by Ani Keating
His eyes are focused, determined. His hand presses firmly on my mouth but for once, he does not need to silence me. I am stunned on my own. The world has gone strangely blank. No Pink Martini, no wind. Even the scent of Aeternum has faded. The ice from his hand spreads to the rest of me and I shudder.
It may seem odd that none of his warnings about physical danger have deterred me, yet this image of isolation finally breaks through. But when I think about it, it really is not odd for a girl like me. There is nothing injury or death can give me that I have not survived, and even craved before. But losing the only semblance of a family—losing my second chance—how can I go through that again?
Of its own volition, the silver heel of a Louboutin slides back a step. Away from him. He closes his eyes and removes his hand. Maybe he saw the change in me or maybe he is having a change of his own. Whatever it is, I need to think. I turn away from him and run out of the tent.
The wind whips my hair on my face as I try to calm my breathing. I look at his Alone Place. Can I be with him on these terms? And what happens if I do? I will lose the Solises, Reagan, new friends I have not yet met, and in the end, even him. No! I should go. I should leave right now.
I try with all my strength to take a step forward on the hilltop. My muscles recoil from the idea. The world goes blank again as if my senses register Aiden’s impending absence and refuse to acknowledge anything else but him. All I can see in the dark night is a beautiful, tormented man who has moved roses across continents for me, who has brought me to life in every sense of the word. My heels sink in the grass. I can’t leave. I have to at least try. Maybe if he allows himself some normal, happy memories, they will balance out the bad ones, and with time, replace them.
I take a shuddering breath and enter the tent. He has not moved an inch—his face still grave. I stride across the dance floor to him, surprised my knees can support me.
“Should I drive you home?” he asks, his voice almost hoarse.
I take his hand. “Not tonight. I want to find out on my own.”
His lips press in a thin line and he closes his eyes.
“I learn by trying, not by telling, Aiden.”
When he opens his eyes, they start lightening to turquoise. His lips lift into a defeated smile.
“Scientist through and through.”
“A major genetic flaw, according to my mum.”
“So where does that leave us?”
I lock my fingers with his. “I believe you called it a ceasefire.” I reach on my tiptoes to kiss his scar.
He sighs, whether in pleasure or frustration I don’t know. And for now, I don’t want to find out. I trail kisses along his tense jaw to the corner of his mouth.
“Kiss me,” I say.
He truly smiles now. “One temporary victory and you’re already giving me orders?”
“Yes.” I fist my hands in his hair, pulling him close. “Now, no more talking from you tonight unless it’s dirty!”
That’s it for Aiden. His mouth parts for a full Pink Martini stanza. Then his eyes darken and he pulls me roughly to him. With a groan like surrender, his mouth is on mine. His tongue and lips start a deadly tango of their own. He grips my face so tightly that I feel his strength down to my bones.
“You want dirty, Elisa, but I can’t say fuck around the roses,” he says between kisses. “So now, you’ve made this harder on yourself.”
In my pounding ears, I register Pink Martini singing about whispering amado mio. Maybe it’s the song or Aiden’s tongue tip tracing my lips but the last vestiges of my brain resolve the stutter and go up in flames. And just like that, I know the words that have been taunting me since I first saw this place.
I grip his face and kiss him with all their power because I cannot say them out loud. But with every stroke of my tongue, my mind says, I love you. I love you. I love you.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Work of Art
One week has passed. It felt like a day…and like a lifetime. It felt like a day because no matter how many hours I have with Aiden, they fly too fast. It felt like a lifetime because I’ve never lived more than I am living now.
“You shouldn’t look so stunning. It will attract police attention,” Aiden says, caging me in his arms as Benson hauls me to my graduation party. We’ve discovered that if Aiden holds me in the car, his customary traffic tension eases a fraction.
“You don’t mind that I’m wearing my mum’s dress?” I ask, fluffing the sea gray skirt.
“Elisa, wear whatever makes you smile like this. And in any event, I think your mother should be at this party.”
As should you.
I stare out of the window to distract myself from the void that flares in my chest every time things like work or sleep pull us apart. Hydrogen, oxygen, radium—I race through them as I watch the world go by. In the opposite direction of Casa Solis.
“Umm, Aiden, I think we’re going the wrong way. Casa Solis is in North Portland.”
He gives me a dimply smile. “You’re not going to Casa Solis, Elisa.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Benson smiles in the mirror too, but my pulse starts racing in terror. Last time Aiden planned a surprise, he was trying to expel me from his life. Nothing has changed in that department—we’re still on ceasefire.
He kisses my temple. “Not that kind of surprise.”
I deflate and slump in his arms. “Do the Solises and Reagan know?”
“Yes, they’re waiting for you—your roommate not at all graciously, I might add.”
“Don’t worry about Reagan. She’s just protective. She’ll come around.” I kiss his scar, and watch every turn Benson makes. We seem to be going toward Portland State University.
At last, the Rover stops smoothly in front of—I cannot believe it—the Portland Art Museum! On the curb is a white sign:
ELISA’S GRADUATION PARTY
THE ENGLISH SILVER GALLERY
BELLUSCHI BUILDING
My hand flies to my mouth as though to stop my jaw from zipping out of the window and landing next to Monet’s Waterlilies.
“You rented the whole museum?” I whisper through my fingers, half-horrified, half-awed. From my peripheral vision, I register Benson getting out of the car.
“No, not all of it. Just one gallery, which as we know, is an improvement for me.”
I meet his calm eyes. What’s the point of arguing with dreams? “Yes, it is,” I say. “And beautiful. And hideously expens—”
He presses his index finger to my lips, shaking his head. “Please don’t make this a money issue. I want it to be everything you want.”
His voice is so soft that it lingers on my skin much like his touch. But how can this party be everything I want when everything I want is here in this car with me and will not come inside?
“Won’t you come?” The words burst from my mouth.
He straightens immediately and drops his hand from my lips, all tenderness gone from his eyes. “Not this again.”
“But what if we just sit in the corner and make out the whole time? No one will dare come near us.”
He shakes his head, not finding my joke funny. “No.”
He holds my eyes with the forceful glare I have come to know well. I cannot argue with him. And if I do, he will become convinced that he is depriving me of major life moments and try to leave again.
I nod, forcing a smile on my face. “Right, safety first. I understand, Lieutenant.” I try to execute a Marine salute but my hand just plops to the side.
He watches me for a long moment and then his glare relents. “Good. Now, do you have all your presents for your family?”
“Yes, all wrapped in turquoise and ready to go.”
He smiles. “Turquoise? Interesting choice.”
>
Unable to resist his smile, I grin too. “My new favorite color. Do you want to see your present?” My voice cracks a little when I think of what I’m about to do.
“My present?” He frowns as though he does not think he deserves a present.
“Yes. And before you argue, you’ve been giving me a new Margolis outfit every day. Now it’s my turn.”
The dimple puckers in his weekend stubble. “Yes, ma’am.”
I dig inside my purse for the purple-and-turquoise box. When I find it, I hold it one last time, my fingers clutching it tightly.
“Here,” I say, giving it to him with both hands. It has a dried Aeternum taped on top. The rest of the roses are in the cooler in the chemistry building undergoing geraniol extraction.
He takes the box with a boyish grin.
“I’m not sure when was the last time I got a present,” he says. “Actually, I do know. January eighth, at 1:34 p.m. A bottle of Balvenie from Benson.”
I laugh, the sound quivering with emotion. “Belated Christmas present?”
“Yes. Even though I’ve told him twenty-four times not to get me anything.”
He tucks the Aeternum in the breast pocket of his shirt, and starts unwrapping the paper. But when he takes out the double frame, the box drops from his hand and his mouth pops open.
I follow his gaze even though I know what he is seeing. On one side is a photo of his home and on the other, my one-way ticket to America the day he bought his house. I would have never parted with this ticket but ever since I met him, it seems I came here for him alone.
He looks at me with a strong emotion on his face, the one without name that I saw at his Alone Place.
“Is this the real ticket?” he asks, his voice low.
I nod, swallowing so that tears don’t rise to my eyes.
He looks at it again even though I know he has memorized it. His Adam’s apple rolls once in his lovely throat. “Why are you giving it to me?”
In a way, giving Aiden anything that belongs in a frame is silly. But this is not a picture—it’s a connection.
“Because this whole journey was worth it just to meet you. Even if it is only now.”
He leans in and kisses my temple. “Thank you.” His voice is new, humbled.
I smile. “You’re welcome. And now, you have a frame!”
He chuckles. “So I do. I think I’ll put it on my desk in the library. It will shock the hell out of Cora and Benson.”
I almost float like a helium balloon. I love you, I love you, I love you. I snap a picture of the moment lest the words break through my locked teeth.
He rests the frame on his knee and strokes my cheek. “You didn’t get a single present for yourself, Elisa.”
I shrug. “They didn’t have what I wanted.”
The V breaks between his eyebrows and his jaw flexes, probably plotting the demise of all Portland retailers who failed me in such a manner. “What did you want?”
I climb on his lap, wrapping my arms around him.
“Sleep with me tonight,” I say, trying not to let the sharp ache of his absence enter my voice. Every night since the hilltop, Aiden waits for me to pass out—usually a matter of seconds after his sexcapades—and then goes to sleep in the guest room down the hall.
He pries my hands from his neck immediately. “No, Elisa. We discussed this.” His voice is unyielding.
“Please?” My neuropsychology professor was wrong when he told us we lack awareness in deep sleep. I miss Aiden from the second I close my eyes to the moment I open them. I know his absence in the cold bed that doesn’t warm up no matter how many blankets he throws on me, in the goose bumps that don’t go away despite Margolis’s finest silk, in the dreams that are always a shade of turquoise.
His jaw flexes. “It’s not—worth—the risk.”
“But I won’t touch you at all, I promise.”
“Please, stop!”
He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he opens them again, he cups my face gently.
“Elisa, baby, don’t you think I want to sleep next to you? Do you think I don’t see how you clutch my pillow when you sleep? I spend hours watching you at night.”
“You do?”
He smiles. “Of course, I do, you silly, beautiful, reckless woman.”
I smile, too, fighting some rather ludicrous tears. I love you. “Maybe I need an exact replica of you, like an Aiden-bear?”
“That sounds horrific.” He pretends to shudder but kisses me, his lips soft, his tongue angry. I fist my hands in his hair, not caring at all that we are in a public street with Benson right outside the window. I’d probably lose all sense of British modesty and do a lot more but he pulls away with a chuckle.
“If you keep this up, we’ll end up arrested and that would endanger your green card.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot,” I say, aware of my pout. “I can’t wait to be free of these stupid public decency restrictions.”
He laughs his waterfall laughter. “Tonight,” he promises, pinching my chin.
Tonight is too far away. I start kissing him again but Benson decides that this is the moment to knock on our window. I look out and see Javier skipping down the museum stairs.
The change in Aiden is instant. The tension snaps back around his shoulders, and I see that flicker of anger in his eyes as his memory retrieves his first reaction to Javier. But he leashes it back, the plates shifting until they find their natural, guarded spot.
“Good job,” I say, kissing his cheek.
He nods once, no humor on his face. We get out of the car, Aiden keeping his back firmly against the Rover. Benson steps forward, taking his permanent spot to Aiden’s right.
Javier crosses the street and jogs to us. He is wearing the same shiny shoes, dark jeans and blue shirt that he wore for the painting session.
“Hey, girl of the hour!” He ruffles my hair, giving me a tight hug. I hug him back awkwardly because Aiden is holding my other hand, not at all gently.
“Mr. Hale, good to see you again,” Javier says politely, extending his hand.
“Mr. Solis,” Aiden responds in his most even tone, releasing my hand and shaking Javier’s.
“It was really good of you to help us out. We’d have been fine with carnitas but Isa will like this more.” Javier smiles, tilting his head to me. There is a strange tightness in his smile.
“My pleasure,” Aiden says. Javier nods, looking back at me with that same smile. He arches his brows once and glances at his shoes. He looks almost self-conscious.
“Well, I, for one, hope Maria’s carnitas are there,” I say in case this is a reaction to Aiden’s wealth, much like my own. “Otherwise, I’m not even coming in.”
Aiden and Javier both smile, Aiden politely, Javier awkwardly. Javier recovers first. “Well, Mr. Hale, come on in, try the carnitas for yourself. Isa, let’s go. The girls are in a tizzy.”
I look at Aiden. His face is hard steel, his shoulders radiating thermonuclear tension.
“Umm, Javier, actually, it’s going to be just me. Aiden has to work…something came up with one of his Tokyo deals…time difference and all.” I try to keep my voice as even as possible but inside I feel like fermenting sulfur—smelly and slightly toxic. I hate lying to Javier.
His eyebrows knit together—one big, bushy painting brush. He stands straighter. My palms start sweating as I recognize his big-brother stance. It’s the same one he adopts when he hears about someone bullying Bel at school.
He frowns at Aiden. “But this is her party! You’re the big boss, you can’t change things around so you can come? She’s worked really hard for this.”
Aiden’s jaw locks, the snap of his teeth almost audible. His eyes darken with fury and narrow at the corners. Did Javier notice the clenched fists?
“No, I cannot chan
ge my prior commitments, Mr. Solis.” His voice is glacial. “I trust that she will be in good hands with you,” he adds, commanding—not asking.
Javier moves a step close to me. “She’s been in good hands with us for four years, Mr. Hale,” he says, both like a promise and a rebuff.
I decide to intervene. “And now I’ve got all these people ready to spoil me rotten.” I clap, my voice high enough to shatter the museum windows. “I’m a jammy girl. Get a move on, Javier, I fancy some carnitas.”
Javier looks bewildered. “Did you just use British slang?”
“Umm, yes, I reckon I did!” Good, that seems to distract everyone! Aiden is smiling without his dimple. Javier is blinking furiously. I skip to Aiden and rest my hands on his tense chest, feeling his strong hands clutching my waist like they are speaking words of their own.
“Thank you for everything,” I tell him.
“Be careful. And don’t forget your presents and your camera.”
“Oh, bloody hell! Thank you for reminding me.”
Benson opens the trunk and takes out the enormous cardboard box that contains all the turquoise gifts. I march to pick it up but all three give me a glare that says plainly drop it or ICE will be the least of your worries. Aiden nods once at Benson, who takes off toward the museum faster than Javier and I can blink.
“See you later, Mr. Hale,” Javier says, and follows Benson. I have a feeling he just gave us a moment alone.
I rise on my tiptoes to kiss Aiden expecting just a peck on the lips with Javier around. But his hands fist in my hair, and he kisses me once, hard. No extravagant dips or holds. Just a mouth-to-mouth kiss, like an exchange of air or a secret sign. And because of that, it leaves me equally breathless. I don’t want to leave him out here by himself when the rest of my world is inside. Hydrogen, 1.008—
