Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
ALORA
Our eyes are locked and then his chin tilts to the sky as if angered, he leans down and says something to the woman in the white dress’s ear before walking toward us.
Oh no….
My heart beats like a drum and I take a large gulp of my champagne before glancing down at the glass, damn it, it’s nearly empty.
Not now, fucker.
Pascal leads me to the seating chart and starts to read through the tables. From my peripheral vision I can see Mr. Doe approaching us.
No…no…no…what is he doing here? He’s not supposed to exist in the real world. He was the fantasy man I worked hard to forget.
“Here we are, table eight,” Pascal tells me. I blink as the words on the seating chart blur. I feel him before I see him; standing beside me, his presence overtakes the room.
Pascal glances up. “Prescott.”
“Bonjour,” he replies in his swoony English accent, he nods to him and turns to me. “Alora.”
He knows my name.
Thump, thump, thump beats my heart.
The familiar scent of his aftershave envelops us, reminding me of a time when he touched me.
“Hello.” I force a smile. He bends and kisses my cheek; his lips burn my skin and every cell in my body screams. “Hi,” I whisper as the air leaves my lungs.
Oh my god….
Just being this close to him sends goose bumps scattering up my arms.
Thump
Thump… goes my heart.
Pascal looks between us. “You know each other?”
“Alora and I are old friends,” he replies calmly, totally unruffled by his lie. “It’s lovely to see you again.”
My eyes search his, what is he doing?
This man has more front than a double-decker bus.
“How do you know each other?” Pascal demands in such a tone it drags my eyes back to him. He’s unimpressed and on the defensive.
“Alora is close with my sister, Charlotte.” He turns his attention to me and I wither under his gaze. “We’re old family friends, aren’t we?”
“I….” I swallow the lump in my throat as I process what he’s saying “Umm…. Yes.”
Why did I just lie?
“Come, I would like you to meet Hermione.” He takes my hand in his. “I’m stealing her for a moment,” he announces to Pascal before pulling me away.
Oh my god. Oh my god.
My body screams with excitement at his touch.
He pulls me by the hand through the crowd but we don’t head toward the beautiful people, we head toward the door. “What are you doing?” I whisper.
“I need a word.”
The feel of his big hand around mine sends tingles up my arm and I know full well that this is a disaster of epic proportions. We burst out the side door and land in some kind of reception area. He looks around and spots a staircase. “Here.”
“What?” I stammer as he pulls me along. I look around guiltily, what if somebody sees us? “What are you doing?”
“I need a word.” He takes the stairs and I’m forced to follow.
Forced isn’t the right term…. I could stop this anytime I wanted to, but I want to hear what this word is.
We get to the top of the stairs and he looks left and right and then marches down a hallway until we get to a library; he pulls us in and closes the door behind us.
Suddenly alone, we stare at each other. My eyes roam over every inch of the face that I have dreamed about, cried about, and wished so desperately to see again.
Oh….
“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice soft and cajoling. Just the sound of his dreamy English accent in that husky tone lights a fire in my memory bank.
“I live in Nice.”
He frowns. “You live in Nice?”
I nod.
“All this time you’ve been in Nice, half an hour away from me?”
What?
“Where do you live?”
“Between London and Monaco.”
We stare at each other and the pull I feel to him is otherworldly. Like a rope is tied between us, tightening harder with every word he says.
“It’s good to see you,” he whispers as he cups my face in his hand, he brushes his thumb over my bottom lip as I stare up at him. “It’s still there.”
I nod, not because I want to…but because there’s no denying the chemistry between us. “Yes.”
“I tried to find you,” he murmurs.
There’s an undercurrent of affection running between us. Wild and strong, unstoppable.
He bends and softly kisses me; our lips linger over each other’s as if this is the most natural thing in the world. The earth moves beneath me and just for a moment the planets align into perfect position. A total eclipse of my heart.
Pascal.
What the fuck are you doing?
“I….” I abruptly step back from him. I may be a lot of things, but I am not a cheater. “I’m with someone.”
“Him?” he asks incredulously.
I nod.
We stare at each other; our chests rise and fall as we struggle to breathe.
“And you’re with someone,” I remind him.
“I am.” He drags his hand through his hair as if only now remembering.
“This….” I put my hands over my eyes in disgust at our behavior. “This can’t happen again.”
“It can’t,” he agrees. “I just…. You’re hard not to touch.”
I nod, but I get the feeling that isn’t what he was going to say; he’s filtered his words.
“I have to get back; you stay here until I’m long gone,” I tell him as I rush off.
“When can I see you again?” he calls after me.
I turn back toward him. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Edward.” His eyes search mine. “Edward Prescott.”
My heart drops.
Oh no….
I’ve heard that name before, heard of the monster who my boyfriend despises with every ounce of his being. Never once could I have imagined who was behind it.
“We can’t….” I shake my head, overwhelmed with emotion. It’s the weirdest thing, it’s like my loyalty lies with him and not the man who I’m currently dating. Why do I feel so close to this stranger?
It was just sex.
Snap out of it.
“We are with other people, Edward; I can’t see you again.”
“Even though you want to?” His eyes search mine.
For the first time in my life I am in a happy, healthy relationship with a good man, and I cannot throw it away for a sexual connection at a kink club years ago.
I won’t.
“I don’t want to see you again,” I tell him. I turn and on shaking legs I walk down the stairs and back into the ballroom and look around frantically for Pascal.
Where is he?
My heart begins to panic, I just lied to him and kissed someone else, this is not okay.
What the fuck am I even doing?
I see him across the room talking to a friend of ours and I hasten over to him. “There you are.” I smile as I put my arm around him.
“I cannot believe you know him,” he whispers as he leads me away to talk in private.
“I had no idea he was the man you knew from work. Small world, huh?” I grab another glass of champagne from a passing tray and take a gulp.
Help!
“How can you be friends with someone like that?” he asks. “He’s ruthless and will stop at nothing to get what he wants.”
My heart is thumping hard in my chest, frazzled from our connection upstairs.
Tingling lips and all.
“I’m friends with his sister,” I lie again. “I have no idea about his business affairs. We’re family friends, that’s it.”
Fuck…. Stop lying, stop it right now.
“Let’s take our seats.” I force a smile.
Taking his hand in mine, I turn us both toward our table and I see Edward walk back over to the beautiful people.
The gorgeous woman in the white dress slides her arm around his waist as she laughs and says something to him, he says something in return and she laughs again.
My stomach twists with jealousy.
I take a huge gulp of my champagne and puff it into my cheeks as I go over what just happened. My cheeks are on fire and I’m as flustered as all hell.
This is an actual nightmare.
We take a seat at our table; it’s round with white linen and adorned with large vases of pretty flowers in the center with silver candelabras. “It’s beautiful,” I say as I take Pascal’s hand into mine onto my lap. He twists his lips, openly angered that I know Edward.
Edward.
His name is Edward.
Another couple sits down at the table, an older man and woman in their fifties. “Hello, Pascal.” The woman smiles.
“Ah, Irena.” Pascal smiles. “Hello.” He turns to her husband. “Hello, Vonte.”
“Good to see you, Pascal.” They shake hands.
“This is my girlfriend, Alora,” Pascal introduces me.
The worst girlfriend that ever did live.
“Hello.” I smile, they begin to chat and the tables begin to slowly fill as people take their seats.
Don’t look….
I stare at the tablecloth, determined not to look Edward’s way. For what reason though I’m just not sure. Is it because I want to be with Pascal or is it that I don’t want to see him…. Or is it because I don’t want to see him with her?
I take another gulp of champagne; this is going down way too well and shit, I’ve got the auction coming up.
Focus.
I put my champagne down onto the table with a thud.
No more.
An hour later the table is deep in conversation, the night has run smoothly and the fish was divine.
As always, Pascal has been a dreamy date, the table has laughed and he’s been attentive to me.
He’s a wonderful boyfriend and I’ve gained some perspective of the situation, just because I’m attracted to Edward doesn’t mean a thing.
It was a shock to see each other, that’s all.
It took him by surprise just as much as it took me and we lost our heads for a moment, that kiss means nothing, it will never ever happen again.
Of course we were going to be excited to see each other, we never thought we would.
I tried to find you.
Butterflies swirl in my stomach at the thought.
Did he try to find me…or did he just say that to make himself sound good, because truth be told I tried to find him too.
Why the hell are you thinking about this?
Stop it right now.
The MC gets up onto the stage. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to offer you a warm welcome to the Children’s Medical Research Annual Charity Fundraiser.”
The crowd claps loudly and my stomach flips, Pascal reads my mind and smiles and squeezes my hand in his. “You’ll be fine,” he whispers in my ear. I smile and look up into the stare of Edward. He’s sitting three tables over and is facing us.
Has he been watching us the entire time?
My god….
I snap my eyes away and try to focus on the MC and what he’s saying.
I’m going straight to fucking hell….
“Let’s start our charity auction tonight with a surfboard signed by none other than the legend himself, Jérémy Florès.”
Everyone has bidding paddles with numbers on them and as the excitement builds, people begin to hold them up to bid.
“One thousand.”
“Two thousand.”
“Fifty thousand,” a man calls, and the crowd cheers.
I take a gulp of champagne, if ever there was a night that I want to drink like a raging alcoholic, tonight’s the night.
I’m nervous, I’m flustered. I’m a horny, cheating, lying snake.
“Fifty thousand going once. Fifty thousand going twice. Fifty thousand going three times,” the auctioneer calls. “Sold.” He slams the hammer down. “A wonderful purchase to the gentleman on table two.”
The man stands and takes a bow as the crowd cheers. Okay, that wasn’t so bad, maybe I might survive.
“The second item to be auctioned tonight is a week on a superyacht in Saint-Tropez.”
The crowd rumbles with excitement.
Pascal picks up my hand and kisses the back of it as the bidding begins.
“Two thousand,” someone calls.
“Five thousand.” Someone else holds up their paddle.
“Twelve thousand.”
“Do I have twenty?” the auctioneer calls.
Someone’s paddle goes into the air.
“Thank you, sir, sold. To the man on table ten.”
An hour and a dessert break later the auction begins again.
“We are up to auction number twenty-four and this is without a doubt an opportunity of a lifetime,” the auctioneer calls. “Tonight we are offering an internship with Alora Sorenson Antiques.”
The crowd goes silent and my stomach drops, god help me…here we go.
“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, people,” the auctioneer continues.
“You will get to learn from Alora Sorenson herself. She will mentor you for a period of two whole months, you will get to work in her boutique alongside her team and travel to Paris with her for further education. You will be roaming the countryside in her eternal search for the ultimate in lost treasure.”
I bite my lip to hide my smile, so dramatic.
“This is a prize that money cannot buy for the aspiring antique dealer,” the auctioneer calls as he looks around. “The perfect gift for someone you love. Do we have a first bid?”
“Five hundred thousand euros,” a deep English voice calls.
The crowd gasps and I turn to see Edward holding his paddle in the air.
No….
“Good lord,” the auctioneer calls. “Do we have a higher bidder?”
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
The room collectively holds their breath and my heart threatens to escape my chest.
What is he doing?
“Going once for five hundred thousand euros.”
Silence….
“Five hundred thousand euros twice.”
“Third call for five hundred thousand.” He slams down his hammer. “Sold to Mr. Edward Prescott.”