by Serena Grey
His voice is raised, his jaw hard and tight, but he has that sad, haunted look in his eyes, the one I saw last weekend, the night he told me about his mother. Shame descends on me what I realize what I’ve done. She left too, based on something someone told her. Something she didn’t wait to confirm.
I cover my face with my hands. “Landon, I didn’t think...”
“No you didn’t,” he looks resigned. “You were too eager to indict me.” He spears me with his eyes, and I see the accusation in the blue depths. “Are we still at this stage, Rachel? Are you still looking for excuses to walk away?”
I don’t reply. His car appears on the street and comes to a stop beside him, Joe behind the wheel.
“You can go up now.” Landon’s voice is emotionless. “I’ll send your things later tonight.”
He turns towards the car, going to open the back door. I know what I’ve done, and the realization of how much I’ve hurt him settles like a weight on my shoulders. If he leaves now… I can’t bear to think that he might never come back.
“Wait,” I say, my voice breaking on the word. “Please, Landon.”
He stops and turns to look at me. My eyes are wet, and I feel as if I’m hurting all over. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He doesn’t move, and I inhale, a tear rolling down my cheek. He mutters a curse, then he’s walking towards me, holding my body to his with one hand while he wipes the tear from my face.
“You’re going to drive me crazy,” he whispers.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, burying my face in his chest.
He breathes. “Are you sure you won’t go up? Laurie was very worried.”
I shake my head. “No. I want to come with you.”
WE don’t say much during the drive back to his place. I can tell he’s deep in thought, and I wish I knew what he was thinking about. I switch my phone back on and see all the texts from Laurie asking where I am, and I respond with an apology and an assurance that I’m alright.
She replies immediately.
“What happened?”
“Long story. I’ll tell you later.”
*Confused face*
Then. “Landon was out of his mind with worry. You’ll have to try harder to convince me that he doesn’t feel something for you, maybe something as deep as what you feel. Just my opinion.”
I look from my screen to Landon’s face, he’s looking out of the window, the line of his jaw illuminated by the lights from outside the car. His face is unreadable at the moment. If he feels anything now, I decide, it’s probably annoyance, impatience, and disappointment that I hadn’t cared to think my actions through.
I don’t reply Laurie’s last text. I don’t know what to say, and I don’t want to give myself any hope. I may not have gone into this clear-headed, but I know I have to be strong enough not to punish myself, or him, for the decision I made to stay with him.
In his apartment, the dinner I ordered is in the kitchen, still warm in the hot plates. Silently, Landon pours me a glass of wine, then disappears upstairs. When he returns, he has changed out of his work clothes and is wearing sweats and a t-shirt.
“You should go change,” he tells me. His voice is sober, and he hardly looks at me. “I’ll lay out the food.”
Silently, I do as he says, making my way upstairs to his bedroom, where my bag is still sitting on one of the chairs. In the bathroom, I wash my face, then go into the dressing room. I’m about to reach for one of his t-shirts when I notice that the other side of the large space, which was empty the last time I came over, now has clothes hanging from the racks, clothes that from their varied colors, cannot possibly be for a man.
Don’t bring anything, he’d said, and now I realize why. There are at least two weeks’ worth of clothes for the office, a few casual ensembles, and evening wear. There’s nightwear folded on the shelves, lingerie in the drawers, some simple jewelry, and shoes too. Everything I need so I never have to hesitate before coming over.
I sit on the carpeted floor and cover my face with my hands, fighting back tears. All my suspicions and fears now seem so ridiculous. There is no doubt that he wants me in his life, no doubt that I’m important to him, but while he’d been opening his home and himself to me, I’d done the one thing I promised him I wouldn’t do. I’d walked away.
Without waiting to hear his side.
I compose myself and start to look for something to wear. I finally choose a sleeping shorts and tank top ensemble that closely resembles a pair I have at home, over the collection of smooth satin nighties. I return downstairs, and Landon is not in the living room. Following the sound of a TV, I find him in an adjacent room that looks like a den, with a huge couch facing a wide screen TV. He has set out dinner on the coffee table, and on the TV screen, a popular period drama is showing.
He looks up when I enter the room, his eyes going over my clothes. “I hope you don’t mind,” he says. “I thought having a few things here…”
“I don’t mind,” I whisper. “They’re all perfect.”
“I’m glad you like them.” His voice sounds distant, and it makes me ache. “The shoppers came highly recommended, but in case there’s anything else you want, or something you wish to change, I’ll make sure you have their contact details.”
“Okay,” I murmur. There’s a lump in my throat, and so much I want to say, but the events of the evening seem to have built a wall of awkwardness between us. I join him on the floor in front of the couch and we eat. At first we’re silent, then we talk about the show, about the actors, the historical accuracy of the story, anything but what we’re really thinking.
When the show is over. I help him take the dishes to the kitchen, and stack them in the sink, then sitting side by side on the couch, we finish the wine and watch another episode. He doesn’t make any move towards me, and whenever I look in his direction, his eyes are fixed on the screen. I want to reach out to him, to smooth away every sad memory, and every fear I’ve evoked by my actions. I hate to see that I’ve hurt him, that I’ve reminded him of the type of emotions that ruined his parent’s lives.
When the credits start to roll on the screen, I reach for his hand, my touch tentative. He turns to look at me, his eyes searching mine, and there’s a stark vulnerability in his features that tugs at my heart.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him again, my voice soft.
His fingers curl around mine, and something in his touch gives me hope that I haven’t ruined something between us irreparably. “You don’t have any reason to be jealous, Rachel. You have to believe me when I tell you that.”
I nod. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” I say with a sigh. “I wasn’t thinking at all.”
“No matter what happens,” he says, “don’t run. I want this to work, and I want to be sure you want the same thing.”
“I do,” I tell him.
He nods and draws me closer to him. I lay my head on his chest, and one arm comes around me while the other hand strokes my hair. “I was so worried,” he says, his voice low. “When your phone went off…” he sighs. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so afraid in my life.”
I close my eyes. I want to tell him then. I love you Landon, and I was jealous because the thought of you with anyone else makes me feel like I’m dying. But I’ve become used to holding those words back. I sigh as he keeps stroking my hair, the sensations gently lulling me to sleep.
THE next day in the office, I go to the Swanson Court website to read about the opening gala. Landon has told me a little about it. There’s going to be a charity event, to announce the opening as well as raise money for a good cause.
The information on the Swanson Court website confirms what I already know. There are some press events, then the main event, a fundraising gala for the Shelter Project.
I don’t know much about that particular charity, so I follow a link to their website and read about the annual event, usually held in New York. It generally attracts some of the richest socialites, politicians,
and Hollywood stars in the country. Now, they would all go to San Francisco to open the Gold Dust. It made a lot of sense. Landon would get maximum publicity for his hotel, and the Shelter Project would get a substantial injection of funds from people with money to spend, people who couldn’t afford not to be seen at such an event, and those who were curious to see the changes to Gold Dust hotel.
The same information about the gala from the Swanson Court website is presented at the Shelter project site. The theme is a Midsummer Night’s Dream, and honorary chair of the event is Dane Riddell, a Hollywood heartthrob who recently broke hearts all over the world by getting married.
Wondering if there’ll be someone else from Gilt Travel to write about the event. I look over the list of chairs for the event. The name of the editor of Gilt Style jumps out at me, along with another, familiar name.
Ava Sinclair.
I frown. Not sure if my suspicion is right. I remember a few weeks ago, that first time in San Francisco, at the ballet event, Evan Sinclair’s voice in my ear, hateful and angry. “He’s been fucking her for years.” He’d been talking about Landon and his sister. The one who had convinced his family to sell their hotel to Landon.
I didn’t know her name so I couldn’t be sure that she was the one.
But what if she was? It was no big deal if one of Landon’s exes was involved in a charity he was hosting. It didn’t mean anything. My mind goes back to the woman from the picture, but before I start to dwell on the thoughts, I push them out of my mind, replacing them with Landon’s face from last night, how worried he’d been about me, and the intensity with which he’d made love to me this morning.
I resist the urge to find out more about Ava Sinclair, and at lunchtime, I go out with Chelsea and Sonali. Sonali’s skin is glowing from her cleanse, and she’s mulling over an offer she got to intern with the New York branch of a European fashion house. She sulks prettily and expresses her indecision in her crisp British accent.
“I hear you guys are partying all night Friday,” she says enviously. “I wish I could come, but I’m staying away from all my vices for a while. Part of my cleanse.”
“Oh!” I give her a sympathetic smile. “Well, I’m not partying all night, per se. I have to travel on Saturday.”
Chelsea frowns. “Where?”
I tell them about Landon’s opening night.
“Oh. I read about that.” Chelsea says. “The world, their mother, and all the family diamonds are going to be there.” She gives me a look. “What are you wearing?”
I shrug. “I haven’t decided.” I think of the card Landon gave me before we left his apartment. It was almost plain, embossed with the name of a store I’d never heard of. I knew of places like that, highbrow outfitters with direct contact with the best designers. I’d only have to call the number and I’d have something sublime to wear, paid for by Landon.
For some reason even I wasn’t sure of, I was hesitating, thinking instead of getting Aunt Jacie to hook me up with one of her many fashion industry contacts. It was a sure way to get a couture dress at a great price.
Chelsea is looking at me as if I’ve gone insane. “You haven’t…” she sighs. Sonali purses her lips, agreeing silently with whatever Chelsea is thinking. “I know what to do,” Chelsea says, her eyes shining. “We’ll go upstairs.”
My eyes widen. ‘Upstairs’ is Gilt Style, and the legendary closet that holds decades worth of designer clothes and accessories, worth millions. “No!” I exclaim, not sure if it’s even possible.
“Why ever not?” Even Sonali looks excited, “That place is a treasure trove.”
“I have a friend up there,” Chelsea declares with a wink. “Veronica Short, the head stylist who, lucky for you, owes me a favor.” She leans forward with an excited grin. “She’ll style you to within an inch of your life, Rachel. You’ll love it.”
“What kind of favor does she owe you?”
“Does it matter?” Chelsea grimaces. “What we want is for you to look like a billion dollars, and she can make that happen.”
That decides it. “Fine,” I agree. “When?”
“I’ll talk to her,” Chelsea promises.
AFTER work, Joe is there to take me home. Laurie isn’t back yet, so I’m left to prepare for Landon’s cocktail mixer alone. By the time he arrives to pick me up, I’m all dressed up and ready. My dress is vintage Balenciaga, courtesy of my mom. It’s a deep-blue, knee-length number with a neckline that’s just low enough to reveal a hint of cleavage. My hair hangs down to my shoulders in loose waves, and my jewelry is simple. Earrings and a matching bracelet.
When I open the door, Landon is standing there, devastatingly handsome in a black tux. His piercing gaze travels from my face to my dress and back up, and his eyes flare. “Rachel,” he says simply, taking my hand. “I’ll never get used to how beautiful you are.”
And I would never get used to the pleasure of knowing that he saw me as beautiful. “Thank you,” I reply, adding frankly, “You look fab, as usual.” It would never be possible to be in the same room with him without being overcome by his perfection.
His hands trail down my arm, his fingers lingering on my skin and making my body hum with pleasure. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
In the car, Landon’s eyes continue to devour me, feeding a flowering of delight in my belly. “You look like you’re about to jump my bones,” I tell him.
“I’m trying not to.” He laughs, the deep rumble making me smile with him. “We’re leaving as early as we can manage. I’m not spending valuable time at a party when I’d rather be with you.”
I run my tongue over my lower lip. “Now, I don’t want to go at all.”
He pulls me onto his lap, careful not to wreck my clothes or my hair. “I’m going to have a hard time surviving two days without you,” he murmurs. “What have you done to me?”
I raise a hand to smooth his silky hair. “I bewitched you,” I reply, although I’m certain that he’s the one who’s bewitched me.
He smiles. “You certainly did.”
I close my eyes and lean my forehead on his, and we stay like that for a few moments. “Just so you know, I’ll be having fun while you’re gone.” I give him a sly glance. “I’ll be out clubbing all night Friday. So I won’t miss you too much.”
“So I’ll be suffering alone.” He sighs. “I think you just broke my heart.”
I breathe, feeling a small heartache as I fill my lungs with air that’s infused with him. “I’ll miss you too,” I tell him. “Every single minute.”
There’s a press line outside the venue of the party and we dutifully take pictures. Landon’s hand never leaves the spot he has claimed around my waist as we walk inside together. Inside the venue, a champagne fountain refills glasses continuously, with different colored lights igniting the stacked champagne flutes like muted rainbows.
Near the entrance, a tall, lanky man with a pleasant face and carefully side-swept brown hair, breaks into a big grin when he sees Landon. They shake hands. The man is Steven Yeager, the host, and his smile widens when Landon introduces me as his girlfriend.
The statement causes a warmth to start somewhere in my chest and spread until I’m practically floating. I manage to compose myself and smile pleasantly at Steven. “Good to meet you,” he says, giving me a conspiratorial look. “Hold on to him,” he whispers, inclining his head towards Landon. “He’s a big softie inside.”
“I know,” I respond, laughing. I look at Landon, and he’s gazing at me with a smile. My heart tightens with the magnitude of my love for him, but the moment is broken by other people approaching him. As the evening progresses, I smile and respond to introductions, all the while aware of Landon’s hand around my waist, on the small of my back, his fingers gently stroking me through the fabric of my dress. I don’t mind, I love his possessiveness, and I love his touch.
“Landon!”
The voice comes from behind us. It’s a woman’s voice, husky,
rich and almost certainly the voice of someone who is confident of the fact that she’s beautiful.
We turn at the same time. Landon and I. Landon smiles at the new arrival while I take in the confirmation of all my suspicions from the sound of her voice. She is beautiful. Glossy black hair falls to her back and over her shoulders in soft waves, perfect makeup enhances a face that’s already classically beautiful. Her figure would be like a model’s if not for the extra curviness that’s shown off unapologetically in a sequinned top, slim black pants, and classy heels.
I recognize her immediately. It’s the woman from the picture. The woman Landon had dinner with when he told me he was working. I take a breath and keep the pleasant expression on my face, willing myself not to care, to remember Landon’s assurance that there’s nothing to be jealous about.
“Ava,” Landon’s hand slips from my waist as he steps forward to place a kiss on her cheek.
I feel the loss of that hand like the floor disappearing from under my feet. The woman is looking at me now, one eyebrow raised as she eyes me from my hair to my toes, her lips curled in a supercilious half-smile. Landon is introducing us, and I hear him say her name, Ava Sinclair.
He’s been fucking her for years.
“How nice to meet you,” she says. There is a mocking edge to her voice, barely perceptible, but there.
“It’s good to meet you too,” I reply pleasantly, although my mind is whirling. Landon had been meeting his ex? And even when I’d asked him, he’d conveniently neglected to tell me that she was his former lover. He’d made it seem like I’d been jealous about just another business meeting, with just another associate who happened to be female.
Meanwhile, she was someone he used to fuck.
It gave a whole new meaning to the way they smiled at each other in the picture, the hand she’d had on his arm.
