Chapter 8 Aurora
Aurora
‘You can do it. Just rip it off like a wax strip. Quick and painless.’
I snort at Dove’s description and shove another ready-salted crisp into my mouth.
She eyes me through my phone’s camera. ‘I thought you said you were meeting Charlie for dinner?’
‘I am,’ I say around a mouthful, then lick the salt from my lips. ‘It’s nervous snacking, okay? Plus, I don’t think I’ll be able to stomach any food once I’m sitting opposite him.’
She nods in understanding.
Tonight is the night I break up with Charlie. Dove and I have gone over it. I wimped out the other night, too flustered from having to share a car journey with Rafael.
But tonight is the night I end things with Charlie for good.
No sex is better than fart sex with a man who, if I’m honest, isn’t my type at all.
I mean, Charlie isn’t terrible, but he doesn’t make my heart race.
He’s happy to keep things casual, sex at his place, the occasional date.
And he never wants to know anything about me.
In the beginning, that’s what drew me to him.
That he didn’t really care. I’d ask him about his job as a manager at an imports company, but he barely asked a thing about me in return.
It was perfect because I never had to talk about my father and the pain of having him taken away. I got to be distracted.
Only now, I’m not even getting that. I find my mind wandering to my dad every time Charlie opens his mouth. I can’t even force myself to be interested in what he’s saying any more.
Him and I together are just . . . meh.
‘Okay, I’m going in,’ I tell Dove, tossing the empty crisp tube into a bin as I approach the restaurant.
‘You’ve got this, babe. I’ll call you in an hour in case you need an excuse to leave.’
I smile gratefully. ‘Thanks.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Okay . . . Love you. Bye.’
She rings off and I smooth my hands over my dress as I walk through the fancy glass doors. The woman at the front of house is busy greeting the couple ahead of me.
The place has a trendy feel to it, low lighting and rich colours, and sexy RnB music pumping through the speakers. The candlelit tables look intimate and are filled with couples gazing at one another and clasping hands over the black tablecloths.
It’s the worst place to break up with someone.
I swallow, pulling back my shoulders and forcing myself to smile as the woman at the desk greets me.
‘I’m meeting my boyfriend here,’ I tell her, giving her Charlie’s name and already feeling like the villain in a film, knowing that in around thirty minutes – less if I can manage it – Charlie will no longer be my boyfriend, and we’ll probably be leaving separately and never see one another again.
‘Great.’ The woman grins after checking her tablet. ‘He’s already here. Follow me.’
‘Great,’ I echo weakly, trailing along behind her.
‘You . . . wow, you really do look good tonight, Rory,’ Charlie says, his eyes roaming over me appreciatively.
‘Thanks,’ I reply for the fifth time. He’s been unable to stop staring at me since I arrived, making this whole evening and what I have to do much harder.
‘Yeah.’ He pulls his lower lip between his teeth as he eye-fucks my cleavage again.
‘Really good.’ He screws his face up, glancing away.
‘But there’s something we need to talk about.
And I don’t . . .’ He looks at my breasts again.
‘I don’t want to bring it up tonight, but I can’t .
. .’ He licks his lips, eyes glued to my chest. ‘Damn it, it can’t wait.
It’s probably a misunderstanding, though. ’
‘What is?’
He gives my cleavage one final mournful look before tearing his eyes away.
I shouldn’t have worn a push-up bra, or actually, maybe this is a good thing. Breaking up with him might be easier if he’s looking at my boobs instead.
‘Something I heard. I was telling the guys at work about you—’
‘You were?’ I ask in surprise.
‘Yeah, about your make-up blog.’
‘My fashion vlog,’ I correct.
He shrugs. ‘Yeah, that. Well, one of them asked what your name was so he could tell his girlfriend about it. She wastes loads of time watching that stuff.’
I straighten in my seat, choosing to take another sip of wine instead of commenting. There’s no point getting into an argument over Charlie’s total lack of understanding and respect for what I do.
The server brings our mains out and places them on the table with a flourish. I force a polite thanks as I eye the lobster thermidor, then Charlie’s steak. I didn’t want to order such expensive things, but Charlie insisted.
‘More wine?’ the server offers.
‘Another bottle, please,’ Charlie replies.
The back of my neck heats as I mentally add up the cost. Charlie suggested this place tonight – insisted, really. Maybe because it was his idea he’ll offer to pay, but I can’t count on it. He’s been more than happy to accept my offer to go halves when we’ve dined out before.
The server disappears and I stab a piece of lobster. The aroma makes my mouth water, and I take a bite. Damn, it is good. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten so many crisps. Even the sourness in my stomach, knowing I’m about to dump Charlie, can’t ruin the dish for me.
I take another mouthful, moaning around my fork.
‘Steady on, it’s not going to swim away.’ Charlie chuckles, cutting into his steak.
I lower my fork to my plate, cheeks heating, and nod gratefully when the server returns and offers to refill my wine. I lift my glass and knock a giant swig back, earning myself another judgemental look from Charlie.
Maybe I won’t feel guilty breaking up with him after all.
‘As I was saying, I told one of the guys at work your name.’
‘He wouldn’t have found my vlog; I use a different one.’
Charlie chews his steak, his brows rising as he swallows. ‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why the fake name?’
I shrug. ‘A lot of people don’t use their real name online. Not their full one at least. For privacy.’
‘So people don’t find out stuff about you that you don’t want them to know?’ Charlie says.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and I avert my eyes from his questioning ones.
‘That, and for personal safety.’
He lifts his glass and leans back in his seat, studying me as he takes his time drinking. I shift in my seat. I preferred it when he couldn’t stop staring at my boobs.
I look around the restaurant, feigning interest in the artwork on the walls to avoid his gaze.
My eyes land on a couple sitting at a table on the far side of the room.
The woman is talking animatedly to her dinner companion, hands gesturing, before she pushes a curtain of glossy hair over one shoulder.
But the man . . . his dark eyes are fixed on me.
My breath stalls.
‘No bloody way,’ I scoff quietly.
Charlie frowns, then turns to see what’s captured my attention. ‘He a friend of yours?’
I press my lips together and narrow my eyes. Rafael fucking Fairfax raises his glass of wine, his eyes fixed on mine as he takes a sip. His date excuses herself and picks up her clutch, heading towards the bathrooms. Yet he never breaks eye contact with me.
‘No,’ I reply. ‘Definitely not.’
‘He should keep his eyes to himself then,’ Charlie grunts, glaring at Rafael before turning back to me. His attention immediately drops to my breasts, and he reaches for my hand like he has to stake his claim.
‘He’s not looking at me,’ I lie.
Charlie doesn’t seem convinced, but he lets it go, squeezing my hand. We eat in silence for a few minutes before he speaks again.
‘So, my friend . . . when I told him your surname was Thorne, said something really weird.’
Rafael’s eyes are still burning through me like lasers, making every millimetre of my skin heat. He hasn’t looked away from me once.
‘Oh, really?’ I murmur, pretending to be listening. But I needn’t worry about being convincing because Charlie is too distracted by the way my nipples have tightened to stiff peaks and are poking through my dress.
Rafael takes another sip of his drink, and his gaze notches up in its intensity.
Why does he have to stare so hard? He looks like he’s about to cause himself an aneurysm.
‘Yeah. He said there was a guy who went to prison for stealing millions from the company he worked for or some shit. His name was Thorne too. And he has a daughter called Aurora,’ Charlie says.
‘George,’ I reply absent-mindedly as Rafael’s date returns and leans down to whisper something in his ear before taking her seat.
He breaks eye contact with me and gives her a slow, sexy smile, transforming his face into a version of him I never would have believed existed, let alone think I’d ever witness.
‘Yeah, George Thorne,’ Charlie continues.
‘That’s him,’ I murmur, watching as the raven-haired beauty reaches over to Rafael and brushes her thumb over the corner of his mouth like she’s wiping away an imaginary crumb.
He catches her hand in his and turns it, pressing a kiss to her inner wrist. But his eyes return to mine, like it’s all a show for my benefit.
‘Bastard,’ I whisper, hating how he’s sitting there, flaunting his date, making her fawn all over him like he’s some kind of catch. I wonder if she knows he’s a cold-hearted, judgemental arsehole. Then again, knowing his type, she’s probably married.
‘That’s what I said,’ Charlie gushes. ‘What a bloody bastard. I told my mate it was just a coincidence. You’d have told me if your father was a criminal. Checked if I was okay with it before we—’
I snap my eyes away from Rafael. ‘Before we what?’
Charlie tilts his head, grimacing. ‘You know . . . before we started sleeping together.’
‘Right.’
‘It’s kind of important, don’t you think?
To know what kind of family your girlfriend comes from before you start bringing her back to your place and .
. . you know? I mean, what if you got pregnant by accident, then I found out?
Anyway, doesn’t matter, it’s just the same names.
Weird, though, right?’ Charlie blows out a relieved chuckle.