Chapter 34
Chapter
Thirty-Four
ASHER
I’m falling for her.
That’s the only explanation for why I asked her earlier this week to join me on a date tonight.
Because I don’t date.
I fuck women in the sex club. And when I have to, I’ll have some high society woman accompany me to some event, and sometimes I’ll fuck her too.
But I don’t date. I don’t woo. I don’t try to make a good impression to get in some woman’s good graces. But that’s exactly what I’m doing tonight.
I wait near the front door for Anabelle, my heart in my throat and constricting my airway.
All the old fears rise to the surface—that I can’t afford to care about anyone because they’ll end up leaving me like my mother did, that anyone who cares for me will be taken from me, that the person who is supposed to care the most for me will be the one who inflicts the most pain.
But when I hear the click of heels on the floor and turn and see Anabelle making her way to me, all those fears evaporate.
I left the dress for her in her room earlier today, and I knew it would look gorgeous on her, but I had no idea it would be this. She looks like a fucking goddess, and I want to bow down and worship at her altar.
She’s wearing an off-the-shoulder gold satin gown that reaches the floor.
The fabric of the skirt wraps from one side to the other toward her hip, causing it to pleat, and on the other side, a long slit reaches three-quarters of the way up her thigh.
Her hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail with waves, highlighting the column of her neck and one of her favorite places for me to lick—besides her pussy.
Every step she takes is a tease of her shapely leg and the apex of her thighs. I have to adjust myself in my tuxedo pants to make room for my growing erection.
“You take my breath away, Anabelle.”
She looks a little embarrassed by my praise, glancing at the floor. “Thanks. You look really good as well.”
I lift her chin with my thumb and forefinger. “Don’t look away from me. Own it. I’m a lucky man to have you on my arm tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” she says in a soft voice, and my dick twitches.
I give her a grin. She knows exactly what she’s doing. I take her hand. “Let’s go. We need to get to the plane.”
“Plane?”
I haven’t told her where we’re going tonight, opting to keep it a surprise. “You didn’t think we were heading down to Black Magic in this, did you?”
She laughs and follows me out the door.
We arrive in the city, and the car I arranged to take us to the symphony drops us in front of the theater.
Anabelle looks at the banners hanging on either side of the entryway. “I’ve never been to the symphony before.”
“I’m honored to be your first then.” I take her hand and kiss her knuckles, guiding her through the entryway and up the stairs of the building.
There’s a red carpet here tonight because we’re attending a large fundraiser for some local charities that one celebrity or another is the spokesperson for.
Normally I skip these things and very often I make my driver drop me at the back so I can’t be photographed, but on a whim, I decide that I want a picture of the two of us.
This might be the only chance I have to get a picture of us together before we part. I’m certainly not going to pull out my phone and take a selfie of us. What kind of message would that send to Anabelle? That I plan to have it printed and put in a frame on my desk?
“Let’s get a quick picture,” I say and steer her toward the step with my hand on her back.
She seems surprised but pleased by my request.
When the press call my name and demand to know who I’m with and what she is to me, I ignore them. Satisfied that I’ll be able to steal a picture of the two of us off the internet tomorrow, I lead us inside and up the stairs where we can gain access to our private balcony seats.
Heads turn as we pass through the crowd. I knew they would. Not only is Anabelle stunning, but she’s an unknown. She may have come from money, but she’s not a socialite someone would expect to find on my arm for an event. People will be wondering who she is and what she is to me.
Let them. She’s mine, and mine she’ll stay.
“Would you like something to drink before we go to our seats?” I ask.
She twists her lips for a moment, giving it a thought. “Maybe some champagne to celebrate my first time here?”
God, she is so fucking cute and charming when she’s not even trying to be.
“Coming right up. Give me a minute.”
Anabelle stands off to the side while I go grab us two glasses of champagne. It doesn’t take long since the one bar is reserved for those with private balconies.
When I return, I hand her a glass and hold my arm out for her. “Shall we?”
She slides her arm through mine, and I lead us to our seats.
“Wow, this is really something. Thank you for bringing me, Asher.” She takes her seat and looks at me.
I hold out my champagne flute. “To all the firsts.”
She smiles and clinks my glass. “To all the firsts.”
I’m sure she thinks I’m thinking of things like the sex club and the symphony, but really, I’m thinking of her being the first woman to make me feel… hell, anything.
We sip our champagne, and a few minutes later, the show starts.
I’m enraptured watching her take in the music—eyes wide with a serene smile on her face as though the sound is filling her.
When the first notes of “Dies Irae” begin and the choir sings, there’s a stabbing sensation in my heart. Anabelle seems to still when she registers the song, and I frown.
I lean into her. “What’s wrong?”
She turns her head, eyes wide with what now looks like concern. “This song…”
I nod at her to go on.
“This is the song I told you about, the one that led me to the library that day and the one I heard playing from your room the night you were having a nightmare.”
Now my eyes are wide. “This was my mother’s favorite. She used to play it for us all the time.”
Anabelle’s mouth drops open. “How is that possible?”
The truth is, I have no idea. I’ve seen some weird shit over the years at Midnight Manor, but this…
It almost feels like a sign… from my mother. Is it possible?
I can’t listen to this song without thinking of her and how she used to play it all the time for us boys.
It’s Latin and translates to Day of Wrath.
She told us she loved it because the poem itself was all about Judgment Day and how the repentant would be forgiven and find their place in heaven.
Set to music, it gave her hope. That there was always hope that people could repent.
I don’t know if she was hoping my father would be the one to repent or if it was her hope for herself. She always said that even though there was fear and dread, there was still always hope, and this piece of music reminded her of that.
“I don’t know how it’s possible,” I finally say to Anabelle.
She gives me a sad, hopeful smile. I take her hand and thread her fingers through mine.
“If I hadn’t heard that music, we might not be here like this now,” she says into my ear.
Maybe my mother is trying to give me a sign that I’m on the right path. A piece of me hates the hope that thought gives me. But maybe that’s just what’s left of my father, and I need to let it go. Maybe it’s time to do things differently.