Closer

by Aria Hawthorne

  He handed off his empty flute to Sven while deliberately shifting his focus directly onto Inez.

  “I’ll be on the lookout for those tickets for Bizet’s Carmen in Shanghai. Maybe we’ll plan a night to attend—together.” His tiger eyes shifted across the ballroom to the upper libation balcony. “In the meantime, it looks like I’m being summoned by Harvey Zale. We’re finalizing the terms of the sale of The Spire over a thousand-dollar bottle of premier Trinidad Rum. You and your lovely companion should join us to celebrate after the public dedication, especially since we’re going to be spending so much time together in Shanghai.”

  He sauntered away through the buzzing crowd towards the live band and across the illuminated dance floor, paneled with translucent panes of crystal, sparkling with glints of water undulating beneath it.

  Inez turned to Sven, attempting to shake off the discomfort of Eliot’s advances. “You’ve already told him that we’re planning on going to Shanghai?”

  “Well, yes…I phoned Hans this morning to let him know that I was interested in moving forward on my designs of the Li Long Towers, and that we’ve decided to travel together.”

  “But have we decided, Sven?” she pressed him.

  “Haven’t we?” he said impatiently.

  He met her eyes, but there was an edge in his voice and a distance in his demeanor that reminded her of old moody Sven. His vision had been restored for less than a day, and already everything seemed different between them. A fleeting whisper of fear flickered through her mind—he no longer needed her.

  Hans mounted a translucent circular platform and the crowd erupted with unrestrained applause as he ascended effortlessly above them. A sharp spotlight reflected off his flaxen hair and indigo blue tuxedo and he calmed the gasps of surprise and delight with a reassuring hand and flashes of his boyish smile.

  “We all know why we are here tonight, right?” His distinct Dutch accent reverberated through his headset microphone like an echo through a canyon.

  “Premium Beluga caviar!” a voice playfully heckled him.

  The crowded tittered with amusement, but Inez frowned and swept her eyes around the overcrowded ballroom, studying the men and women in formal attire. It felt more like a Northwestern homecoming dance or a wedding bankrolled by the father of the richest girl on campus rather than a prestigious gala for one of the most influential architectural achievements in Chicago.

  Pretending to welcome the interruption, Hans winked and nodded in the direction of the jokester. “We are here because we believed that the City of Chicago deserved a building that was unlike anything the world had never seen. And we are here tonight to celebrate that achievement. Our achievement at Van der Meer & Associates. The achievement of our faithful investors of Watercross Capital. And my own brother’s achievement through his ingenious structural design of the tallest building in the country. Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to present my dear brother, the genius and the asshole of the family, Sven van der Meer…”

  Inez knew Sven would have to leave her again. He had warned her on the car ride there that he would be placed in the spotlight for the public dedication, expected to deliver a speech to his guests. He released her hand, and for a brief moment, she hoped to receive a good-bye kiss on her cheek or a promise that he would return to her as soon as possible. But instead, he abruptly turned away and mounted a second translucent pedestal, elevating him like a god amongst men. As he confidently addressed the crowd, she fought an uneasy sickness seeping down her throat. His classic black tuxedo, gelled hair, and freshly shaved jawline gave him an air of distinction, but his cocky grin and inappropriate jokes transformed him into a stranger.

  The old Sven. He was becoming one of them again.

  “Doesn’t Sven look so handsome and happy, standing up there, presenting his life’s work.” Celeste grasped Inez’s forearm with her bony fingers like they were sisters. “I’ve heard you finally persuaded Sven to go to Shanghai to work on the Li Long Towers. I didn’t believe it at first, considering how much you seem to despise The Spire. But then again, there seems to be many things about you that I’m inclined not to believe.” She tightened her grip and settled her chilling blue eyes onto Inez’s emerald necklace.

  “You know, I had a very interesting chat this afternoon with someone you know well. He’s an artist-in-residence at the Art Institute. The Tribune sent me to cover his current exhibit. And wouldn’t you know,” Celeste continued with singsong glee. “To my surprise, I found out we have more in common than our love of art.”

  “Was it your love of infidelity?” Inez shot back.

  Celeste’s head flung back with laughter. “Well, we certainly discussed the curious intersections of our love lives…perhaps more than you would have preferred.”

  Inez pursed her lips and stared straight into Celeste’s gaunt powdered face. Whatever Enzo said about her, whatever details he had shared about their relationship, she refused to be intimidated.

  “Of course, he was very surprised to hear that I believed you were some sort of curator at the museum. He seemed quite insistent that you’ve never worked there, much less had a job that wasn’t more than just a glorified secretary. But what I found most interesting was how forthcoming he was with the source of his…inspirations.” Celeste rolled her single strand pearl necklace back and forth along her swan neck. “In fact, I’m fairly certain he even mentioned that you two share a baby.”

  Inez glared at Celeste and downed the remainder of her martini, spurring her protective maternal instincts and freeing the last bit of restraint she had in her.

  “Her name is Luna. And I’m pretty damn certain that she’s none of your business.”

  “True,” Celeste replied, her matte pink lips popping open again without a second thought. “But it isn’t my fault when my interview subjects choose to tell me these things…off the record, of course. Especially the fact that Sven just paid him fifty thousand dollars—in cash—to disappear from your lives.”

  The lights faded around her and the ballroom erupted in distracting applause. The band started up a new tune, warped and off-tempo. Inez replayed the bewildering garbled words spewing out of Celeste’s clown mouth. Fifty thousand dollars…to disappear from your lives.

  Wringing it back and forth like a noose, Celeste tugged on her pearl necklace and continued, “Well, the whole notion made me laugh, really. I mean…you’re going to Shanghai together and a jealous ex-boyfriend with parental rights could really complicate an international trip. And only fifty thousand dollars? Such a trivial amount, really. I would at least expect Sven to bribe him with an amount more than his annual dry cleaning bill.”

  Had she drunk her martini too fast? Had the bartender put too much vodka in it? The ballroom started to spin and Inez reached out for something, anything, and snagged the pinky finger of Celeste’s hand.

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  Inez registered Sven’s stern voice from behind her. He secured her in his embrace, holding her steady. She brushed him off. His touch sickened her.

  “Your fiancée and I are just chatting about our ex-boyfriends,” Celeste mused, touching the black satin lapels of Sven’s tuxedo.

  “Inez?” he grabbed her hand. She attempted to push away from him and through the dense crowd of bodies, but there was no escape.

  “Inez—” He drew her towards him, his physical strength forcing her cooperation. “What’s wrong?”

  “Is it true, Sven?” she insisted, peering into his steady green gaze. “Fifty thousand dollars?”

  Sven slowly surrendered his hold over her, but it was the change in his expression that confirmed her biggest fear. Celeste wasn’t a lying bitch; Inez was the one who had been the naïve fool.

  Hans appeared next to Celeste, just in time for the fireworks. “Sven…” he said impatiently. “Eliot and Harvey Zale are waiting for us.”

  “Let them wait,” he commanded, his gaze never straying from hers. “Inez—” he pronounced her name lik
e a warning. “Don’t—”

  “Don’t?” she mocked him, her temper spinning out of control. “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t—” he repeated, locking her in place with his punishing eyes. “Don’t overreact.”

  She had seen that glare from him before—the moment he had challenged Enzo in the museum; the moment he had threatened his brother after receiving his “Genius Award”, and now, the moment he challenged her to obey him. No, she would not obey him. In fact, she was sick of obeying him. She wasn’t his girlfriend anymore—real or otherwise. And she suddenly regretted every moment she had submitted herself to him as a lover.

  “Don’t worry, Sven. I won’t ‘overreact’. I’d much rather just say good-bye.”

  She turned away, seeking relief from his callous glare and the pompous, superficial world that surrounded her. His world, not hers.

  “No—” he insisted again, catching her by the hand and pulling her into his chest. Swimming with uncertainty, his eyes darted back and forth to meet her own. “Don’t do this.”

  There was heartache in his whisper. She heard it and relished it.

  “Do what…quit our arrangement?” she seethed, her bitterness spreading into a sadistic grin, seeking to hurt him as much as possible. “Well, then…I guess the good news is that you hired me for four nights, but you’ll only have to pay me for three.”

  He held her in his arms, enduring the heat from her rage as his mouth hovered over her lips and his gaze searched out something in her own. Then, he kissed her, long wistful strokes of repentance. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Especially not him, she vowed, refusing to respond with forgiveness. Sensing her rigidity, he relinquished his reign over her and stepped away as if she was a stranger. Two strangers pretending to be something they were not.

  “And by the way, in case it wasn’t clear…” Her voice trailed off as she slipped her hands under her hair and unclasped the emerald necklace. “Luna and I aren’t for sale. We never will be.”

  She deposited the heavy choker into his hand, letting the sharp angular clasp dig into his palm. Turning away from him, she braced herself to feel the oppressive snare of his hand, detaining her in the prison of his arms. A final futile effort to entrap her. But like so many things about him, she was wrong. He did not chase after her or physically attempt to force her to stay. He simply let her escape, alone, through the crowd and disappear out of his life.

  Yes, it had all been a shameful mistake. She had knowingly crossed the lines between their professional arrangement and their personal lives. She had lowered her guard and willingly shared the most important and intimate parts of her life. She had handed over her trust like a gift, and that was perhaps the biggest mistake of them all because not only were her pride and her dignity shattered into a thousand little pieces, but also her embittered stone heart.

  Chapter Thirty

  What had he done?

  The moment he felt her hand slip away from his own before she raced away from him, fading like a bittersweet memory within the crowd, he knew he had made the biggest mistake of his life.

  He darted forward, attempting to chase after her, but abruptly stopped when a strong hand gripped his upper arm and restrained him.

  “You’re a wanted man,” Eliot Watercross said. “Harvey Zale is waiting for us in the balcony to celebrate with drinks. We’re all expecting to finalize the exchange.”

  Sven nodded in assurance. “The sale of The Spire for the contracts to build the Li Long Towers.” He had heard it a million times, but even now, with his sight restored, it felt like an insurmountable challenge without her. “I’ll be there as soon as possible.” He forced a smile, persuading Eliot to relinquish his clasp on Sven’s shoulder. “But first, I have to find something that I fear I might have lost.”

  By the time he had crossed through the atrium and reached the elevators, she had already disappeared down them. He called James in desperation, but there was no answer. She had gotten to him first…

  Sixty seconds to descend to the street. Three minutes to return to the condo building by car. Five minutes to change and gather all her things, including Luna.

  Counting every second of the eight minutes he calculated it would take her to disappear from his life forever, he ran—not walked—back to his penthouse from the Spire. All twenty-five blocks, stopping only once to attempt to hail a cab. Downtown Chicago on Saturday night. Failure was a certainty.

  When he finally arrived in the lobby, rode the elevator up the sixty-six floors, and bolted through the front door, it was too late. He was too late.

  “Inez!” he shouted, rushing from room to room, desperately searching for something precious he knew he had lost and could never replace. “Inez!” He called out again—a final exhausted plea, but his soul ached in despair, knowing the truth. He had made a terrible, horrible mistake because he had been a terrible, horrible man. He was not Sven van der Meer, the invincible ingenious architect who deserved veneration from the masses. He was nothing more than a cruel egotistical bastard, blinded by ambition, who sought his own selfish gain at every turn.

  He knew she had always suspected it. But now she was certainly convinced of it.

  A sharp pain seized his flank. Winded and hopeless, he dropped into a chair at the kitchen table, panting in anguish at the loss of a future that—only hours ago—had seemed lavish with endless possibilities.

  “She left the car seat.” His mother addressed him in Dutch from where she sat on the living room sofa. “She said it was too heavy and she didn’t need it. She was going to take the train.” After a long period of grim silence, she added. “She was very upset, Sven.”

  “Yes,” he replied, nodding and covering his face with his hands.

  “Can it be reconciled?”

  “I very much doubt it,” he answered, discouraging his mother’s futile quest for hope.

  “A shame,” she finally pronounced, her lips frowning in disappointment as she looked away. “She seemed like such a nice girl. Different than all the others.”

  “Yes,” he conceded, shifting his weight in his seat from the discomfort of the chunky emerald choker in his pocket. He withdrew it and tossed it onto the table like a distasteful memento.

  She had been different. And she had made him different.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  TWO MONTHS LATER

  Inez sat at the kitchen table next to Luna, who was strapped into a high-chair, inspecting each bit of pancake before picking it up with awkward fingers and pushing it into her mouth. Breakfast time took an hour and required a bath afterwards. Inez was used to it. There had been so many “firsts” recently, it had been easy to lose track. Luna’s first meals with them at the kitchen table. Her solid foods. Her first pancakes. For the past two months, Inez had spent every day with Luna, watching her helpless four-month-old baby evolve into an attentive little six-month-old infant with bright eyes and an easy smile. Curious about everything around her, Inez reflected, even something as simple as pancakes.

  Those were the small magical moments that carried her through the long days and nights of the same daily routine. Inez loved being at home with her daughter, but she never could have anticipated how lonely she would feel without the financial stress and logistical complications of finding babysitters constantly occupying her mind.

  “You’re doing it again,” Nana noted from across the table. “Drifting off into LaLa Land.”

  Inez had paused too long while reading aloud from the newspaper about the new tourist attractions at Navy Pier. It had become a common habit these last few weeks, and her grandmother rarely let her off the hook.

  “You’re thinking about Bachelor Number Two again, aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Yes, you are. Just like yesterday. And the day before…when you stopped reading cold that article about the true cost of the Millennium Park fountains.”

  Nana lifted her ruined, glacial eyes up into the air and sighed, “Svenka, the Swedish
architect.”

  “Dutch.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Nana leaned back in her seat and exhaled again. “Mr. Metrosexual Moneypants.”

  Inez ignored the mockery in her grandmother’s voice. “Do you even know what metrosexual means?”

  “Sure, I do. You read me the ‘Entertainment’ section. But that’s not the point. The point is that you can’t even get through articles about The Art Institute or Modern Architecture Society without drifting off into your pity party.”

  “Boy, I didn’t realize I was such a joy to be around,” Inez replied sarcastically.

  “Well, you haven’t been. You’ve been a real pain in the ass,” Nana shot back. “And just T-M-I, picking all the depressing articles to read first from the ‘World News’ section of the paper usually isn’t a sign of jubilation.”

  “F-Y-I,” Inez stressed, correcting her. “And it’s a big world, Nana. There are a lot of depressing stories out there.”

  “And all those sad melodramatic Meryl Streep movies that I hear you sniveling at late at night?”

  “Telling me not to cry when Meryl Streep cries is like elbowing me in the nose and telling me not to sneeze.”

  “And listening to all those melancholy Barry Manilow records,” Nana goaded her, covering her heart and crooning the first chorus of “Weekend in New England” just to prove her point. “When will our eyes meet?/When can I touch yooooou?/when will this strong yearning…eeeeeend. And when will I hold yoooooou again?”

  “Those are your melancholy Barry Manilow records, Nana!” Inez exclaimed, exasperated.

  “Well, I play ’em because you’re bumming me out these days, and at least Barry knows how to make me feel better.”

  Nana crossed her arms with a defiant humph. They both fell silent. Inez shut her eyes and rubbed her forehead. She had forgotten how nice it was to get out the house every day and away from the one person in the world who knew her better than she knew herself.