Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)

by Ani Keating

  “Umm, may I come in?” I ask, fighting the impulse to run, which is becoming stronger. As is this visceral concern I feel for him.

  “Yes,” he says, indicating with his hand for me to take one of the cognac leather armchairs in front of his desk.

  The moment I enter the library, the sight and smell of thousands of books fortify me. I take the armchair, wishing he would come and sit in the other one next to me. He looks at me expectantly.

  I call on years of British “be calm” philosophy and smile. “I couldn’t help overhear. Are you going somewhere?”

  “Yes. A short trip with friends.”

  Odd that this relieves me. If his demons are at work, then friends must help. “Is Marshall going?” I keep smiling.

  “No. Did you need something, Elisa?”

  I feel the smile freeze on my lips as a wave of nausea rises in my throat. “I—I wanted to tell you the truth. About me. If you still want to hear it.” My voice is losing the even volume, trailing almost to a whisper in the end.

  At last, his face loses the controlled façade. His eyebrows arch in surprise. Then the deep V forms there.

  “Why now?” His voice is very cautious.

  “Because it feels right. And because you wanted to know?” I didn’t mean to say the last sentence. Or say it as a question. But a small, terrified part of me wonders if he really cares.

  “I still want to know.”

  I should try to fight the relief I feel at this but I can’t. I’ll deal with myself later.

  Okay, here goes nothing. I take a deep breath. “I’m moving back to England.”

  As I thought, the moment I say this to him, it becomes real. My stomach twists and heaves so violently that I clench my teeth right as bile crashes against them. My throat and lungs battle to keep the acid inside my body.

  He blinks rapidly a few times. The rest of him remains frozen.

  “What?” he asks eventually.

  “I’m moving back to England. My student visa expired when I graduated. I have to leave in twenty-eight days.”

  Impossibly, the V gets deeper. His hands curl like claws on the armrests of his chair. “I don’t understand. Why would you return to England after everything that’s happened there instead of renewing your visa?” He sounds annoyed. As if he disapproves of my choices.

  “I don’t want to go back. But I tried to get a new visa and they denied it. I had just left my immigration interview when I first saw you.”

  He tents his large hands and rests his chin on them. Confusion transforms to suspicion.

  “Isn’t there some other visa? It seems a little…unbelievable.”

  I bristle at the judgment in his voice but I force myself to remember that Aiden is like Reagan. Unquestionably American. Unshakably welcome. He cannot fathom what most of us outsiders have to go through only to breathe American air. It’s not his fault. He just doesn’t know.

  “I’ve tried all I can. I tried three visas, in fact. They were all denied.”

  “But what about your credentials? Your supplement? Surely that counts for something?” he demands, straightening into his high-alert posture.

  I open my mouth to explain but suddenly cannot. All those details, so vital to me, feel like banalities between us now. I swallow and shake my head. “Not good enough.”

  And it’s starting to feel like the truth—about everything.

  He stands up forcefully, the chair squeaking from his strength. There is no confusion or suspicion on his face. In fact, there is no emotion. Just purpose. I can’t deny my disappointment. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I was hoping for something. The shifting tectonic plates as he shares something, too, and lets me help. Or a hug, a kiss, a kind word, some reassurance maybe. It will be okay. I’ll miss you. Glad we met. Or even anger. Fuck this. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I’d even take some relief from him at having a way out. Anything but this calculated, rational problem-solving. Because with this, I have no idea if he cares or if he just feels like he needs to do something for the poor orphan who has nowhere to go.

  He paces twice behind his desk, then sits back down. He picks up his phone and presses a number.

  “Cancel my two o’clock and hold all calls,” he spits out and hangs up.

  “Aiden—” I say, but he puts up an index finger while he scrolls on his phone. I look at the clock on the wall, unable to stand the concentration in his eyes. This is not what I wanted. I don’t want to be a nuisance to him, something he needs to fix. Saying goodbye will be hard enough without feeling like in the end, I was a burden, not a woman. Like I added to his troubles, not eased them as I meant to do.

  “Aiden Hale for Scott Reeves.”

  I barely blink by the time he speaks again. Scott Reeves must be really fast or the mere name Aiden Hale makes him drop everything he is doing.

  “Scott, I need to see you now… Cancel it. I’ll pay double. Bring your best immigration lawyer, actually the whole team… Thank you.” He hangs up and starts scrolling again.

  Bloody hell! There is no reason to pay double for a team of lawyers only to hear what I can tell him for free. And I don’t want him to know about the marriage and investment options. This new Aiden may think I was setting him up all along for a green card or for his money. The thought is revolting.

  “Aiden, can you please put your phone down?” I ask with as much volume as I can manage. He looks up.

  “I know my options. You don’t need to pay an army of lawyers for me.”

  He shakes his head. “No offense to you, Elisa, but I’d rather hear a professional on this. And frankly, I pay an army of lawyers on a daily basis so it doesn’t matter.”

  He scrolls through his phone again and dials, effectively ending the conversation. I tune out his business discussion as much as I can, trying to make sense of the madness. He eventually hangs up, takes a deep breath and stands. “Let’s go meet the lawyers.”

  I suppose he means to be kind, but I can’t accept. Not when he is cold like this. Plus, it will be embarrassing to sit there in front of all those suits and look at his face when he hears that marriage or money can save me. I’m sure he gets hit like a piñata for either or both of those by countless women. And I don’t care about either. I only want his time. I stand.

  “Aiden, I don’t want to go to this meeting. It’s not what I was expecting from you and I would have never told you if—” I stop because my reasoning now seems faulty—the kind of reasoning Dad or Denton would have never let me build an experiment on.

  “If what, Elisa?”

  Well, I might as well own to it. “If I didn’t want to be honest with you and help you. I thought if I shared my secret with you, then maybe you would open up with me too. Share some of whatever makes you tense this way.”

  His jaw locks and the sniper focus of his eyes slips a little. He looks almost angry. Good. It’s better than this cold composure I’ve had to endure all morning. “I thought I made it obvious, Elisa. I do not share, no matter how many secrets you tell me or how many days you spend with me.”

  I nod as he quashes my sandcastle logic.

  “My mistake,” I say in my most even tone. “But perhaps you would do me the courtesy of sharing your last night’s conclusions about me so that we can be on the same page. I think I deserve an explanation.”

  He stares at me. His gaze is so intense, so blinding that I almost shut my eyes.

  “I think saving your future is a little more important at the moment.” For the first time this morning, his voice softens—as though he is both answering and evading.

  He is right, of course. I am desperate for a solution. But why doesn’t any part of me agree?

  As though he can sense my hesitation, he inches closer. “We can talk about the rest after the meeting,” he says and steps aside, indicating for me to walk ahead of him.

  I re
alize now that I have never seen him lead the way or walk through a door first. He is always the last through. Is this just his manners or something else? I tuck this question away for now and focus only on my own steps, the battalion of lawyers waiting for me and, above all, some answers. The lights flicker one last time as we cross the library threshold.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  For Sale

  The law firm’s receptionist, a beautiful woman who looks like Adriana Lima, blooms and flutters and melts and smiles the moment she sees Aiden. I think even her tongue is wagging a little. It’s not until the clearing of his throat that she comes back to earth and leads us to a large conference room, her hips swaying a little more than natural movement allows.

  Six lawyers stand up in unison the moment Aiden enters. They’re all in suits and I’m sure they’re quite wealthy in their own right. Yet, by the way they simper at the sight of him, he owns them. Aiden keeps his customary physical distance even when they shake hands. He introduces me as “Elisa Snow, a friend”.

  I memorize the lawyers’ names, especially the oldest, Bob Norman, who is the chair of the firm’s immigration law department. He has a Santa Claus belly and fluffy white hair, and is about seventy years old. His smart gray eyes twinkle in his gentle face. The others seem to be regular suits, probably surprised to be called into this urgent meeting only to face a young woman instead of an army of immigration police.

  Aiden leads me to the wall side of the enormous, black marble table, and we all take our seats. Another pattern chooses this moment to fall into place. I’ve never seen him sit with his back exposed. Not even in his home. Hmm… I file this observation under the ever-expanding Aiden Hale file for later.

  “So, Elisa,” Bob starts with an encouraging smile. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on, and I can see if we can help.”

  “Thank you, Bob. And thank you to the rest of you,” I say, grateful that my voice is calm and betrays nothing of the jungle inside.

  I tell the lawyers everything. The hundreds of forms, the tens of applications, the three visa types, even my illegal modeling at Feign Art. They scribble furiously, Bob nodding most of the time, his eyes wide. In the end, there is a very long pause. I look at each of their faces as they stare at the download of information on their notepads. Finally, Bob speaks.

  “My dear girl! You’ve really done your best, haven’t you?”

  I don’t know why my throat tightens all of a sudden. Perhaps it’s his twinkly eyes, his wheezy voice that reminds me of Grandpa Snow or his kind words. Whatever the reason, I cannot talk without my voice shaking so I simply nod and doodle atomic orbits on my notepad.

  “So that leaves one mystery,” Bob probes gently. “Surely if you know enough to have done all this, I suspect you know the only options left.”

  “I think so, but you’re the experts.”

  Aiden speaks for the first time. “I insisted, Bob. I don’t know the options and I’d like to be thoroughly briefed on all alternatives.”

  Bob nods again. “Well, in a nutshell, she’s in a real bind. She came here on an exchange student visa, which makes sense because she was partially funded by Oxford, but it deprives her of some avenues open to other students. So now she only has some temporary options and three permanent options.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Aiden’s voice is hard. It’s obvious that he is out of his depth and that this is rare for him.

  “Well, temporary visas are for those who don’t intend to live here and, like her student visa, eventually they’d all expire. And when they do, she would have to return.”

  “That sounds ludicrous.” Aiden states the obvious. “Why go through all that if she’ll be in the same spot down the road?”

  Bob turns to me. “Elisa, am I right that you want to live here forever? Immigrate, as it were? Instead of these temporary options?”

  “Yes, that’s what I want. But if I have to leave, I’d rather do it now. Later would be much harder. More connections…” I don’t risk looking at Aiden, but I can feel his eyes boring into me as my voice trails off.

  “On the other hand, it may buy you some time. Time to pursue one of the permanent options,” Bob suggests kindly.

  “What are the permanent options?” Aiden demands again.

  Bob looks him squarely in the eye. How much has he guessed about our relationship? “Marriage to a U.S. citizen, Mr. Hale, a million dollars or an act of Congress.”

  Silence follows his words. I peek at Aiden.

  “Marriage is not an option,” he says through his teeth so sharply that the lawyers fall back in their chairs.

  His tone is so cutting that I turn my face away reflexively like he just slapped me. Not because I was expecting him to marry me, but because of the way he said the words. With a bitter edge of anger, almost revulsion. So public too. He would never react like this if he saw even a glimmer of potential for us.

  I wrap my fingers around my dad’s watch, trying to find my lungs or any part of my body that I recognize. I’m in too deep. Even though I knew this would eventually end, I allowed myself to feel this way. To fall this hard, this quickly. Foolish Elisa. I want to run as far away from here as possible. I should have listened to Javier. I should have listened to that little voice in my head.

  Bob recovers first. “Well, in that case, Elisa, do you have any other marriage options?”

  I want to look down but this is too fundamental to face with downcast eyes. I look Bob in the eye. “No, Bob. And I didn’t come to this meeting to wheedle a marriage proposal.”

  My statement is meant for one man in particular and he knows it. As he must know that he just ended any chance we had together with his humiliating reaction. I don’t look his way.

  Bob smiles kindly. “I think that’s very clear, dear. I don’t think a woman like you would be in want of a husband if that was her goal. And, in any event, I should tell you that marriage likely wouldn’t work here if you’re entering a brand-new relationship.” His eyes flit to Aiden and back to me. “You see, the CIS examines marriages to non-U.S. citizens very closely for fraud. If you only found someone now and were married in the next few days, your green card would almost certainly get denied. You need to prove some history before you can convince the government.”

  I nod, ignoring a ramrod-straight Aiden next to me. Bob gives me a grandpa smile and turns to Aiden, looking a bit frosty.

  “You wanted to hear the other permanent options, Mr. Hale, so here they are. She can try to get Congress to approve her to stay but that’s happened only a few times in the history of this country, it takes a long time and frankly, she has a better chance of winning the Powerball.

  “The other option is that she does indeed win the Powerball or, said less dramatically, that she comes across one million dollars and invests it in an American business. She can effectively attempt to buy her green card that way.” Bob’s voice has none of the warmth it has when he addresses me.

  To my surprise, Aiden relaxes and leans back in his chair. He must have heard something he likes because he is not biting the man’s head off for daring to address him in such a manner.

  “Well, that’s settled then. I’ll just give her the money.” He sounds like he just bought a car. Or a prostitute.

  Suddenly, it all makes sense. He said it himself when we were at Paradox. He is selfish. Only I was too lost in my own fantasy to accept it. He wanted to fuck the girl in the paintings. Well, he did. But then she became too real in the morning. And now, to ease any guilt he feels for using a poor orphan, he’ll just throw some cash at her.

  Well, I don’t have much but I have dignity. I stand up. Everyone looks at me in surprise, but they stand with me.

  “Gentlemen, I’d like to speak to Mr. Hale alone. Is there somewhere I can do that?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ghosts

  “Sure,
Elisa.” Bob recovers first and leads us out of the room. I follow, not bothering to see if the Wanker of the Century is behind me. If he is not, I’ll take the elevator down and go home. Bob shows us to a smaller conference room with no windows and leaves.

  I walk in, keeping my back to the door. I hear it close and turn slowly, afraid that if I rush, I will rip off his head and maybe even his impressive dick. He looks wary. As he should be.

  “All right, Elisa. Let’s talk about this.”

  I grit my teeth together and glare at him. “Yes, let’s. Maybe you can start for once. Is a million dollars the going rate for a virgin these days?”

  At first, he frowns and then all expression leaves his face as he turns to stone. “You think I’m buying you?”

  “Forty thousand for a half-naked painting. God knows how much for the others. And the hymen—oh, that’s the crown jewel.” I put as much sarcasm and ice in my voice as I can.

  Under my glower, his face changes to fury. Flexed jaw, flared nostrils, thin lips and narrow dark eyes.

  “I’m not paying you for sex. I’m doing this to help you,” he hisses through his teeth.

  “Help me? Me? Really? You gain no benefit from this at all?”

  “That’s not the point. The point is—”

  “Let me save you the trouble and the breath, Aiden. The point is to give the poor little orphan girl money from the overflowing coffers of the billionaire who only wanted to fuck her. You weren’t counting on conversation, on sharing more than a bed, meals and money. When she became a person, instead of a portrait, that ruined your fantasy. Only you’re too decent to take an orphan girl’s virginity and then dump her on the streets, right?” My body is shaking with anger. I have minutes, maybe even seconds, before the dams burst. “A million dollars for the luxury of believing that you did right by me must be quite a bargain for someone like you. You can keep your millions, Aiden. The sex was on the house.” With that, I march right past him to the door. His arm flies out and he stops my exit.