Chapter 23
Anna’s just putting the finishing touches on my mascara when Zayn texts to say he’s arrived.
I get butterflies at the sight of his name on my screen. I may have told Anna that tonight isn’t a date, and it isn’t, but try telling my heart that when it takes off at a sprint at the thought of Zayn waiting downstairs for me.
“He’s here, I have to go.”
Anna re-sheathes the mascara wand, then tilts my chin from side to side to inspect her handiwork.
“Gianna, you know you’re always beautiful, but I must say that I have elevated you to bloody supermodel status tonight.” She beams, spraying a light cloud of hairspray over my hair. “You are going to steal the show when you walk into that room!”
I can’t help the smile that crawls across my lips. Every girl needs an Anna in their life.
“Thanks, girl,” I say, standing from the stool and appraising myself in the bathroom mirror. I don’t know what magic Anna applied to my eyelids, but my irises look greener than moss, reminding me of a conversation that took place many moons ago.
“Now go get him.” Anna gestures for me to pass through the bathroom door and hands me my purse as I go.
“You mean go suss out the venue,” I correct her over my shoulder, but the tremor in my voice gives away my nerves and Anna shoots me a sly grin.
“Yeah, that’s what I meant.” Sarcasm drips from her tone as she shoos me down the hallway to the front door. “Tell Zayn I said hi, and that I fully approve of my dress getting some action tonight.”
When I slide into Zayn’s passenger seat and shut the door to the cold outside, there’s an instant tension in the air between us.
Zayn’s knuckles are white where he grasps the steering wheel and he stares out the front windscreen.
If I’m not mistaken, it seems like he’s making a concentrated effort not to look at me.
The sky has already darkened and the vibrant lights of the city start to slowly blur through the dark windows as Zayn indicates and pulls the car into Friday night traffic.
“You look beautiful,” he says carefully, keeping his eyes on the road. None of the relaxed familiarity that’s been growing slowly over the last few weeks currently harbours space between us.
In fact, there’s a sharp edge to his presence tonight.
“Thanks. You look good, too.” Of course he does. In his black tailored suit and stylishly ruffled hair, he looks like a dark god that’s ready to sit back on his throne and order the mere peasants beneath him to do his bidding.
“What’s this event for again?”
“The Law Awards. Sorry, it will probably be quite boring,” he says, oddly not sounding very sorry at all. I don’t think I could ever be bored in Zayn’s presence, not that I tell him that.
Melbourne slowly passes by outside my window as an unfamiliar song plays softly through the speakers.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask after the silence between us becomes a bit too much.
Zayn’s gaze flickers to mine for a brief moment before returning to the road. “You don’t need permission, Gianna. Ask me whatever you want.”
“Why did you come back?” My heart stutters as the words fall from my lips.
I don’t know why I chose this moment to ask him again, but he doesn’t answer, and from the blank mask that’s dropped into place on his face, I think it’s safe to assume there won’t be one. We sit awkwardly in silence for a moment.
“You said I could ask anything.”
“I didn’t say I would answer.” He sniffs and rolls out his shoulder like he’s physically brushing something off himself.
“What happened to your mum after you left?” I’ve been wanting to ask Zayn about his mum for weeks now. He hasn’t brought her up once.
“She died of an overdose a few months later.” A cold edge creeps into his voice. “I never saw her again.”
Even though Zayn had a complicated relationship with his mum, and I had a few choice words to say about her too, I feel a stab of sorrow.
More so for Zayn, who always craved love and attention from the woman who constantly put illicit substances and other men before him. I had hoped over the years that maybe she had gotten clean and mended some of the hurt between them, and I’m saddened to hear Zayn never got that.
I know Zayn doesn’t want to talk about his mum. He didn’t back then, either. But also like then, I need some answers.
“Did you speak to her after you left?”
“You say ‘left’ like it was my choice to be upended from my life here and sent to live with another incompetent parent. I didn’t just leave to go on a holiday.
Or because I had some amazing fucking opportunity I didn’t want to miss out on.
I was moved because my mum wasn’t capable of caring for me.
Not that she was before that, either, which you very well know.
” His knuckles turn whiter at his outburst, and he grips the steering wheel like he’s trying to strangle it.
Another reminder that deep down, my tortured boy still lives inside this new, polished, put-together version of Zayn.
“But to answer your question, no, I never spoke to her again.”
My heart lurches as it always does when I think about Zayn being yanked from my life without warning. The feeling hasn’t gotten any less harrowing over the years. “That’s not what I meant. I know it wasn’t your choice to leave.”
“Do you? Because I feel like I’ve been punished for it every day since.”
“Not by me.”
“Especially by you.”
We pull up at the hotel in loaded silence.
My nerves are shot at the verbal blow Zayn dealt me minutes earlier, and I exit the car on shaky legs.
For whatever reason, Zayn is in an awful mood tonight, and I have an inkling that it isn’t just nerves.
The valet takes Zayn’s keys to the Maserati with a glint of unadulterated excitement in his eyes before Zayn places a hand on my lower back and directs me inside to the coat check, careful to avoid eye contact as we take our place behind the elderly couple ahead of us.
When it’s our turn, I slip my heavy camel-coloured coat off and hand it to the attendant to be checked.
I instantly feel a dark presence sweep over my bare skin, sending an eruption of goosebumps across my exposed flesh.
I turn to find Zayn’s gaze lingering on my dress, his face looking fifty shades of haunted, and I don’t know what to make of his reaction.
Does he like the dress? Hate it? By the way his jaw ticks and his eyes track the dark spill of my hair as it hangs down to my waist, it would be safe to assume my choice of dress just makes him angry.
Is it too much?
I flick my hair down my back and set my shoulders, ready to defend my choice of outfit when the elderly couple that were ahead of us interrupt our silent stand off.
“You two make the loveliest couple,” the woman says, diverting my attention to her soft, smiling face. She has an air of wealth that surrounds her like an expensive fragrance, evident in her smooth velvet gown and the pearls that circle her elegant throat. “Truly mesmerising in your beauty.”
Before I can politely correct her, Zayn cuts me off.
“Thank you,” he nods to the woman as he replaces his hand on the small of my back.
Unlike before, I can now feel the heat of his hand as it travels through the soft silk of my dress.
My heart rate kicks up a notch, even though I’m still affronted by Zayn’s reaction to my outfit.
Glancing round at all the women in their beautiful floor-length gowns, I don’t think mine is too much. Zayn nods to the elderly gentleman and then directs me to the entrance of the ballroom, and I smile at the kind lady as we pass.
“We’re over there,” Zayn says, nodding to a round table at the far end of the room, right in front of the stage. His hand is still firm on my lower back, distracting me as I take in the extravagant surroundings.
“I think this place is a bit big for the event I’m hosting for Hope House,” I muse as I follow Zayn’s lead to our seats. “There’s seating for at least three hundred people here tonight. My modest guest list of one hundred would leave it looking a bit… empty.”
“Oh well, you can cross this space off the list then.” Zayn says, unsurprised, like he knew the venue wouldn’t be suitable before we even arrived.
Why would he invite me to come along if he already suspected this?
Anna’s words from earlier float through my mind, but I discard them before I can allow myself to give them any merit.
Zayn wasn’t tricking me into a date. He doesn’t even seem happy that I’m here. In fact, quite the opposite.
When we arrive at our table, Zayn pulls my chair out for me and waits for me to take my seat first. The rest of the seats at our table are unoccupied, but before I have a chance to sit an older couple approaches us with wide, expectant smiles.
“Zayn!” The attractive woman with dark curls piled on top of her head kisses Zayn on his cheek before turning to me, her partner shaking Zayn’s hand firmly. “And who is this exquisite creature you’ve brought with you?”
“Penny, this is Gianna,” Zayn says smoothly, once again returning his hand to the small of my back.
After the woman kisses me on the cheek, Zayn diverts my attention to her partner, who is a tall, handsome man graced with thick salt and pepper hair and a strong jaw.
“Gianna, this is Martin. My business partner.”
Business partner? He looks old enough to be Zayn’s dad.
“Hello, Gianna,” Martin says kindly as he shakes my hand. His grip is firm as he takes in the quizzical look on my face. “Ah, Zayn not told you he’s been made partner of the firm, then?” My eyes skip to Zayn, who’s watching me carefully. At least his anger seems to have abated.
“Partner?”