"Would you like some desert?"
I eye my empty plate. God, that pasta was delicious… But it was way more than I should've had. Who knew fancy restaurants didn't only serve portions the size of a baby's palm?
"No, thanks," I smile politely. "I'm pretty full."
"That's a good thing."
Why? Does he like heavier women? If that's the case he's in for disappointment because my genetics won't let that happen. I stifle a laugh, recalling a thirteen-year old Serena telling me I probably have parasites inside me because I never put on weight.
"How do you feel?" He steals a glance at my empty glass of wine. "Are you altered already?"
I chuckle, watching his lips curve too.
"Not like the other day. Turns out wine doesn't have that much effect one me."
He raises a skeptical brow.
"You never had wine before?"
"No. It was my first time."
Turns out I'm having many firsts ever since I moved to Atlanta…
"Really? So did you like it?"
"Yeah, sort of."
"Well, next time I promise to teach you how to taste it properly."
There's a proper way to drink wine? That's news to me. Whoa… Did he just say next time? Next time…
I disguise my euphoria with a careless nod.
"Okay." I agree, earning a gratifying smile from Bass.
"So what's your favorite alcoholic beverage?"
"I don't have one."
"Don't you like beer or cocktails?"
"I've never had beer, though my parents love it. As far as cocktails go I've only tried Margaritas."
Two. Two damn Margaritas…
"You really never had a sip of wine before?"
"No. The only wine my parents drink is Barleywine." I joke. "They're more of an ale and lager type of folks. Doppelbock, Amber Hybrid…"
His face contorts with what I assume to be disgust before he abruptly stands up. What? Is he that displeased by my family's tastes?
"It's getting late." He says, not even checking his watch. "Come, Carl will drive you to the airport."
I must have upset him, somehow, or taken way too much of his time. Probably both. I'm not fit for his world, it's crystal clear – even in something so trifling as in what we drink. He likes fancy, aged red wine with elaborate Italian dishes… I like orange juice – from the store – and homemade food. Although we're standing so close, our worlds are lightyears apart.
Leaving my napkin over the table, I sling my bag over my shoulder and follow after him. He's striding down the hallway outside of the restaurant, on his phone.
"The Rover will do." He acquiesces, dryly. We'll meet you up front."
Without looking back to see if I'm behind him, he saves his phone back in the front pocket of his suit pants and crosses the hallway in a disquieting silence.
The grandiose lobby graces us in an engulfing, tomb-like quietude, further evincing my uneasiness. Similar to Lowes in Atlanta, it's perimeter is round, every surface made out polished marble, every seat lavish velvet. And there's only three or four people around, aside from the concierge.
As we head towards the steel rotating doors I assume it's safe to say tonight was a complete fiasco. I didn't get to execute my revenge plan, I didn't get to understand what we are – if anything. Yes, I might've went out with him and learned more about him – perhaps more than I could ever expect –, except he's someone who I'll never be close with the way my soul needs. It's evident his only intentions were to make me fall for him so I could accept his obscene offer. And I won't. I can't possibly hand out my future to a man who sends more mixed signals than a Wi-Fi router.
I glue my eyes to the concrete as he stands beside me, waiting for the darkness of his car to cry out my pent up humiliation, hurt and expectations. From the corner of my eye I watch as he fishes an envelope out of a secret pocket inside his blazer.
"Here's your ticket back." He says, handing it over to me. "Thank you for coming."
I whisk it out of his hand, not even bothering to hide my state of mind.
So a kiss is everything I'll have from him, indeed… I knew that could be a possibility in the back of my mind. Fairly well. But why does it still hurt like I had no clue at all? Like I've been rejected in the worst possible way? Like shrapnels cover my entire body?
I shiver, twice. The wind isn't wild but the temperatures have lowered during our dinner. Inside in the heated room I had no clue, but I regret once again not having brought a freaking jacket or scarf.
"You're shivering." He remarks, his tone clipped.
I brush my shoulder, but another shiver gets into me. Right before his gaze.
"Come upstairs. I'll lend you a coat," Is the last thing he says before he ventures inside the hotel.
Really? I fight the urge to roll my eyes, even if behind his back. I should just stay here and leave with Carl; disappear from his life all at once. But I'm polite, and dumb enough to follow his every order.
Scowling, I chase him towards the elevator. Just like in Atlanta, it rests against the furthest wall from the entrance, on the right wing of the lobby. When the elevator dings, the doors slide open before us. They promise a ride alone, in this secluded space where I can still perfectly smell his intoxicating fragrance. Standing in my corner, I wonder how he manages to smell this good after so many hours. Is it the quality of his fragrance? The way he applies it? I shake my head. Who cares? You shouldn't.
Unlike Loews in Atlanta, there's a wide frameless mirror behind him and Beethoven is playing from the tiny speakers – a somber melody that reminds me of a funeral, or drowning in the endless depths of the ocean. It juxtaposes with the direction the elevator is taking. I hear a sharp intake of air coming from Bass.
When I glance at him, through the mirror, his eyes are shut, creasing in a way it reveals great pain. My bad-tempered face turns into awe as my heart sinks at the sight. What happened to him? Is this about those things he couldn't tell me earlier at the bridge? His hand clenches in a fist and I forget to breathe. How can I relieve his pain? Make whatever this is go away? Did the music trigger this reaction?
The elevator bell dings and the doors gracefully open, after longer than I was expecting. We're on the thirty-fifth floor. He strides down the hallway at his fast pace and only stops when he reaches the lonely door above the small staircase at the back. Another private suite…
He slides a key card over the lock and holds the door open for me. With his presence the lights turn on.
"Thank you." I murmur as I step inside, shortly after him.
When my eyes leave the floor I hear myself gasp. This is nothing like his private bachelor suite in Atlanta. This… is a house. From what my sight allows me, twice the size of my apartment. It has an actual hallway – which I'm standing on and is three time bigger than my bathroom – before what I can see is the joined dining and living room area. The walls are a discreet beige combined with ashy brown oak planks, the surfaces all white with golden appointments.
Bass disposes his card on a ceramic bowel over the long marble end table on the parallel wall. There's nothing but a simple lamppost joining it. His shadow crosses the square mirror above it, his silhouette broken by the diamond pattern that crisscrosses the glass.
"Won't Carl be waiting for us?" I take the courage to ask, since I don't enjoy keeping people waiting.
Bass enters the living room, leaving behind dead silence. I've always had a higher-than-average dose of patience in me, but being near him right now is slowly depriving me of such quality. I don't know if I want to grab his arm or slam the door behind me and never step foot in Chicago again.
I choose the later.
"Okay, then."
I don't mind the cold, and my mean of transportation is the last thing in my mind either. I just know he hurt me and I don't have to put up with his mood swings. After all, I'm nothing but an amusement for him.
Turning on my heel, I head for the door, stomping off over his pristine wood floor. I turn the handle and push the door open, but it doesn't comply. And that's when I see his hand, blocking the door as he stands behind me. What? The envelope slips out of my grasp at the scare. What the hell does he want from me? He opens up then turns to stone; he kisses me, then sends me away. It's O'Cloak all over again…
"Please open the door."
"You're not going anywhere."
No shit…
I turn around, craning my neck to face him. His gorgeous face, although punchable, is laced with all sorts of emotions – surprise, dread, trepidation…
"I was hoping I could at least get to the airport, since you want me out of your sight so badly."
In one swift, yet sensual move, he bends his long legs and grabs the envelope. I blink at him, astonished, watching as his body rises up just mere inches away from mine. My breath itches in my throat and I pray he didn't hear it.
"If that's what you want…" He says, still securing the door with his flexed arm.
"You wanted it first."
Releasing the door, he lowers his head and murmurs something under his breath. Okay, it wasn't hard – he didn't lock me here or stole my only ticket home. No, it's excruciating. He has this conformable, tormented glare stiffening his features, his blue eyes cast towards the floor absolutely lost. This looks like grief, a call for help, and I want nothing more than to stay.
I gasp when his hands cup my face all of a sudden, as if holding onto dear life. Anticipation builds inside me, the ultimate test of my patience.
"I want you." He stares at me, with eyes so fiery they might just burn me a little. "But that's extremely selfish of me. You won't want what I really have to offer."
I swallow my fear and turn to some remaining liquid courage left in my system.
"What is it?"
He bites his lips, shaking his head over and over.
"Pain," the anguish in his voice palpable, almost solid. "I'm only going to hurt you."
I believe him, I do. I can see – feel – just how well he's accustomed to living like this. But does this fire really spread? Or is it nothing but daunting smoke? Am I so naïve to believe his intentions are good, regardless of their outcome? To believe his warning is the sign that means hurting me is the last thing he wants?
"Hurt me, then."
He breathes out the air I didn't know he was carrying this long inside his lungs.
"You're making it really hard for me to control myself," he sighs, exasperation radiation off of him as his thumb gently caresses my cheek. His touch… I could melt into nothing and everything. "I should protect you, not lead you down the wrong path."
I don't even know what my path looks like… What if it has the most striking oval blue eyes and his touch is what a miracle feels like?
"I'm twenty-one. I can make my own choices."
He tilts his head very minimally, leaning closer. His breathing is off-balance, sometimes wavering sometimes rhythmical, and I'm losing my stability. God, he seems to overthink even more than I do… What do I have to do for him to just kiss me? I should lean over, pluck this teasing nonsense by the root, but what do I know about kissing? He might have kissed me already, but I don't remember a thing other than his fresh taste and the indescribable feeling of his lips on mine. How it happened is just a blur. And, to be fair, I don't think I did a great job at kissing him back.
As I gaze at his eyes a shiver snakes down my spine, but this time I know it's not the wind or the local temperature. It's… him.
"Let's get you a coat."
Two swift moves and he disappears inside his suite. I curse under my breath, for I'm getting way too accustomed to his sudden abandon and it isn't particularly the nicest feeling in the world. Catching my breath, I secure the envelope under my arm and head inside his beautiful home.
Everything smells good in here - clean, brand new, luxurious – and everything is in perfect harmony, inciting me to think the decor was the work of a professional. Yes, only an interior designer would be capable of providing such classic charm and lighting even at nighttime.
The living and dining room space is a replica of the hallway, except three times larger and carrying all the essentials and more. Under the golden lights, my eyes are quick to capture the couch – a wide, light grey sectional couch that holds the spotlight in the room, even by resting on the east wall. Curiously, there's another sitting area at the back with two bronze tufted upholstered chairs on the opposite side to the dining room. It's hard not to find my flustered reflection in this room. There's mirrors everywhere – from the cabinets, to the tables, to the floor-to-ceiling windows, to the shiny grand piano…
Oh.
My eyes flicker to the lit-up terrace behind the thick, creme curtains adjacent to the living room, where an inground pool casts turquoise shadows all over the porcelain tiles. He has his own penthouse residence and rooftop, in a hotel. Is that even allowed? Oh, wait – he's the owner.
I circumvent the glass dining table to catch a better look at his pool. Despite the weather and time, it is tempting to the eye. But I couldn't possibly handle the cold water with this breeze. Aside from the large pool there's only a couple of lounge chairs perfectly lined up on its length. It's seems lonely there, like a rapturous fantasy.
Something moves on the windows and I catch another blurry reflection behind mine. I turn around, my heartbeat quickening its pace. Bass is standing under the doorway, a beige trench coat draped over one arm.
"Do you live here?"
"Yes. It's my place, most of the time. I also have my own suite in Atlanta when I'm staying there."
Yeah, I remember…
"This place is beautiful," I say, glancing back at the terrace. God, that pool must have the siren's chant, because it's luring me in more each second I spend here.
"Go ahead. Warm up."
What? He isn't seriously offering me to dive into those magnetic waters at… I check my watch, Midnight. Oh, jeez. What am I still doing here? Maddie is probably worried sick because I haven't even updated her on the fake situation. But what's the real situation? Am I leaving now? Am I staying prisoner to my darkest desires? I don't even know what's the correct thing to do anymore. I'm as much as a blurry, grey area as he is. Unpredictable, reckless, led by the heart… That was never me. Why is everything so different around him? It's like I'm a new, undiscovered version of myself and it's scary, because I don't know if I can't trust myself like this.
"It's a heated pool," he informs when I let the silence consume me.
Hmm… A heated pool…
I shake my head.
"I don't have a bathing suit."
"You don't need one."
My eyes widen before I can control my shocked expression. No, he can't possibly mean what I'm thinking… I will not strip to my underwear in front of a man I have no relationship with!
A sly smile twists his mouth when he leans forward. His hot breath blows against my ear.
"Don't deprive yourself of the great pleasures of life, Blair."
One moment his large hand is on my shoulder, the next it's sliding the terrace door open behind me. I stand rooted to my spot as I ponder my next move, the Chicago breeze bringing an uncontrollable wave of shivers all over my back.
I'm leaving. Yup, that's the bright choice. The choice that would make my mom proud and myself when I wake up tomorrow. Who is he to assume I don't enjoy life? He knows nothing about me.
Running my hands over my crossed arms, I head for the door. He's probably already underwater wearing God only knows what. Or not wearing. I flush at the thought and, in a sudden moment of curiosity and pure instinct, I turn around. He's standing by the pool, in tight black boxers, his steady gaze piercing through the glass and igniting a thousand flames inside me.
Oh, God… Now that pool sky-rocketed to the most tempting thing I've ever laid eyes on. If I permit myself to be a little wild tonight, will I be able to not turn occasional into recurring? Or will I be breaking all my rules tonight and forever?
As if magically detainer of their own will, my feet begin moving towards the open door before I even come to a consensus. Slowly, his eyes lose every hint of worry and uncertainty as I walk up to him. Before I can stop it, my eyes stray to his exposed skin. His bare chest wavers with every breath he takes, his broad shoulders tense. He has the body of a gymnast, a runway model – lean and muscled, but not to an excess. It's clear that he works out and cares for his physique. In other men I would find it shallow and blame it on their top of the line genes, but somehow, I find it impressive. And attractive. Very, very attractive…
The Chicago skyline is something else from up here. The shimmering buildings flash over the darkness of the night, nearly reflecting their colors on the pool. It's something worthy of a museum. I've recently moved to a new city and I already want to move out, to another state. My parents would kill me if I even considered being this far away from home. But I can't be blamed for the endless beauty my eyes behold. Once the world seemed to small – the size of my mind –, but it's in moments like this that you realize those unknown places are very much real and they're more than you can ever count.
"I'm surprised you decided to stay."
I shudder when his eyes capture mine in an intimate proximity. Actually, they never left.
"Me too."
The wind caresses his face while creeping down my back where I am also exposed. I shudder, my heart swelling on my chest with a strange sensation of warmth I've never felt before. It's urge, I realize; urge for something I deeply long for.
"But I have one condition."
"Anything," he frowns, ever so briefly.
"You'll answer my questions."
"I thought we were only going to swim."
Holding my stiff posture, I shoot him a defying brow. His amused face should've vanished by now, but it hasn't. I take a step back, trying to keep my eyes from straying down to the prominent slabs of muscle people like to call a "six pack".
"Well, in that case you can have the pool all for yourself."
"Take off your clothes."
That single sentence mixed with his shirtless body switches the entire atmosphere like the blink of an eye. I want to close the absurd distance between us and collide against his chest, letting his skin be the heat, my only solace. But I promised not to let all my impulses get the best of me, even if I'm allowing some tonight. It won't end well.
With shaky hands, I tug the hem of my shirt. His heavy, expectant gaze is enough to tell me something has changed within himself too. His blue eyes are alight from the second I begin undressing, focused on every inch of skin I bared like his life depended on it. I can't even remember what bra I'm wearing today, but I don't care right now. I toss my shirt on the immaculate floor, standing still under his ablaze examination. If I knew better I would say he also finds me attractive, but there's not much to look at. I almost sigh of relief when I take a peek at my chest. I'm wearing the white lace bra set – my favorite.
Feeling more at ease, I pluck the button of my jeans and step out of them as gracefully as I can.
The wind blows against my vulnerable skin, leaving temporary goosebumps all over it. This moment takes me back to the night I stayed at Loews – the night we met. I was naked underneath my wet pajamas, but somehow this feels twice as intimate. Never a man has seen me in my underwear before, and yet I don't know if this mercurial man wants to erase these blurred lines any time soon. I'm not sure if I want to cover myself or let his body do it for me more. The pool will do, I assure myself.
Before he utters a single word, he walks away and dives into the crystal blue waters in a majestic headfirst jump. Tiny bubbles surface underneath him, where the once-still water wavers. My eyes are quick to locate the ladder and I make a quick run for it, in hopes he doesn't get to catch another glance at my semi-naked body.
But he's faster than I predicted.
As I'm turning around to grasp the metal rail, I feel two wet hands on my waist, helping me inside. I tremble at his touch – so gentlemanly yet so audacious. As if I'm weightless, he lifts me up slightly and swirls me around in the air until I'm facing him. I'm floating in the water now, his mouth inches from mine. I feel like he might kiss me at any moment, if any of us leans in just a little bit as we speak – a moment of oblivion. But I shouldn't give it much thought. He's been this close way too many times before and all he offered was endless anticipation and hellbound temptation.
The water is the perfect temperature – warm enough to stop me from shivering with cold but not too hot to have me sweating. I redirect all my attention to my body when I realize he's still holding me, underwater now. I can't move – his firm body and the ladder block my movements – but I know I wouldn't want to if I could.
"What do you want to know?"
My wide eyes lock with his as soon as I look up. He runs his fingers through his head. Wet, his hair appears black, giving it the same effect as hair gel. I get a sudden desire to touch it, but my hands are busy holding onto the first ladder step just in case I lose my balance and one hand of his isn't enough to catch me. I've swam in the ocean and the secluded lake near my house in Savannah, but I'm talented as the next ordinary folk.
"Why did you lie about your wealth?" I ask, my voice so weak it's nearly a whisper. "You said it was your friend who owned the hotels and the cars..."
By the way he contorts his lips I can tell this reminder isn't a very pleasant one.
"I didn't want it to jeopardize the way you see me, to let my wealth affect your perception of me. I could tell that was the last thing you cared about in someone, so I decided to put those distractions away because…" he stops himself and turns his face to the clear glass fence surrounding three edges of the pool.
"Because?"
When his eyes fly back to mine they're the color of the deep, still waters.
"Because I wanted it to be real."
Oh my… I stare at him, not able to form any sort of reaction. I can only blink and remind myself to breathe.
"From the moment I saw you in Elysium in your creased strapless dress, I knew you were nothing like the people I surround myself with. You are brave, you hold onto your beliefs despite anything and anyone and you are just…" Sighing, he drops the weight on his shoulders until his face is as relaxed as I'm struggling to be. "So beautiful, Blair. I have yet to meet someone with a soul as pure as yours."
Oh my roses… He wants me.
My mind flashes those words in a green neon sign while my heart does cartwheels in my chest. Maybe that's why I'm here… It was a test and I, completely unaware and oftentimes naïve, aced it. But, what now? He's told me he cared before and things didn't change much since then.
Giving his head a mindless shake, he releases me and swan-dives into the water all at once. I watch his body disappear beneath the surface so thin yet so strong it holds my body afloat. I gaze the myriad of stars glittering the sky as he makes holds his breath all the way to the other side of the pool. It cozy here but, at the same time, the fact that there's not no one else in sight in the apocalyptic cityscape and the world is so quiet feels like time has literally frozen on this moment. Like we're the only people in the universe.
Finally, his head surfaces after what it feels like an eternity. Lifting my head, I brace myself on the edge of the pool and wait for his silence to break. Despite my skepticism, he was right – the water has warmed me up already. Yet the wind continues to pursue me at any given chance. I realize it is just like Bass. He was freakishly tenacious in pursuit of me. But, in all its twisted ways, I found that appealing. If it was any other man, I'd label him a creep and tell him to keep his distance. But distance is the last thing on earth want between us.
Why is he so different?
His careless smile crosses the length of the pool and lands deep inside my chest. Immediately, it feels fuzzy, battling whatever alien, flourishing warmth taking over it.
"You never told me what your book is about."
He's taking more than he bargained for… I shoot him an I-see-you glare before raising my voice, silently hoping it's more stable now.
"I thought the deal was your confessions for my company, not the other way around," I riposte.
"I'm a businessman. Negotiations are my ace."
"And honesty clearly isn't your strong suit."
He grins, and it lingers as he speaks.
"This is why I want you in my hotel. Your headstrong and sincerity make for a rather interesting mix – a rare one these days, I must admit."
Even from afar, I can see the weight of his gaze lower to my chest before finding its way back to my face. In a sudden moment of clarity, I realize there's something I might be more concerned about than his unfair tactics. I drop my eyes and find my once-white and dry bra is now fully transparent and wet.
I flush under his I-see-everything gaze. Then I realize there's nothing I can do but drown my insecurities with a brave leap. Using my feet for impulse, I swim towards him to disguise my motives.
The water feels amazing now that it covers every little bit of me, almost therapeutic. There's no greater silence or peace than underwater. I sway my legs as fast as I'm capable of, trying to reach him before the last intake of air leaves my lungs.
I succeed.
Water cascades down my hair when I break out. I'm staring at his widened eyes all of a sudden, with droplets of water tickling my chest. I sink a few inches below. I gasp when I find I can stand on my feet. I hadn't realized the pool was sloping.
Sighing, he presses one hand to my forearms and lifts me back to my original position.
"Do not hide from me," he orders in the softest tone. "Ever again."
I tense, my eyes not even blinking as he studies me with such intensity it's fully disconcerting. My impulses return before my brain even processes them. I want him. I'm dying for him every second he doesn't kiss me. This is both the best and the worst type of torture that has to exist.
"Now, answer me."
Ridding myself of this pent-up longing, I clear my voice.
"It's a romance novel in the near future. From birth, wealthy people get a watch that applies filters on the people around them: wealth, race, gender, age… One night the son of the president's device crashes when he was strolling around his garden, and he sees Roslyn – who is one of their maids – for first time. He immediately becomes infatuated with her before they even spoke. But what he didn't know is that she walked past him every single day."
His blue eyes dwindle.
"What happens next?"
"You want the spoilers?" I laugh.
"Yes. It sounds like a fascinating story."
God, I could never get tired of his compliments. Even if a small part inside my brain fights not to believe them.
"Well, George assumes she's a guest at his father's poker game night, because she's not in her uniform, so he introduces himself. But Roslyn knew he had a wealth filter in his watch and he was only speaking to her because he thought she was a family friend. So she declines his offer to stay in one of the guest rooms and leaves. She had fallen in love with him over the ten years she worked there helping her mom, who was the Fitzwilliam's first maid. George and Roslyn had grown up together, played hide and seek, but she was always invisible due to his family's arrogance. But they've always felt each other's presence."
Bass bows his head, watching our blurry faces reflecting on the still water. We're like a painting – a hidden, temporary painting.
"Do they end up together?"
"I don't know yet."
They should. As much as George's arrogance could jeopardize her feelings for him, it was a ramification of his family's snobbish ways and the isolating world he lived in. So she should forgive him for all those years of feeling invisible and humiliated by him and his family. Right? As long as he's willing to be a better man – and not only for and because of her. But can love truly change people, in the long term? Or will he end up repeating his old mistakes, hurting her to an ever higher degree now that she's willingly given him his heart?
God… I love happy endings. No one deserves a Romeo and Juliet tragedy, although mistakes have real, often unexpectedly brutal consequences. Some call it karma, but people deserve to reap exactly what they sow. But the truth is that nothing's permanent, and neither is happiness. It is like the stars – sometimes shimmering gold, sometimes only visible when it's dark. And it can never be fully reached. It's an illusion.