Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)

by Ani Keating

  At the same time, the door bursts open.

  “Isa!” Reagan roars.

  Oh, bloody hell! Oh no, she’s home early! She will lose it. He will lose it. Maybe I should hide him? Maybe I should hide her? Where is my calming effect? Too late. She turns the corner.

  She takes in the scene, her green eyes wild. They zoom straight on Aiden and narrow to slits. Her hair achieves a level of sentience, red curls whipping out in static. She drops her purse on the floor. Her lips twist in a sneer and a low, hissing sound rises from her. Calico paws at the window.

  I turn in terror to look at Aiden. He’s not here. But the dragon is. Tall, straight, every exposed muscle flexed ominously. His teeth are locked, eyes glowing. I open my mouth to speak but Reagan explodes.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Instinctively, I plant myself between her and Aiden. “Reagan, sweetheart, listen to me—”

  “Get behind me, Isa,” she roars and starts prowling toward us.

  Oh, bollocks! “Reagan, please, he is here for me. Just—”

  “What the fuck is your serious defect, Aiden Hale, huh?” she screeches. “Did you come here to gloat? Are you sick of your dick and need free castration services? Or do you have a painful death wish?”

  “Reagan, stop!” I call but I might as well be talking to ICE. She takes another step forward, blowing her hair out of her face. I’m too afraid to look at Aiden so I run to her and take her hand. “Reagan, we worked things out. Let’s just—”

  She tears her eyes from her prey and focuses on me. She leans in so close to my face that we are almost nose to nose, both cross-eyed. Then she finally sees my robe. Her eyes widen as she sniffs out the real traitor.

  “Isa!” she shrieks, looking at me like I just escaped a mental institution. “This is the dragon!” She points at Aiden, lest there is any doubt she might be talking about Calico. “This is the asshole who took your virginity and kicked you out!” Before I can even breathe, she turns on him again.

  “Is that your ‘schtick’ huh?” She makes quotes in the air. “I’m Aiden Hale, I can fuck whoever I want.” She tries to imitate his voice. “She’s seen enough pain, you…you…you slut.”

  Oh my God! “Reagan, enough!” I yell, yanking her hand. I sneak a peek at the dragon, terrified he will roast her alive or fly out of the window. But the dragon has left. Aiden is back, still tall and hypervigilant, but the rage has dimmed in his eyes. The moment he catches my eye, he smiles. A small, tight, reassuring smile.

  “Why don’t you get dressed and we can go to my place?” he says, his voice even.

  “Go? Go! GO?” Reagan screeches as though going anywhere with Aiden should be a crime punishable by severe and painful scratching. He does not answer her.

  I smile at him. “Just give me a minute.”

  I turn to deal with the feral felid hissing next to me, but then look at him again. “Don’t go anywhere!”

  He nods. Then—apparently unable to stop himself—raises a perfect eyebrow at Reagan, the corner of his lip lifting in a taunting “I win” smile.

  She almost lunges at him, but I grab her arm and drag her behind me in a mess of limbs and hair straight to her bedroom. I shut her door in case she loses it.

  She does. “Isa, are you fucking crazy?” I’m sure her shriek is reaching not only Aiden, but Calico’s dad, Mr. Willis, next door.

  “Yes, I am. I’m crazy about him. He explained, Reagan, and even you can’t fault him for what he did. So just give me two minutes before you tear into him like hydrofluoric acid.”

  She looks like she very much doubts a universe exists where she will not fault Aiden. Still, she plops on her bed and waits with wide angry eyes.

  But now it’s my turn and I am loath if I disclose Aiden’s struggles to anyone, including Reagan. His PTSD is nothing to be ashamed of, but I have no doubt he wants to keep it private. I sit next to her, trying to think of a way to mollify her.

  “He was just looking out for me. He has some very negative views about himself and thought I’d be better off without him. That’s why he came—to convince me to stay away.” My voice trails off as the sharp stabbing returns.

  “Well, he convinced you of something.” She points at my robe with her chin.

  I tighten the belt, blushing. “I couldn’t help it.”

  “Oh, Isa. Did you think about tampons like I said?”

  “Umm, no.”

  “Ugh! Now, explain to me. What do you mean he’s trying to convince you to stay away? Why?” Her eyebrows quiver in worry.

  I swallow. “Well, because he leads a bit of a…an isolated life, and he doesn’t want me to be isolated too.”

  “Isolated life? Well, duh, with his money, that’s a no-brainer but that’s not enough to justify his behavior. Isa, don’t let him give you some song and dance just so he can sleep with you again.”

  I love Reagan, but somewhere between Aiden’s knock on my door and the lunch we never started, my mission in life has become to protect him.

  “He’s not lying to me, Reg, and I’m not stupid. Please, be my sister with this and give him a chance. Especially since I may only have twenty-six days left with all of you.”

  She is undeterred. “Isa, what if you get hurt? Remember how it was when—” She stops abruptly but I know what she was going to say. Do I remember how I was when she first met me? Oh yes. Regarding that phase of my life, my memory might as well be eidetic.

  I put my arm around her shoulders. “I remember but I’m stronger now. Because of you. Besides, you may still get your wish because no one wants to push me away more than Aiden.” My voice drops to a whisper. I try to breathe as the future he may have saved spans colorless in the horizon without him.

  Reagan gives me a hug that squeezes out whatever oxygen I was managing to draw in. “Of course he won’t push you away. And if he does, he’ll be sorry he was born. Now, stop this rubbish before I take the mickey out of you.”

  And with that misplaced Britishism, I know she is back on my side. I hold her tightly, kissing her hair and looking at our pictures on her wall. The thought of ever losing her competes with Aiden’s void so I pull away.

  “I started some soup. Should be ready in about fifteen minutes. Now I better go find him before he convinces himself that you’re right and scarpers off.”

  She smiles and gives me a peck on the cheek. “You used a British word while talking about him.”

  I laugh. “Did I? Your dream come true. See? He’s not a tosser. A right sight better than your Mr. Gandy.” I point at her screensaver collage of the British model.

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Okay, okay.” She raises her hands in surrender. “Do you want to borrow my good-luck burgundy dress?” She stands to go to her closet but then stops, smacking her forehead with an “oh!” Her head whips around and she smiles.

  “Actually no, not my dress. He needs to see the real you and he’ll never be the same again. Wear your mom’s dresses and make him fall him in love with you until he dies.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Cloudless Climes

  At Aiden’s home, I take advantage of his conference call with Tokyo to put away my mum’s tea dress in his closet. In case we go out tonight. The dress is sea gray with white roses printed along the full skirt. I caress the petal-soft silk, loving the way it blends with Aiden’s ubiquitous navy, black and charcoal suits.

  I step back to take a picture with my new Nikon but as I focus, the lens zooms in on the hand-carved wooden box on the tall armoire in the back. The sun glows upon it like a shrine. There is something so reverential about its throne-high position that I rise on my tiptoes to go investigate.

  “Miss Snow.” A quiet voice thwarts my snooping. I jump, looking back at the closet door. Mrs. Davis is standing there in her white apron and navy velvet flats.

  “I’
m sorry I startled you, Miss Snow,” she says with a smile. I take a small breath and say a silent, nonscientific thank you to luck for sparing me the embarrassment of being caught snooping on my…whatever he is. Dream, mission in life, blood of my veins, oxygen of my lungs. I stop before I decide to give up science and become a bad poet.

  “No, I’m fine, Mrs. Davis. I was just absorbed.”

  “Oh, please, call me Cora.” She smiles as she waddles inside. She sees my dress and her smile becomes a grin. “What a beautiful dress!” Then her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “Between us, Miss Snow, it’s nice having some girly things around for a change. I’ve never seen other girls here before.”

  I almost hug her. “Thank you,” I say instead. “And please call me Isa.”

  “Well, Isa, I came to ask if you need anything washed? Or something from the store?”

  “Oh, no, but thank you! I brought my things.” I lift my empty rucksack as evidence.

  She smiles. “Very good. I hope you stay this time, Isa.” She starts padding out of the closet but then stops and looks at me. “Mr. Hale is a good man. Difficult, yes, but good.” She nods once and walks off.

  I watch the bow of her apron, thinking of Mr. Darcy’s housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, recommending her master to Elizabeth Bennett at Pemberley.

  She opens the bedroom door and freezes. Because standing there, with an enormous purple box under one arm and his hand hovering over the doorknob, is none other than my Mr. Darcy.

  “Cora?” He frowns in surprise, his eyes scanning the bedroom. When he spots me in the closet, he manages to smile and frown at the same time.

  “Hello, Mr. Hale, sir. Just passing through, looking for dirty laundry.”

  He smiles with his full dimple. “I’m sure you found plenty.” He tilts his head toward me.

  She laughs, waits for him to lean against the wall and slips out of the door.

  “Thank you,” Aiden says behind her, who knows for what.

  “Anytime,” she answers, her footsteps echoing down the hall.

  Aiden enters the bedroom, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. He sets the giant box on the bed and saunters to me.

  “Charming my staff?” He smiles, pulling me close to him. He traces my lower lip with his thumb.

  “I have to charm whomever I can these days.”

  I’m about to ask about the purple box but he leans in, his lips millimeters from mine. “I don’t believe I have kissed you in my closet yet,” he whispers.

  I get lost in his lips, kissing him hard like the kiss might morph into more nights here, more of my dresses blending with his suits. When my breathing becomes so loud that even Cora in the kitchen can hear it, he chuckles and frees my lips.

  “Oxygen, Elisa. Come, I have something for you.” He wraps his arms around my waist and walks us to the bed.

  “Open it,” he whispers in my ear.

  I examine the purple box—it’s almost as tall as me. No bows, no frills, no names. It takes about two minutes to unwrap the sleek orchid paper and soft tissues. Finally, with a deep breath, I push aside the last gossamer layer.

  “Oh!” I gasp.

  Right before me, with a magic from fairy tales, is the most beautiful dress any woman, anywhere, has ever seen. It’s a long, strapless gown like an inverted rosebud. The layers drape exactly like petals. Their color is astonishing. The very top layer is the lightest turquoise, then each one underneath deepens gradually to azure, cerulean, marine, cobalt, indigo and, last, midnight blue.

  My eyes fly up to his, as I understand the meaning behind the extraordinary color. He smiles and lounges on the bed, propping himself on his elbow.

  “I told you,” he says. “I always want my eyes on you.”

  I start launching myself at him but then remember that I must not startle him. So I freeze midair, probably looking quite ridiculous. He catches me before I plop on the bed, tucking me to his chest.

  “Sorry,” I mumble.

  “Yes, it really is an unforgivable crime to want to hold the man who bought you a dress but you can’t because you’re afraid of getting crushed to death.” His voice is hard again.

  “I’m not afraid.”

  He looks away, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like “you should be”. I can sense all warmth evaporating from the room so I deploy my distraction technique.

  “So tell me about this dress. It’s stunning!” I run my fingers through the material. It’s soft and fluid, like dewy petals.

  It works. The dimple puckers in his stubbly cheek. “I thought it’s time for you to have some of your own dresses. Not your mother’s or your roommate’s. Yours.” He folds back the corset and shows me the tag inside. On it, is embroidered:

  Elisa C. Snow

  “Like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies”

  I read the next line of Byron’s poem with a fiery band in my throat. It takes a moment to find the words. Even when I do, I simply dissolve in his neck, kissing his fragrant skin.

  “Thank you. I think I’m going to sleep with it on.”

  “Lucky dress.”

  “Are you ever going to tell me Byron’s significance?”

  His eyes shift as though he is reading something. “It’s just a beautiful poem, Elisa.” He shrugs but I have the feeling he is not telling me everything. I push it aside for now.

  “Did you make Benson learn embroidery?”

  He chuckles. “Not yet. This is a local designer, Margolis. He specializes in 1950s vintage, I’m told.”

  He caresses my jawline while I try very hard not to jump him again. I know Margolis. I have spent a good amount of time in the last four years drooling at its store windows, Audrey Hepburn style.

  “He’s yours whenever you want something,” Aiden says. And there it is, that finite, terminal tone in his voice.

  “So does this mean you’re taking me out on a date?” I smile because that tone makes me want to wail.

  “As it happens, I am.”

  “Where?”

  He watches me for a moment as though he is not sure he wants to tell me, or perhaps even take me at all. But then he answers. “A place I think you’ve wanted to see for a while.”

  “You’re not paying for a trip to NASA, are you?”

  He laughs. “No, but that reminds me—not that I need reminders. I put some money in your bank account, and before you ask, I memorized your number when I saw your checkbook on your desk.”

  “What?” I meant to speak in a properly outraged volume but it comes out as scandalized screech.

  He is still smiling. “It’s not for you, it’s for your family. As I understand it, they need a water heater and I’m sure you’ve always wished you could help them.”

  “How did you know the Solises need a water heater?” Still screeching. Bloody hell, can he see the future too?

  “Benson has special talents.”

  I watch him, opening and closing my mouth like my biology professor’s guppy fish.

  “How much?” I ask eventually.

  “Enough to help them, but not enough for us to fight about.”

  “Can it be on loan?”

  “No. Unless you want ICE to question your finances.”

  I take a deep breath, running out of arguments. “All right, thank you. But why are you so concerned about the Solises all of a sudden?”

  His eyes shift to a careful setting. “Because I thought that if you have some way to help them financially, you will not feel compelled to also be around them and potentially risk your immigration status.”

  “You mean you’re buying me off?” Voice back to screeching.

  “Technically, I’m buying them off.”

  I scoot away from him, furious. “I don’t choose to be around them out of obligation, Aiden! I want to be around them because I l
ove them. So, no, buying them a water heater wouldn’t replace them anymore than looking at my mum and dad’s pictures brings them back!” The last words cut my lips like glass and I’m breathing hard. I close my eyes trying to calm myself, but even Mendeleev is not helping me now.

  I hear a deep sigh and feel his index finger under my chin. It rests there, probably waiting for me to open my eyes. Damn him and his touch because the moment I feel it, anger evaporates. I open one eye. He looks like the dragon may be sniffing around, waiting for an outing to roar. Glinting eyes, thin lips, clenched jaw.

  “I’ve never pretended to understand love, Elisa. So fine, use the money as you see fit. But I will be damned if I let anything risk your immigration status. Now, get ready. We leave at sunset.” With that military order, he marches out of the bedroom.

  The moment the door closes behind him, I feel terrible. He was only trying to help. But how can he think a water heater would compensate for the only home I have known these last four years? Is that how he loves? Oxygen freezes in my lungs the moment the question forms in my head. As suddenly as the anger surged, just as quickly I understand what it really was. Fear. Fear that this is how Aiden loves—with deals and price tags. My insides start twisting again but before I deposit the contents of my stomach in the toilet, I hang on to one truth: the visceral pain in his eyes when he talks about his mother. No man who hurts like that lacks knowledge of love, no matter how much he denies it.

  Strangely, I feel better even though his love is not directed at me. But ever since my new mission in life became to save him, I suppose I have needed to know that he can allow love in his life.

  I leap off the bed and sprint out of the bedroom to find him. He is out on the patio, leaning against the cedar wall and hissing about low EBITDA on his cell phone. When he sees me, he snaps at the poor soul on the line.

  “I’ll call you back!” He hangs up and stands taller, watching me without blinking.

  I run to him and kiss him on the mouth, climbing his body and holding his face tight between my hands. He staggers for a moment but then wraps my legs around him, his hand fisting in my hair. His kiss is angry. He bites my lips with a growl. I bite him back. Then, slowly our tongues take over in soothing, soft strokes.