting my work.”
“Or maybe you just didn’t love her the way that she loved you.” It came out of her mouth before Inez had a chance to filter it.
“Perhaps. Or perhaps I was waiting…” he paused, careful not to mispronounce his words.
“Waiting for what?” She rushed forward, propping him up as he sagged slightly, placing his precarious balance into her care.
“For someone who better suited me to come along.”
Sven let the sentiment dangle like a lure on a fish line. Inez replayed the sensation of his lips against her own, considering what would happen if she tugged on his bait. Instead, she forced him to regain his own balance and pretended to ignore him.
“Well, regardless…none of that gives Celeste the right to run off and sleep with your brother.”
“No. I didn’t think so either,” he agreed. “But in the end, the way that I handled it made everything worse than it had to be.”
He touched his eyepatch. Inez stared at him, noticing how they were avoiding the elephant in the room. She shifted her attention across the ballroom and spotted Celeste standing next to Hans and Eliot Watercross near the champagne fountain.
“Sven…what happens if you don’t go to Shanghai?”
“I’ll probably be ruined,” he answered. “But even worse…I’ll be destined to act like Celeste for the rest of my life…plagued by wedgies that I can’t pick.”
Inez eyed him, containing her smile. “Do you even know what a wedgie is?”
“No,” he confessed with a smirk. “But it sounds terrible.”
He swayed again and she steadied him with her hand. He held it like a lifeline.
Shanghai. The Li Long Towers. His career, his reputation, and his future. They were all part of the intoxicating fears that consumed his emotions while filling Inez with dread. How was Sven going to travel to Shanghai and design the tallest buildings in the world without his eyesight? And what was she going to do if he expected her to go with him?
“I’m a fool to want you…”
The first line of the jazz ballad dampened the crowd’s chatter. The lights dimmed and the mournful melody silenced the ballroom.
“I’m a fool to want you…” the singer repeated, crooning the first verses of Sven’s song request.
“Perfect,” Sven said, drawing her towards the band.
“What, the dance? Now? In front of all these people?”
“Yes, especially since it sounds like the band has found a worthy singer.” He lifted her arm into proper ballroom dancing position and snaked his other arm around her waist, settling his palm over the small of her back, guiding her body to follow his lead.
Breathy and seductive, the singer’s words hushed the ballroom. “To want a love that can’t be true. A love that’s there for others too.”
He drew them towards the direction of the piano’s melancholy solo. The notes tinkled like the soothing sound of raindrops as Inez watched several couples join around them for the dance.
“I’m a fool to hold you…such a fool to hold you.”
“You’re a pretty good dancer for being blind,” she said, reluctantly giving in to Sven’s embrace, seeking to close the gap between their bodies.
“Plastered and blind,” he said nonchalantly, maintaining the rhythmic sway of their simple foxtrot.
“To seek a kiss, not mine alone…To share a kiss, the Devil has known.”
She kept her chin lowered and her eyes firmly planted on his tie. But her body felt the intimate curls of his breath, rising and falling along his firm chest as he effortlessly glided them across the ballroom.
“Well, not exactly plastered,” she replied. “You’re still standing, your underwear isn’t exposed, and your tie isn’t wrapped around your head.”
“Ah, I see. So I guess that means I can still have another drink.”
His hand dropped lower across her ruffled panties and stopped right above her tailbone.
“I know it’s wrong. It must be wrong…but right or wrong, I can’t get along…without you.”
“I think another drink would probably be a bad idea,” she replied, nudging his hand back up onto the small of her back.
“Then you should have a drink instead.” His hand drifted lower again.
“That would be an equally bad idea.” She coaxed it upwards.
He pulled her closer against his chest and unified their bodies with every flowing step. The masculine strength of his lead mixed with the tenderness of his touch melted her against his chest. She dared to look up at him.
“Sven…what are you going to do about Shanghai?”
He stopped them, as if her question unnerved him. “Ask for you to come with me.”
His reply filled her with dread. He frowned again, as if he seemed to sense it. Without warning, he released her from his ballroom hold, as if he wanted to free her completely before she answered him. But there was nothing uncertain about his insistence. “Come with me.”
She looked at him, mentally preparing herself for the consequences of refusing him. “Sven…I can’t.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Sven, you don’t understand.”
“So help me to understand?” he urged her, drawing closer. “Whatever it is. Whatever financial burden you’re struggling with, let me help you. Let me pay for it.”
“Not everything is so easily solved with the snap of your billionaire fingers, Sven.”
“Isn’t it?” he shot back.
“No—” she glared at him. “It isn’t.”
Their eyes locked until he softened the edge in his voice and pulled her back into his arms. “You can trust me,” he whispered and touched her cheek, as if he had finally unearthed her most vulnerable weakness. She peered at him, wanting to believe him, until she reminded herself that every private moment between them was tainted by their public charade.
“Congratulations on your engagement.”
The comment came from the couple dancing next to them. With a warm smile, the attractive woman with dark hair addressed Inez. “I don’t think I’ve heard a more romantic dedication than that in a long time.”
“Isabel is less impressed with genius and more impressed with romance,” her dancing partner quipped with his British accent.
“I’m less impressed with ego,” Isabel stressed, “and more impressed with public expressions of affection.”
“Isabel is an incurable romantic. One of the best parts about her.”
“And Philip is an incurable cynic,” Isabel replied curtly. “One of the worst parts about him.”
Phillip smirked and kissed her hand. Turning
his attention to Sven, he said, “I’m not fond of modern architecture, but I am impressed with innovation, van der Meer. It’s a shame you’re channeling it onto the wrong projects by partnering with the wrong people.”
“If you mean the Li Long Towers, I haven’t decided on anything,” Sven replied.
“No?” Phillip cocked his head to one side, the overhead lights reflecting off his Roman profile. “Well, then…call me when you’ve decided. We’re moving forward on the Old Main.”
He shifted his assertive blue eyes onto Inez. “Congratulations again on your engagement.” Phillip nodded cordially before taking Isabel’s hand and leading her off the dance floor.
“What was that all about?” Inez asked Sven, tracking them as they moved off the ballroom.
“Phillip Spears. He’s an adversary of Eliot Watercross.”
“Really?” Inez glanced across the room at the burst of laughter coming from the small group of guests mingling at the bar. Eliot Watercross roared with laughter like a man on a mission to be seen. “In that case, I like him already.”
“Spears is attempting to restore the Old Main Post Office.”
“The Old Main Post Office?” Inez blurted out. “I love that building.”
“Yes, so does my mother. Her Royal jewelry collection will be permanently showcased in its newly restored Beaux Arts lobby. But the rest of the building is a blight along the riverfront. Four thousand square feet of premium riverfront downtown property that should be flattened to make more space for newer, modern developments.”
“Like another Spire?” she taunted him gently.
But he clenched his jaw and corrected her. “More like four of them. Which is the reason why no one has taken on the challenge of restoring it except Phillip Spears. It’s going to cost him more than three hundred million dollars to redevelop that building, but it’s going to take more than just cash and grand ambitions. He’s going to need a good architect to turn a million square feet of dilapidated warehouse into something worth more than demolition.”
“Sounds like a job for a genius.”
Closer Page 17
