Chapter Seven
Ari
Waiters dressed in white dress shirts and black vests, with ties, move in and out of the guests.
The silver trays they balance host dishes like Icelandic lobster tucked into small shells and topped with crème fra?che and puff pastries filled with a mix of skyr, smoked trout, and chives.
The buffet tables along the outer rim of the room offer heartier fare like grilled Arctic char with a skyr cream sauce, pan-seared Icelandic lamb with wild mushrooms, and sea scallops with beetroot purée.
The bar includes mead, birch wine, and vodka, along with numerous other high-end wines and liqueurs from around the world.
I examine one of the frosted crystal vases filled with poppies, bluebells, and wild ferns on top of tables draped in white.
Everywhere guests look, they see Iceland, from the locally sourced food and the musicians playing lilting tunes on the dais to the unique centerpieces designed by a florist in Bogarnes.
Perfect.
Every recommendation from Diana has been spot-on. Yet instead of thinking of the gala we’ve hosted for the past four years, of the client I’m trying to secure a very important contract with, I’m thinking of her.
I’ve been aware of her from the moment she walked in—wearing a stunning dress the color of mulled wine, the fabric clinging to the curves of her breasts, the nip of her waist, the flare of her hips, with an intimacy I envy.
A cape drifts from the sleeves and back of the dress as she moves through the room with quiet grace.
Her hair is partially pulled back from her face, leaving the elegant slashes of her cheekbones and the strong line of her jaw bare to anyone’s gaze, as loose curls tumble down her back.
Tiny diamond studs glint at her ears, the only other jewelry she wears besides the silver bracelet with the tiny heart she’s never without.
It’s been two days. Two days since every twisted, ugly emotion that first rose up inside me in that damn restaurant New York reappeared as I overheard Diana tell my brother she loved him.
Fury. Outrage. Jealousy. Beneath those lurked confusion, pessimism. Liam had confirmed that he and Diana had broken off their engagement the last time we spoke. Yet the way she spoke, the familiarity and affection in her words, sounded more like a current lover than an ex-fiancée.
I want to hate her for the effect she has on me. For the need that nearly made me go back to the restaurant and demand answers. For that split second of pain, like someone had just clawed out the inside of my chest.
But hate is the reflection of love. Another investment of emotion.
So instead I concentrated on work—not just contract negotiations, but on the everyday tasks that keep AuraGeothermal running.
I arrived at seven in the morning and left at eight at night, responding to any emails she sent with brisk efficiency and conducting meetings with a degree of coolness to reinforce the professional boundaries between us.
The punishing pace kept me focused, kept my thoughts off her and Liam and whatever relationship they still had.
My hands tighten into fists. I’ve only met him once, but I’ve imagined him for the past four years. Dreamed about who he could have been in the years before that, when I thought he died with my mother.
But now, every time I hear his name, all I can feel is anger. Resentment. Even the few conversations we attempted on the phone were brief, colored by the emotions seething in my chest whenever I thought of him with her.
I let my guard down the other night. And in less than two hours, I was given a stark reminder as to why Diana and I can never cross that line again. A woman I desire and despise in equal measure.
Love you, too.
I’ve never been in love. It works for some.
I’ve never been interested. I loved my mother, and when she died, so did my capacity to allow that emotion into my life again.
There are times I almost hate that she loved me so much, and I her, because the few times I allow myself to remember just how deeply she did, it fucking hurts.
Malla appears beside me.
“Everything seems to be going smoothly,” she says.
“It does.” I smile down at her. “Thank you. The event team did most of the work.”
She glances off to the side. “And Diana.”
My pulse kicks up a notch. “Diana?”
“She’s been a huge help. She drove up here early and helped us set up. Laid down tablecloths, put up centerpieces…” Malla grins up at me. “I’m really glad you brought her on. She’s nice.”
“She is.” My voice is flat.
“Is it hard?”
“What?”
“Just…working with your brother’s ex-fiancée.”
I arch one brow. “I didn’t realize that was public knowledge.”
She scoffs. “Everyone knows. But when you hired her, we figured it meant everything was okay.”
“It is,” I lie. “Whatever happened between Miss North and my brother does not impact her ability to serve as a negotiator and help finalize the contract with Hellas Shipping.”
“I’m glad. I really like her.”
I do, too.
I bite back the words.
Just then, a woman approaches. Vanessa, I remember.
Vanessa Renfield. An American lawyer based in Paris, specializing in international finance.
Smart, determined, confident. She’d suggested a fling when we’d met in Spain a few years back, but I’d already been in the middle of a casual affair.
I have no interest in marriage or love, but I have a firm rule about monogamy.
My father’s casual affairs drove my mother into the arms of another man.
I won’t repeat his mistakes or cause the same pain he did.
“Miss Renfield,” I greet.
Her smile is dazzling. “You remembered.”
“Of course. The conference in Madrid.”
“Thank you for inviting me.” She gestures with a jewel-bedecked hand to the grand ballroom, the floor-to-ceiling windows offering unparalleled views of Iceland’s wildlands at night. “This is incredible.”
“I’m glad you could make it.”
She lowers her chin, gazes up at me from beneath thick lashes. A practiced move, one I would have noticed and followed up on three months ago with an invitation to dinner, then a room at one of Reykjavik’s luxurious hotels.
But now, all I can see are brown eyes, not green. Thick brown hair, not styled red curls.
Vanessa takes a bold step forward. “May I have this dance?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Malla grimace.
I shoot my secretary a warning look before turning back to Vanessa.
I have no intention of inviting her anywhere.
I would never ask another woman out in the presence of a former lover.
Even if Diana weren’t here, other than a casual appreciation for Vanessa’s physical beauty, there’s no spark of attraction.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t dance with a beautiful woman. Can’t welcome a few moments of distraction.
I incline my head and extend a hand to Vanessa. “Shall we?”
Diana
I glance, for what feels like the dozenth time, at the dance floor where Ari holds a stunning redhead in his arms. Her black gown follows the line of every sensual curve before flaring out at her knees into a fall of silk.
She laughs up at Ari, confident in her body and her ability to attract, to seduce.
Judging by the way Ari is smiling down at her, the feeling is mutual. I turn my head away.
There’s nothing tying us together—nothing but one night, three months ago.
I have no reason to be jealous. No reason to be hurt, especially when Ari thinks I betrayed both him and his brother.
Yet, as I steal one more glance out of the corner of my eye, I can’t deny the pain that seeps through me like poison.
“Diana?”
I turn, forcing a smile when I realize it’s Malla. “Sorry. Busy night.”
She’s looking at me as if she suspects something, her gaze shifting between me and the couple on the dance floor. “Are you all right?”
“Of course.” I lay a hand on her shoulder. “A lot of work in a short time. Thank you, by the way, for making sure Mr. Valdasson practiced his speech.”
Malla’s expression brightens. “Of course. I think it went over amazingly.”
“It did.”
Ari had taken every single one of my suggestions, which I’d left in the typewritten report on his desk the night we had dinner, and turned them into a speech.
He thanked Xenakis and Hellas Shipping for all their contributions so far, highlighted how much he was looking forward to their continued partnership, and touched on AuraGeothermal’s commitment to the family they’d built within their company, to their community, and to their homeland.
I’d watched Xenakis and his team out of the corner of my eye, seen every point hit home.
Tonight was a giant leap forward.
So why, I thought with no small amount of self-loathing, couldn’t I just be happy with our accomplishments?
Why did I have to be jealous of the smile Ari gave the redhead?
Why did I have to feel sick to my stomach as her hand moved up his arm to his shoulder, the intimate way her fingers glided up the sleeve of his tuxedo?
“Diana?”
I looked down at Malla.
“Yes?”
“If there’s ever anything you need to talk about, I’m really good at listening.”
I almost say something. Almost take her up on her offer to be a listening ear, a supportive shoulder. I like her. Truly like her. But will she still like me if I tell her the truth? If I tell her everything that’s transpired over the past three months?
I think not.
“Thank you.” I give her a small smile. “I’m going up to the top deck. I could use some air.”
I don’t miss the hurt in her eyes. I hate myself even more when she returns my smile with one of her own.
“Of course. Take all the time you need.”
Before I can reply, Viktor approaches and asks her for a dance. Judging by the shy yet very bright smile Malla gives him, she won’t remember my refusal for long.