Chapter Sixteen
AVA
G ritting my teeth, I nod and fake a smile as another rich older woman pulls me into an uncomfortable embrace.
As she pulls away, she cups my cheeks. “You look just like your mother, darling. May her soul rest in peace.”
My mother passed away over four years ago, and while part of me likes that people still remember her, another part of me wishes they would stop trying to find traces of her in my face. The woman currently being over friendly is Clarissa Wolfe, someone who used to play tennis with my parents every week. She’s the fourth person to bring up my mother so far, and I haven’t been here for more than an hour yet.
“Are you married now? Weren’t you dating that young man who handles finances?” Clarissa says, letting go of my face to hold my hands and squeeze them.
“Ah, no. Not yet I’m afraid.”
“Well, he must hurry and put a ring on it as they say these days! Remind him that well-bred women rarely stay single for long, so he should snap you up.”
I hadn’t actually heard from Chad since Friday, when he texted me to tell me he was going to the gym. After that it had been radio silence, and I’d even gone round to his apartment to see if perhaps he was sick or had an accident, but there had been no answer. His building security wouldn’t let me in, saying that he’d put in a notice to move at the end of the month.
It wasn’t like him to vanish for four days without a word, and I was worried. When I called his work, they’d said that he’d booked some time off for a family emergency, but when I called his mother, who lived on the other side of the country, all she would tell me was that Chad would reach out when he was ready. The whole situation was bizarre and came at the strangest time. As soon as I wanted to end our relationship, he goes missing? Is he just trying to avoid the inevitable? Or was he ghosting me first? It made no sense.
Packing up the rest of his belongings had given me some closure, and I’d realized that breaking up was the right thing to do. The writing had been on the wall for a while now, but I’d been burying my head in the sand, hoping the niggling voice in the back of my head would go silent. Instead, it had gotten louder until it was almost screaming inside my skull. Creed only played a small part in my decision. The chemistry between us was dangerous. I couldn’t risk it imploding and hurting the people around me more than it needed to.
Tiff and Orla were coming over on the weekend, and I was planning on telling them about my breakup, but obviously with Chad missing, that made things a little more complicated.
Finally pulling myself away from grabby hands and their owners, who wanted to spend the evening commenting on my life, I make my way to the bar.
As I’m standing, waiting to be served, a petite blonde woman beside me leans over the bar to see what’s on offer. She’s wearing a red fitted one shoulder, floor-length gown that has a split up to her thigh. On the shoulder and at the top of the slit, there’s intricate gold beading which seems to match the hair pins she’s using to tame her thick curls.
“God, I need a drink,” she says when she catches my eye with a wide smile. Turning back to the server, she waves him away when he offers her a bottle of Dom Perignon. “No, not that shite. I’ll have a bottle of Roederer.”
I’ve never heard anyone call Dom Perignon shite before, given that bottle prices started from around $280 dollars.
She turns back to me as her champagne is uncorked and poured. Her blue eyes move over me, taking in my peach-colored tulle gown and simple silver jewelry. “You look lovely. I like that dress. Very elegant.”
I snort, waiting for the next comment. The same one I’d heard over and over again already this evening. “Just like my mother, huh?”
Her brows knit together in confusion as she tilts her head at me. “Do I know your mother?”
The server offers her two glasses of champagne and she pushes one in my hand before reaching over and tucking the bottle under her arm with a wink.
“Doesn’t everyone?” I chuckle awkwardly as we shift to the end of the bar. “Georgina Walters?”
I gulp down half of my drink, needing something to take off the edge. I was wound tightly, like a coil. Every comment, every curious question, each invading gaze, winding me up further until it felt like I wanted to burst out of my skin.
My new gorgeous acquaintance shrugs. “Nope, that name doesn’t ring a bell. Does she work at the Top Hat?”
I snort, almost spitting out my drink. Did she ask if my mother worked at a gentlemen's club? I mean, anyone who was anyone in Newtown knew it was a brothel, but that wasn’t the official bottom line. Why would she think my mother was an escort?
“No…she used to do a lot with the Lutwidge Trust but she died a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” The woman nods, patting my shoulder for a moment before her grin is back. I smile in return. Part of me appreciates how she doesn’t linger on my loss.
She holds up the bottle and shakes it a little. “Want to share this with me? My husband’s family has way too much money, so I’ve made it my mission to drink away at least a quarter of it before I die.”
I make a soft hum of agreement. “Life is too short for cheap champagne.”
“Exactly!” She tops up both of our glasses and we stand there for a little while, rating everyone else’s outfits and dissecting tonight's guest list.
We’re talking about a man who’d chosen a purple velvet suit for the evening, loving his choices when the sound system crackles into life. At the front of the room, Warren Rothchild takes the microphone to tell us that the auction will begin soon.
“Oh, it looks like it’s time to take our seats,” my new friend says, nudging me gently. “I’ll come and find you after dinner.”
As she vanishes into the moving crowd, I realize I hadn’t asked her name.
When I arrive at my table, my father is already seated. His eyes narrow as he looks at my outfit for this evening, probably looking for something to criticize.
As I sit and pour myself a glass of champagne from the bottle on the table, he leans in.
“Where on earth have you been?” He hisses, too low for anyone else to hear while the room settles. “I can smell the alcohol on your breath. Did you forget who you’re representing this evening?”
Straightening, I whisper, “No, father.”
No, I didn't forget. I never forget who I’m supposed to be.
He tuts, his disapproval clear. “Don’t fuck this up.”
The lights dim as the auction begins, and I sit there in the darkness wondering how my life ended up like this. Chad was missing, and I was worried, but I was also relieved.
It felt like I could breathe easier, like I’d loosened one of the ropes binding me in whatever trap this was. Was that fucked up? My father’s expectations were still there, weighing heavily on me, but I took some small satisfaction in the piece I’d submitted for tonight's auction.
As it’s announced, and brought on stage, I try to look at it from a viewer's perspective. It had been an unusual piece when it was finished, all shades of black and gray. If you looked closely, you could just make out the side profile of a man, swallowed by shadows. Hints of gold leaf glint on the canvas, grubby and jagged. Huge splashes of bold ruby and dull crimson bring the whole thing to life. It was Elijah and all the seductive danger he exuded. The bloodshed and tortured shadows. The violence and the desire. He was all I could paint whenever I stepped near my easel.
It felt good to spite my father, and all his warnings to stay away. That smug feeling only grew as a bidding war broke out over the canvas, which was originally only expected to bring in around $25,000 dollars, but clearly, people had more money than sense. Plus, it was for a good cause.
I glance across at my new friend, and she’s sitting with a handsome blond man who must be her husband. Something sparks in the back of my mind and I’m sure I’ve seen him in the media recently. He places a tender kiss on her forehead as she raises her paddle to bid $45,000 dollars on my art.
My eyes widen and to hide my grin, I reach for my champagne flute. The bids keep creeping higher until another party at their table raises their paddle and bids $75,000. I’m an unknown. My art is not worth that much money and yet as Warren shouts ‘sold!’ it apparently is.
I try to get a better look at the purchaser, but all I can make out is long dark green hair and some sort of gothic lace outfit as my blonde friend laughs and pulls them into a hug.
“Well, would you look at that,” my father says, his voice low as he takes a sip of his whiskey. “It was not a complete waste sending you to college.”
A few more barbed comments, three courses and a bottle and a half of champagne later, I feel like I’m seconds away from losing control of my emotions.
Chad was missing. He’d shut me out without a word. Four years was worth not even a call to him. My mother was dead. She was supposed to be here. This was her thing. Some crazy person had paid a ridiculous amount of money for my art. Creed was going to be in my art class. Andrew was absent. And my father…he just wouldn’t stop jabbing at me with his comments. Jab. Jab. Jab.
Fuck, I needed some fresh air.
The venue for this evening is a gorgeous hotel down in the center of Newtown. The ballroom is based on the ground floor, and there’s a patio area out to the left with plenty of seating. Following a few steps down, I end up on a grassy area where there are wide sun loungers laid out near the outdoor pool.
With my almost empty bottle, I lay down on the partially upright sun lounge and look up at the night sky. It’s too bright to see the stars, but I take some comfort from knowing they’re there.
I have been laying here for no more than five minutes before a familiar voice says, “You looked incredible earlier, now you look like shit, is everything okay?”
I can’t stop the laugh that works it up my throat. It’s the champagne. All those bubbles were going straight to my head. I loved how refreshingly honest this stranger with the golden curls was.
“No, no it’s not.” I reply, taking a sip from the bottle as she nudges me over and we lay on the same lounger. “My boyfriend has gone missing. Or is ghosting me.”
She sighs as she reaches out and holds my hand. “Oh, I’m sorry…
I nestle the bottle between us so that it doesn’t spill. “I was trying to break up with him and he vanished! So, are we broken up? Am I an asshole if I break up with him over voicemail? What if he’s going through something big? What if he needs me?”
“Then, wouldn't he have confided in you?” She lets go of my hand to rummage around in her clutch, pulling out a small, neatly rolled joint. She’s got a point. If he needed me, he would have contacted me. “It’s obviously stressing you out. Just call him again.”
I snort, glad that my father isn’t out here to see me losing my shit. “He’s not answering.”
She shrugs as she lights up her blunt. “So, leave a message, like you said. It’s not like he’s giving you many options.”
“Yeah. You’re right. I need to do this.” I sit up properly and feel my new friend playing with my hair as she smokes. Why is it so easy to be in her company? Is it the alcohol? I chew on my nail as the call keeps ringing. “Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.”
I get his answer phone message. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes. “Chad, it’s Ava. I don’t know what’s going on with you, I’ve been to your apartment and you’re not there. You canceled your lease? Work said you called out with an emergency. Your mom won’t tell me anything but at least I know you’re alive. I hope…I hope you’re okay. I…I wanted to do this properly, in person, but you’ve vanished. I can’t believe this is how we end it. It’s over between us, Chad. I’ve been feeling so torn for a while, but we don’t want the same things. And I think you deserve a chance to be happy with someone who wants what you do. I’ll drop your stuff at your building this week. I guess this is it…”
Ending the call, I wipe at the tears streaming down my face.
“Sure you don’t want some of this?” The woman offers me the weed again.
Shaking my head, I realize I still don’t know what to call her. “Hey, I don’t even know your name.”
“You can call me Ro.” She tugs my dress so we’re both lying back again. “All my friends do.”
I like that she’s added me to her list of friends, but women like her, confident and gorgeous, have lots of friends.
“Okay, that’s one thing sorted. What else is upsetting you?”
Covering my face with both hands, I whisper, “I think I’m obsessed with someone.”
“And that’s a problem because…”
“He’s dangerous.” That was an understatement. He was linked with the mafia, assumed second in command, responsible for a long list of crimes from murder to theft to arson, and yet none of them had been proven until this last assault. Chances were that this would somehow be overturned too.
Ro turns on her side to observe me. “Has he hurt you?”
I think about all our interactions. The infirmary has been the first time he’d even laid a finger on me. “No.”
She tilts her head as she takes another drag of her joint. “Would he hurt you?”
“No.” The word flies from my mouth, and I don’t know why I’m so sure about that answer. He was an inmate. A criminal. A savage beast—he’d even told me so himself.
“Meh.” She shrugs and lies on her back again. Blowing out a sickly smelling smoke plume, we both watch transfixed as it fades in the darkness. “I’m failing to see the issue here. It sounds like he’s more ‘burn the world down for you’ than your shitty ex who won’t even take your call.”
Burn the world? For me? No, that wasn’t right. There was always some sort of motivation or reason people got close to me. Even Chad had used my connections to help him with his career. I wasn’t worth burning the world for.
A masculine voice cuts through the quiet air. “Rosalyn! It’s time to go, love.”
“Oh, that’s me!” Ro sits up with a giggle, pushing to her feet. Stroking my hair, she says, “I’ll be seeing you soon, Le Fou.”