Chapter 5
She was sitting in the reception.
Elijah felt like running away.
He'd been exiting the elevator when he'd seen her sitting primly on one of the various couches dotting the reception area of Saltzman Inc. He'd rushed inside the corridor that led to the basement level to avoid recognition if and when she raised her head.
Now, he was standing against the wall, his heart going a mile a minute and he didn't know what to do. If he walked past her, she would see him. He didn't want her to see him here. In between so many people.
He was barely capable of facing her all alone. He didn't know what he would do if they ever came face to face amid company.
He peeked from the corner like a twelve-year-old spying on his crush. She was engrossed in a novel. The cover was different from the one she'd been reading that day in the park.
Why had he chosen this time of the day to come visit Alaric? Usually, he came to the office in the late evenings when most of Alaric's staff was gone.
The elevator doors opened again to reveal Damon Salvatore who smiled instantly when he noticed Elena sitting in the reception. Behind Salvatore was his friend Alaric whose eyes flickered to Salvatore's derriere ever so often and then turned sideways to confirm if anyone had seen him checking out his intern.
If he weren't in such a bind, Elijah would have rolled around on the floor with laughter.
In one such vigilant sweep, Alaric's eyes fell on Elijah and Elijah knew the cat was out of the bag.
'Elijah!'
He saw Salvatore stiffen visibly as he went to stand in front of Elena.
He walked away from his hiding place, thousand thoughts running in his head.
What was he going to say to her?
How was he going to meet her eyes?
Alaric looked eager, Salvatore murderous and Elena…
Elena looked disinterested. Almost bored.
His heart skipped a beat.
His throat felt dry.
His hands were clammy.
'I'm sure you know my good friend Elijah Mikaelson,' Alaric introduced.
'Pleasure, Mr. Mikaelson,' Elena uttered monotonously, her eyes passing over him in polite indifference.
As if he were some stranger.
As if she'd never declared her steadfast love for him.
His heart sank.
'Mikaelson,' Salvatore muttered, giving a barely civil nod, one that Elijah returned woodenly.
The atmosphere was awkward and charged with undercurrents. Alaric looked uncomfortable. Nobody was willing to break the silence. Well, except for Elena.
'It was nice seeing you again, Alaric. Elijah. We have to be somewhere, so we will be going.'
Salvatore clasped her fingers and they started to walk away.
'Damon. Elena,' Alaric called from behind.
The couple paused and turned around to possibly inquire about the matter for which Alaric had chosen to halt their departure. But before they could ask anything, Alaric was already on a roll.
'I'm having a party this evening and you guys have to come.'
'This evening? Elena and I have plans—'
'—which are totally amendable. Right, honey?' she asked Salvatore. He looked at her, their eyes holding the gaze for a moment too long. He shrugged in response.
'We are going to be there, Alaric,' Elena said graciously. 'Now, if you'll excuse us, we have some shopping to do.'
With that she walked out of the building, hand in hand with Salvatore.
They'd talked without words when Salvatore had stared at her for a moment too long. They'd communicated in a language which was alien to him.
He wanted to learn that language.
He wanted to talk to her without words.
He wanted to stare deep into her eyes…
'You could've turned down his invitation.'
'What for?'
'Mikaelson is gonna be there.'
'So?' She arched her eyebrows regally while holding a black silk chiffon dress.
'I don't want you to be hurt, Elena.'
'I've grown up, Damon. I've left my seventeen-year-old self behind, in the past where it belongs. And to think of it, what worse can he do to me?'
'I worry,' he sighed. 'I still think we should cancel. We had plans to binge on "Madmen" and stuff our face with pizza.'
'Lame,' she remarked, critically eyeing the details of the black dress she held, comparing it to the midnight blue one still on the rack. 'Alaric was checking you out.'
'What?' Damon sputtered.
'Oh, he's got hots for you, Salvatore, and the guy doesn't even know you're into him.'
'I'm not.'
'You're so. Which one should I try first?' she enquired, gesturing at the black and blue one she had draped on her arm. He eyed the dresses disinterestedly and then got up to peruse the section.
He spied a dress hanging in the end, obscured by a gaudy red number and an equally sequined cyan one.
It was not a dress many could carry, but on Elena, it would look perfect.
He snagged the piece and held it out for her.
'No,' she said flatly, lips pursed in a frown.
'Try it, Elena,' he pushed her towards the trial room, carrying the dress with him. 'It's not peach. It's pink. Trust me.'
'I do,' she said immediately.
'Then do as I say, Elena.'
After she was safely inside the confines of the changing room, Damon let himself think about her comment. Was Alaric really attracted to him?
He'd not given the man any signal that he was attracted towards him, had he?
Or had Alaric known just by looking at him, that he was one of those men.
He shook his head in disgust. He couldn't do anything properly. He always messed things up.
What if Alaric knew that he wasn't who he pretended to be in the public eye? What if he'd told Mikaelson? What if this whole party was Mikaelson's ploy to hurt Elena again?
He—
'How do I look?' Elena stood before him in the dress, a vision straight from male fantasy, her timid question a reminder of how brutally her confidence had been plucked at.
He gazed at her, this woman who was braver than any person he'd ever known, who often became a lioness to stand in front of him, who didn't forget to snub his father or cut him on any social occasion she found herself in his company, who rocked him to sleep in nights, who sang for him when nightmares dared to creep near him—this woman was a beauty beyond compare.
She was Aphrodite herself, Venus incarnated in human flesh.
She was also scared of her beauty, afraid to flaunt it. She in her childish naivety had dared once and she'd been so brutally rejected that she hadn't dared to try again.
'Perfect,' he uttered.
She stood there like a statute, like a dream come to life, trembling in her pretty pink dress, trying to breathe through the memories choking her.
He stepped closer to her and gathered her in his arms.
'You are beautiful, Elena,' he whispered softly, intimately in her ears.
'Am I, Damon? Am I really?' she asked artlessly, childishly, still hiding her face in his chest.
'You're the prettiest among them all…'
Elijah seldom attended Alaric's monthly parties, but this time, he found himself leaning against the bar, his eyes trained on the door.
They were almost an hour late.
Was she not coming?
He sipped his whiskey, ignoring the women trying to get his attention. He only had eyes for one woman and he wasn't sure if she was coming or not.
He felt a little lightheaded, not completely drunk, but yes, he could feel the buzz. He'd started downing the booze the moment he'd stepped inside the door. He spied Alaric standing in the far corner of the room with a woman, all pretext of concentration on his face, but his eyes, they darted regularly to the door.
Like Elijah, he too was waiting for someone.
Poor idiot. Elijah shook his head. Salvatore was as straight as they came.
His eyes were staring at the bottom of his glass, but he knew the moment she came in, hanging on Salvatore's arm for everyone to see. His hands curled into fists and he raised his head to look at her.
His breath was knocked out of his chest.
She wore a powder pink silk georgette full-length dress, the material so sheer that all her curves were outlined. The strategically stitched mesh of lace protected her modesty.
Barely.
He could see the outline of her breasts, the nipples hidden beneath the lurex embroidered tulle. The neckline of the dress dipped to her navel, giving a sensual glimpse of flesh that was playing peek-a-boo with the dress. The deep slits to the thigh sexualized the dress in a way that Elijah found seductive. Her face was bare except for the red on her lips and her hair—curled and left free to frame her face and hang down her back—made her look older than she was.
The color of the dress she wore was so similar to the one he and Katherine had forced her to wear years ago.
He swallowed the bad taste the memory invoked in his mouth.
Salvatore's eyes didn't leave her face, not even for a second, and neither did her hand relinquished its hold on him.
Salvatore twirled her once on the way to meet their host and the back of the dress made Elijah's throat dry.
It dipped dangerously low to reveal the supple curve of her spine and it stopped just above the curve of her ass.
How could Salvatore bear to let her wear something so revealing out in public? Did he not care that men looking at her could think of nothing but her body beneath this dress? Was he not bothered by the fact that these men would pleasure themselves in the privacy of their bathrooms after they left this party with her image behind their closed lids and her name on their lips?
Was Salvatore so indifferent to the fact that she was essentially parading herself in a nightgown in front of strangers?
He signaled the man behind the counter to fill his empty glass with vodka. He gulped the liquid in one go. He signaled for a refill.
As the party slowly progressed, he continued his drinking and obsessive staring.
At one point when she danced with one of his execs, he wanted to snatch her away from the arms of the man whose eyes often strayed below her face.
He wanted to shake her and cover her up.
He also wanted to pull her in his arms and then peel back the fabric that clung to her body and run his fingers over the curves.
She'd whispered her fantasies to him once, all those years ago.
He wanted to whisper all he wanted to do with her right in her ears before he licked the shell of her ear that sported a diamond drop.
Bloody hell! He slammed his glass on the bar.
Salvatore was one lucky son-of-a-bitch.
His eyes never once strayed away from her. He watched her flit from the arms of one man to another and he seethed. Oh, how he burned.
When they laid their hands on her skin, when they held her close and inched their fingers on her bare back, he wanted to howl with rage.
Salvatore was looking at her with a bemused expression on his face. Was the man an idiot?
Finally, she left all her admirers behind to stand in Salvatore's embrace. He wanted to gut the kid. She'd spent the seven years in forgetting him. He, on the other hand, had spent the time dreaming of her.
She whispered something in Salvatore's ear and the man shook his head, his expression one of denial. She pulled him by hand to the door that opened up in a corridor that would take the person to the famed gardens of Alaric's estate.
With the last sip, he left his seat to follow her.
Your reviews kept me warm and happy. So, what do you think about this chapter? And the reference to "Madmen", my bestie is crazy about the show. There was a time when we used to have philosophical discussions about "Madmen". Anyways, I'm watching Train to Busan right now. To all you zombie flick lovers, it's a fuck awesome movie. Do review. Loads of love to all of you.