13. Chapter 13
A ria
The sky was still bright when Aria arrived outside Ophelia's Hampstead townhouse, a tall and elegant Georgian home with ivy crawling along the wrought-iron fencing. She adjusted the scarf over her head-partly for warmth, partly to quiet the nerves jumping beneath her skin.
She wore the black vintage dress Lule had insisted on.
The soft, V-neck cut had tiny white flowers scattered across it like a wild meadow under moonlight.
The fabric hugged her waist and flared at the knees.
Her feet were encased in sleek black flats with elegant straps, and around her neck rested the pendant, a delicate flower-shaped piece ringed with rubies, its centre a milky stone that shimmered like trapped moonlight.
Matching drop earrings swung gently from her ears, catching the light with every movement.
Her lips gleamed with the soft sheen of gloss.
She had worn no other makeup, save for the mascara she had dabbed on.
Her hair, freshly trimmed the day before, had been left loose down her back, its long dark waves falling nearly to her hips.
Tucked into her hair on one side was the only other jewellery she wore: a delicate ornamental comb adorned with pearls and tiny white flowers-one of the gifts she had allowed Crispin to give her.
She remembered the night he gave it to her .
She had been sitting naked on her bed, knees drawn to her chest, her skin still flushed from their lovemaking.
Crispin sat behind her, running his fingers through her hair, reverent and possessive.
Then he had gathered the heavy strands in his hands, twisted them up with surprising care, and she felt the cool brush of the comb's metal teeth as he slid it into place.
He had leaned in then, his lips warm against her neck. "So beautiful," he had whispered.
Aria shook the memory off and rang the doorbell.
Slow footsteps, then the muffled voice, "Just a moment, dear."
The door opened, and Ophelia stood there in a moss-green silk suit that faintly shimmered under the porch light. Her silver hair was swept into an elegant updo, her silver-rimmed glasses resting delicately on her nose.
"My darling," she breathed, taking Aria's hands in hers. "You look marvellous."
Aria flushed, shifting slightly. "Thank you."
"Now, stick close to me. The car should be here any second. Let's wait inside."
They sat in quiet companionship in the warm front room.
Aria hadn't eaten all day. Her stomach twisted with anxiety, and her hands trembled ever so slightly in her lap.
The nausea had returned-sharp, insistent, and full of ghosts.
Ophelia's gaze flicked to her often, soft and unreadable.
Aria knew the older woman was mostly blind in her left eye from macular degeneration, but today, it felt as if she saw too much .
Then the bell rang.
"I'll get it," Aria said, already halfway to the door. It was the driver.
She returned to the living room and held out her hand for Ophelia.
"Thank you, sweetheart," Ophelia muttered as she heaved herself up, unsteadily.
They made their way to the waiting car, where the driver stood ready to open the backdoor.
"My godson sent it," Ophelia confided on the way. "Takes such good care of me. He really is a darling."
The trip through West London traffic was slow, the streets slick with evening drizzle. Ophelia stared out the window, her expression distant. Something was troubling her, but Aria didn't ask.
The house was a grand Kensington address-white-columned, red-bricked, with a polished brass knocker and glowing windows.
As Aria stepped through the grand entrance, she was immediately captivated by the opulence that surrounded her.
The foyer was dominated by a magnificent chandelier, its cascading crystals catching the light and scattering it across the marble floors in a dazzling display .
The house itself was a masterpiece of architectural elegance. Set behind gates in a secluded location, this grand house had lovely period features and large windows, flooding the home with natural light. The spacious rooms and high ceilings spoke of luxury from a bygone era.
As she moved further into the home, Aria couldn't help but feel a mixture of awe and apprehension.
The grandeur of the surroundings was a stark contrast to her modest life, and she felt like an interloper in a world that wasn't hers.
Yet, the warmth with which Ophelia had invited her offered a comforting anchor amidst the unfamiliar opulence.
The butler who greeted them at the door led them to the main drawing room. A tall, elegant woman in a navy sheath dress came forward, offering her hands to Ophelia, her face wreathed in a winning smile.
Ophelia's face immediately softened seeing Caroline's daughter. "Laura, darling," she said with real affection.
"Ophelia," Laura replied with emotion before her eyes were drawn to Aria. "And this must be...?"
"A friend who's been helping me out. Aria."
Laura's eyes skimmed Aria-down her dress, her shoes, and finally landed on the opal pendant. Her face faltered just a moment before she composed herself again. "Of course. Welcome. "
They were ushered into a wide sitting room filled with at least thirty people. Men in sleek suits and glossy shoes. Women in elegant dresses with understated diamonds and pearls. These people had the kind of money that made decisions for the nation.
Aria stayed a pace behind, offering her arm when Ophelia needed it. She scanned the crowd, trying to make herself small. She felt the opals at her neck grow heavier with each breath.
"Ah," Ophelia said suddenly. "There he is."
A tall blonde man stood near the fireplace, back turned, speaking animatedly with another guest.
"You cheeky boy," Ophelia called out. "Couldn't greet me? Give your favourite godmother a kiss."
The man turned. And Aria felt the floor tilt.
Dorian.
Crispin's best friend.
His charming smile vanished for a heartbeat, replaced by stunned confusion, then thinly veiled disgust. Then, in the blink of an eye, the debonair mask returned.
He hugged Ophelia gently, like she was made of priceless porcelain, while his dark eyes flicked coldly to Aria. She froze, then composed herself.
"Aria," Ophelia said warmly. "This is Dorian." Then she turned to Dorian. "Aria is a friend who's doing me a great favour. "
Dorian barely nodded.
"My favourite godmother," he said. "You haven't aged a day."
Ophelia gave a light laugh. "Flatterer. I am your only godmother. I was beginning to think you'd vanished into thin air."
"I've been in New York for a few weeks. Private equity deal. Miserable food. But the women..." His tone was polished and slightly wistful.
Ophelia leaned on her cane slightly, tilting her head with a teasing twinkle in her eye. "Well, you look tired. They must have worn you out."
"I am tired," he said with mock drama. "But I saw your name on the guest list and couldn't resist."
He didn't look at Aria again. Not a flicker of recognition, not even a polite smile. But his eyes slid, just briefly, to the opal and ruby piece that rested delicately at her throat.
"That's a striking necklace," he said, addressing Ophelia with faux lightness. "I don't suppose it's the one you used to wear to the spring fundraisers?"
Ophelia's smile tightened slightly. "Yes. I have recently gifted it. "
Dorian's gaze lingered on the pendant. His eyes never moved to Aria's face.
"A bold gift," he said, voice soft but laced with something pointed. "I hope it's appreciated."
"It is," Ophelia said, her tone cooling rapidly. "Very much, now that it has found a worthy home."
Dorian finally, reluctantly, offered Aria a glance. His mouth lifted in the barest shadow of a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Before anyone could speak again, the air in the room changed, like the stillness before a storm. His gaze drifted beyond her, and Aria instinctively turned.