Chapter 15
SAKS FIFTH AVENUE towered over Christine as she soaked in its excessiveness. She had a mission, but having a reason to be here did little to mute the combination of intimidation and impressiveness that accompanied looking at Manhattan’s bastion of consumerism. This was Erik’s world – or it would be – if he ever left his apartment.
Erik had commented approvingly on the red gown she’d worn in September and was surprised to learn the dress belonged to Meg. Comically horrified to find out she didn’t own a formal dress, he offered her his credit card and the services of a personal shopper to help her select a gown for the New Year’s Eve gala. Erik had asked her to let him do more for her, so Christine agreed. Erik wanted her to have a Cinderella moment, and she was determined to enjoy it.
“Yoo-hoo! Christine!” A hand waved over her eyes and Christine turned, surprised to see Meg grinning at her.
“Meg! What are you doing here?” Christine gave her a quick hug. “I’m guessing this isn’t a coincidence?”
“Ha! Could you imagine? No. Erik called my mom and asked if I would mind keeping you company today so that you’d have a friend with you and that you didn’t do something stupid like worry about the price tags.”
“That’s so nice of you to join.” And so incredibly thoughtful of Erik to include her friend. Something caught in Christine’s memory from when she and Meg discovered the recording device. Meg seemed familiar with Erik, and Christine wondered how much her friend knew.
“Well, your boyfriend also told my mom I could get something for myself, so I’m not entirely selfless here. Shall we go in? We have an appointment with my mom’s personal shopper.”
Okay, so she knew they were dating. Or at least assumed.
Christine let Meg drag her to the fourth floor, where a private suite was already filled with a selection of gowns in both women’s sizes. The room was larger than Christine’s apartment, and cream-colored settees sat on a soft light pink carpet. A pedestal stood in front of a large three-panel mirror. As Christine took it all in, Meg handed her a glass of champagne.
Christine’s fingers tangled with the racks of black-tie gowns in various fabrics. Versace, Monique Lhullier, Stella McCartney… Her mind spun from the luxury of her surroundings. “I feel like a country cousin right now—this is unreal!”
“I don’t think Queens counts as the country,” Meg quipped. “Cheers!” The two women toasted.
The personal shopper was a thirty-something woman named Kimi in a pastel blue Chanel suit who fell over herself to provide Christine and Meg with options for the gala.
“And when you’ve found a gown you like, we have instructions to make sure you get shoes to go along with it, and of course, jewelry…” Kimi looked beside herself with joy, signaling she either really loved her job or really loved her commission.
“No jewelry!” Christine called from inside the dressing room as she wiggled into a black Elie Saab gown. Meg’s answering guffaw echoed from the sitting area.
“You gotta get used to dating Erik, Christine.”
Christine stepped out of the room. The beaded black gown was attractive but a little too fussy for her. She shook her head at Meg and Kimi, who proceeded to pull something new from the racks.
“How did you know… I mean, Erik and I…” Christine stuttered, unsure of how to respond.
“Christine, I’m not blind. Erik took you out on Halloween, and that duet was hella romantic. He’s hosting you in his home—he called my mom so I could take you shopping. Whatever’s happening here is clearly more than friendship.” Meg blithely took a sip from her glass. “And he’s obviously crazy about you.”
Blushing in response to Meg’s observation, Christine smiled gratefully when Kimi handed her a bright-pink halter dress. Christine already knew it was a no, but she tried it on anyway.
Did Meg know about Erik? Like, know everything? Christine had already decided that Marie likely knew, but that didn’t mean she confided that information to her daughter. Christine wouldn’t risk exposing him. If Meg knew she and Erik were dating, Christine decided her friend would keep the news quiet. She tried on the pink gown—which was the disaster she expected it to be—and went to give Kimi suggestions about her personal style, to Meg’s satisfaction and glee.
“It’s just a dress, Christine. Let’s not blow this out of proportion.” Erik was amused at Christine’s consternation after the successful shopping trip.
“It’s $1,200—that’s more than some wedding gowns!” she responded, exasperated .
“You should have a dress of your own. Consider me your fairy godmother.” He snapped his fingers.
“And where else am I going to wear this dress? Nowhere. I’m not going anywhere that fancy without you, so I might as well use Rent the Runway. Cinderella had to give her dress back at midnight.”
“If I could, I’d take you everywhere.” He gave her a sad smile. “I’d love to show you off if things were different.”
Christine looked at him, confused before realizing that he thought she was referring to his face as a hindrance. She took his hands in a soft hold, intertwining her fingers with his.
“That’s not what I meant, Erik. I only meant that ‘Christine Derring, lowly foundation assistant’ is unlikely to be invited anywhere this dress is necessary. This is more fitting for your socioeconomic status than mine.”
“You could give me a private fashion show. I can light candles, we can dance to romantic music, and then you’ll let me take it off you.” He waggled his good eyebrow with roguish intent, making her laugh.
“That sounds promising. Maybe I could be convinced. Would you wear a tuxedo?”
“Ugh, do I have to? They’re so uncomfortable.”
“If I’m putting on SPANX, you’re putting on a tie.”
He sighed in mock tragedy. “If I say yes, will you keep the dress?”
“I’ll take that deal. Thank you again. I appreciate you arranging the personal shopper. Meg and I had so much fun together.”
“Did Meg end up getting anything?”
“She did. That was so kind of you to treat her too.”
“She’s my cousin, it was my pleasure.” Erik casually threw his hand in the air before picking up a cookie Christine had baked earlier. He’d recently put on a couple of pounds, and Christine’s baking hobby was a contributor.
“ What ?”
“What?” Erik looked at her with a mouth full of cookies. “What did I say?”
“You just said Meg’s your cousin.”
“Yes. Marie’s my aunt. She’s my father’s baby sister.” He swallowed. “I thought you knew.”
“Oh yes, this is the face of someone in the know.” Christine laughed and pointed to her expression, the events of the day coming into clearer focus.
“You’re not mad you didn’t know?”
“I mean, it’s clear you thought I knew already, so I can’t accuse you of keeping a secret. I’m not thrilled Meg kept this from me, so we’ll discuss it. Honestly, I’m glad to find out I have a friend in the know about you. Sometimes, I want to be the woman who brags or complains about her boyfriend. It’s nice to know there’s someone I can trust.” She wanted to add she wished she could share him with Val or her foster sisters, but she knew that would make Erik feel guilty.
“What could you possibly have to complain about? I buy you dresses and give you multiple orgasms.”
“Yes, but look at this slum you make me hang out in.” She looked around Erik’s spacious home with a comical glance.
“A small price to pay for the multiple orgasms.”
“Wait, if Marie is your aunt, did you invite her and Meg for Thanksgiving?”
“I did. They’re bringing”—he pressed his lips together, remembering—“stuffing and green beans.”
“I still can’t believe I didn’t know she’s your aunt. Neither of you let on at all. How does that work with the opera? ”
“We’ve shared control of the opera house our entire lives, so it feels natural to us. My family’s control over the opera started with my grandfather, my father’s father, in the 1960s. My grandmother sang in the chorus for the opera—that’s when my grandfather met her and they fell in love. He purchased the entire facility, turned it into a nonprofit, and took over creative control. Family theory’s that he purchased it to control the casting decisions to benefit my grandmother, who starred in most of the subsequent productions. He was truly dedicated to her happiness.”
“You Gardner men like to shower your women with extreme generosity.”
“Kind of makes an evening gown look paltry in comparison.”
“Don’t you dare buy me an opera house!” She pointed a playful finger at him.
“It got the job done for Grandpa.” He grabbed her hand and gave her a lingering kiss on the inside of her wrist.
Something about just talking with Erik gave Christine so much pleasure. In only ten weeks, he’d become one of her favorite people to just be with. She’d dated both in and after college, though less often in the months before meeting Erik. She even had a boyfriend for the better part of a year in undergrad. None of those relationships came close to the emotional intimacy and chemistry she experienced with Erik.
In recent weeks, he asked her to make music with him. She initially resisted in a bout of shyness. Then, after two glasses of wine one night, she gave in, and the pleasure she had in listening to his voice was only exceeded by their lovemaking. When he sang, “Into the Mystic” by Van Morrison, her face burned with desire, and she threw herself at him. He recorded them singing together, and she had to admit they sounded good. Any remaining cynicism she had toward the exercise evaporated. Creating something together added to their growing intimacy. Erik was helping her discover some of the passion for making music that her father had, in vain, tried to impart to her.
Their lives became equal parts domestic bliss and passion. Erik still adhered to his schedule, but she appreciated the space they gave each other. It made reuniting at the end of the day more exciting, especially as she returned to the office in the lead-up to the New Year’s Eve event.
Val was disappointed when Christine turned down the offer to go to North Carolina for Thanksgiving. Christine felt a pinch of guilt when she lied and blamed her work schedule on her lack of attendance. She wanted to confide in Val about her burgeoning relationship, but even if Erik’s need for secrecy wasn’t paramount, she wasn’t ready to share this with her family just yet.
Holidays with her family were always pleasant, even fun, but Christine often felt like the tacked-on foster kid. Not because Val or her daughters mistreated her—on the contrary, they went out of their way to include her in their traditions. That was part of her discomfort. She was welcomed to join in but not part of developing anything new. It made more sense as an adult. Their father had died years before she joined the Clemente family, and Val needed to keep his memory alive. As Theresa and Nicole found partners of their own, Christine became more of a hanger-on—the free-with-purchase tote bag you get when shopping at the mall.
This year, she felt like a necessary participant rather than an ancillary one. As the day got closer, Christine ordered the main course and had it delivered, so Garret was off the hook as far as food was concerned. She and Erik still found plenty for him to do in the days leading up to the holiday. The Monday before, Christine realized Erik lacked, among other things, flatware, china, tablecloths, napkins, baking equipment, serving plates, and serving utensils. Being a reclusive, misanthropic billionaire apparently meant not being prepared to throw a dinner party for nine people .
“I’ve never had more than the same two or three people over at a time before,” he explained. “And it’s usually for pizza and wings.”
Christine admitted to a certain amount of guilty pleasure in using Erik’s credit cards to fill his cabinets with the necessary items. She’d used the same dishes most of her life, and there was something fun about picking between the soft floral or modern plates, even if they didn’t belong to her. Erik teased her about using him for his money but appropriately oohed and aahed when Garret showed up carrying several bags and boxes from Bloomingdales.
Through it all, her gut told her none of this was permanent. When her father died and left her on her own, she’d gotten used to seeing to her own needs. Val was decent as a mom but financially reckless, and Christine realized her ambitions were up to her to fulfill. What would it be like to be someone who depended on others? Could she be someone others depended on? Maybe that was why she and Erik got along so well. He was protective of what he shared of himself, and she was protective of what she took. Maybe…in time, they could overcome their defenses together.
Thanksgiving was their first shared project that didn’t involve a viral incident and pissing off the fan base of a major pop star. The day before, Christine carefully reviewed and took stock of everything they needed and picked up any missing items when she got the precooked turkey. Erik wasn’t exempt from helping. She set him to work cleaning the new dishes and selecting the wines for the following night.
“If I’d known how stressed you were going to get, I’d have suggested we stick to just the two of us,” he said as she chastised his washing technique.
“You act like you’ve never cleaned before. ”
“I don’t do much now. Wendy is my housekeeper, and I usually eat takeout. Before we started cooking together, I didn’t spend much time in the kitchen.”
“I find that so outside my realm of experience.” She shook her head.
“Tell me about your experience.”
“It involves a lot of washing dishes and doing my own laundry, Prince Erik.”
He turned around and stopped her, his hands light on her waist.
“No, Christine, I mean it. I want to know what it was like.”
Her mouth was dry. He wanted to know what it was like—not just growing up without a beloved father—but growing up without either parent. He wanted to know about after her father died, when she made her way through foster care and college, and…
“Let’s finish up. I’ll tell you when we’re done.”
Curled on the couch, Christine enjoyed Erik’s impromptu foot massage as she began. “You know I grew up in the East Village but was born in Chicago. My father was part of a four-month residency of a touring production of Absinthe . My mom was eight months pregnant with me. The tour was supposed to end that weekend, but I arrived early. My father found himself leaving his last performance and making it to my birth with about twenty minutes to spare.”
“My mother survived my birth, but on the drive back from Chicago, she developed an infection. My parents weren’t exactly wealthy, so she put off going to the doctor. By the time she went to the hospital, she was septic. She died before I turned two months old.”
“I’m so sorry, Christine.”
“I didn’t know her. Can you mourn someone you didn’t know?” She looked at him. “Do you mourn your father?”
“I was three years old—I don’t have many memories. We didn’t play catch, but maybe we never would’ve. He didn’t teach me to drive, didn’t show me how to shave. I mourn the idea of him.”
“Exactly—you understand. My father tried to be both mother and father to me. But I don’t remember her brushing and braiding my hair or getting into her makeup and causing a mess. One day, I want to give my kids those memories.”
Erik swallowed heavily when she mentioned those potential future children. Kids she wouldn’t have with him because how could he possibly be an acceptable father to a child?
Maybe…just maybe with Dr. Carmichael’s efforts? No. He wouldn’t let himself get too hopeful. Not yet.
“My dad was great. He worked nights but made up for it by being the class parent at school. He chaperoned every field trip. He learned how to sew to improve my thrift store clothes. We were poor, but I never felt deprived. He took in students to help pay the bills—something he swore he never wanted to do but I think secretly enjoyed.”
“He died on a car ride to visit one of his students. He’d been feeling off for a few days. I was too young to insist he go to a doctor. I mean, I was twelve—I was more concerned about the fact that I had a pimple. He had a heart attack on the NJ Turnpike. He knew the end was coming. He pulled over when the pain began and called 911 before losing consciousness. The paramedics said by the time they got to him, he’d been dead for at least fifteen minutes. ”
Erik held her hand, offering silent support as she continued, tears budding in her eyes.
“There was no one to take me. My father’s closest friends were starving artists and functional alcoholics. We only had a funeral when an anonymous fan donated the funds. So off I went to foster care. I was lucky in terms of the system. I was in a group home for a month before Valerie took me in. Her kids were already in college. Val didn’t understand me like Dad, but she did as well as she could. I was loved, though it took me a while to realize it. Even now, I’m invited to every family event. I get calls from her, my sisters, and their extended family whenever I celebrate a milestone. Val says her home is still my home. I’m grateful to her.”
“She sounds like a good person. I’m glad you have her.”
Christine smiled fondly, but her nod was halfhearted. “She is loving but a lot like my father. He left me penniless, and Val…isn’t much better financially. Her daughters had college paid for from a trust set up by their late father. Val swore up and down she’d save every penny of my foster stipend for college, but she was never good at saving. I don’t think she meant to use the funds, but the bills added up. It’s not like they didn’t go to my well-being, but the money was spent. Then when I was a senior in high school, I got into the University of Pennsylvania.”
“My alma mater.”
Christine nodded. “I knew it would be expensive, but I figured it would be possible to hold off on loans for at least the first year, between Val’s funds and whatever scholarships I scraped together. Val cut the check for the deposit, and I worked all summer to save up for meal plans, textbooks, all of that. One day, toward the end of July, I came home from work to Val sitting on her couch with her daughters. Val was openly crying, and I was so worried something bad had happened.”
“She confessed—the money from the foster fund had been spent. She’d been slowly using it, sometimes on me, sometimes on family expenses. She hadn’t realized how low it had gotten until she went to pay for the first semester of classes. There was only $2,500 left.”
She sucked in a breath. “Not even enough for a semester at Queens Community College. It was too late to apply for FAFSA for the fall. Val had investigated cosigning a private loan or mortgaging her home, but her credit score and income weren’t enough for her to be a guarantor, and her house is held in her daughters’ trust. UPenn didn’t look kindly on students deferring with less than thirty days to go, and my request was denied.”
He squeezed her hand, urging her to continue.
“I was shocked. After everything I’d worked so hard for—everything I’d been through when my dad died. The universe owed me this win, and here it was, snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. You asked me once if I’d ever felt fury like you felt toward your mother…”
“And were you angry?”
“I was furious. I was mad at Val, my father, the university. And I used that anger…I let it fuel me. I worked my ass off at two jobs. I got the best grades in every class. I saved every single penny. I stayed with Val. She drove me to work and saved with me when she could.”
“Did you forgive her? For letting you down?” Why did this thought cause him fear? Would she forgive his betrayal—the secret he kept from her even now?
“It took a while…but yes, I did. Good and bad, Val is family. I know she loves me. I love her too.”
“How did you end up at Binghamton?”
“Well—it is the Harvard of the SUNYs.” She gave a humored eye roll. “It’s the best of the SUNY schools from an academic perspective. I got straight As in community college and planned to go to Binghamton from there. But after two years, I’d used all the foster child benefits the state would award me. I dreaded going into debt, but I filled out the FAFSA form. Then I got the call from the bursar that a private equity firm wanted to sponsor the remainder of my college education.”
“That’s…” Erik choked on the word. They were getting so close to the truth of his involvement in her life. “That’s quite an accomplishment.”
“No, Erik, that was luck. But it taught me there’s safety in money. Don’t get me wrong—money doesn’t buy happiness, but poverty buys a heck of a lot of misery. When they told me the source of the scholarship” —she looked at him, her eyes fierce—“Gardner Industries, I realized I had lucked out based on the wealth of others, and I didn’t want to be a victim of others’ inadequacies again. I would be my own fairy godmother.”
“After I received the scholarship, I researched your organization. Sometime during my first business class, I decided my dream was to work at Gardner. I would make a fuckton of money and give back to people like me.” She looked at Erik. “Did you know your foundation gave to former foster kids?”
“I did. It was my idea.”
“Yours? What inspired you?”
“I’ll tell you—soon—but not tonight.” He kissed her. “Tonight, I just want to take you to bed.” His lips trailed from her forehead to her cheek. “Tonight, I just want to take care of you.”
His lips met hers, and he could taste the crisp Riesling they’d shared over dinner. He loved everything about her touch, her kisses, and the sighs she made. Their interactions had a pattern of give-and-take. It was there when they talked, when they sang, and especially when they made love. It was like their duets, sublime in understanding each other’s needs.
He hadn’t wanted to admit it before, but he had to tell her the truth. She needed to know how he’d always been looking out for her. She needed to know he knew her father. And he’d tell her tomorrow after everyone left. If she left him, he’d still be that guardian angel for her. He’d live in this perfect moment if tonight was his last chance to love her.
She loved it when he kissed her neck, so he took his time, his breath feathering over the soft skin until she whimpered in frustration. He whispered in her ear, telling her how much he loved her.
“I’ll always be here for you, Christine. I love you so much.” His hands spread across her body, stroking her, idling over the areas he knew she liked. His thumbs pressed down, massaging her torso from the underside of her breasts to the juncture of her thighs, where his hands opened her gently. She was panting softly as he kissed down her body, her breasts, her stomach, and between her thighs.
Draping her legs over his shoulders, he licked her long and slow, opening her with his tongue. He took his time, enjoying her cries of pleasure. He drew out her pleasure, focusing only on the nerve endings around her entrance and not on the bundle of nerves above. His licks were strategically placed on the inner folds, increasing pressure and focus bit by bit. As he moved up, closer to her center, he curled two fingers inside her to hit the spot that made her wail in pleasure.
As he reached her clit, he licked in earnest, reveling in her pleasured sounds. He let his tongue rest there for a beat too long. When she sobbed his name in frustration, he sucked lightly, and it pushed her over the edge.
Her cries pierced through the apartment. As she rode each wave, he continued to lick her, trying to stretch out her pleasure as long as possible. As she came down, he lifted himself up and lay with his head on her breasts, unwilling to move as her arms cradled him to her. He might lose her tomorrow when he bared all, but he’d be grateful for now and prayed she’d forgive him.