Chapter 27 Aiden
Chapter 27 AIDEN
“ Y ou did what ?”
After a much-needed night of sleep—which extended well into the late morning, given the hangover—Aiden couldn’t escape Becky. As they ate a late lunch in his room, he told her about the night he spent at Nora’s and the brief altercation he had with the local... press, so to speak.
“Oh, Aid, why can’t you just go partying and hotel-trashing and women-hunting like a normal celeb? No, you insist on having this boy scout image—and that’s fine, we’ve built something with it—only to pour your heart out to an unknown girl, threaten the press, make a scene in public, all in the span of a day.” Becky took a sip of whatever foul-smelling concoction was in her glass. “Hadn’t it occurred to you that this woman could sell all your secrets to the press?”
No. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind, and it only showed what an idiot he was. He should have protected himself. He should have known better.
“You could have at least found a prettier one. All this fuss over a plain little thing like—”
The urge to defend Nora came faster than his throbbing head could stop. “That is quite enough.”
Becky was unfazed. “Spare me your antics. You risked everything we achieved these last few years. And for what? I hope she at least was a good fuck.”
His knife and fork crashed against his plate in rage. “Rebecca Saunders. You know I respect you and love you as a professional. But right now, please get out of my room.”
“Aid, sorry, I—”
“Go.”
“Okay.” Becky stood and made her way to the door, turning around as she opened it. “See you tomorrow at seven. Be on your best behavior.”
The door closed and Aiden pondered Becky’s words. She was right, wasn’t she? Which was why it bothered him so much. Granted, he hadn’t caused that much of a scandal. Yet, sometimes one mistake was enough to taint a carefully constructed and maintained image. That invisibility would come in handy now.
I hope she at least was a good fuck . Becky’s crude parting words repeated in his brain. Part of him was relieved they hadn’t crossed that line. It would make it easier to forget about her. Maybe. Hopefully.
Strumming the strings of a brand-new acoustic guitar—Becky’s apology—helped Aiden put his thoughts into some semblance of order. After much internal debate, he caved in and called his mother. She might have the right words to soothe his troubled head, and hopefully wouldn’t ask him to play a Beatles song, as usual. But instead of her shrill voice admonishing him—“Why didn’t you call sooner? I thought you were dead!”—a male ear appeared on the screen.
“Hello? Hello?”
Aiden laughed. “Phone in front of your face, Dad. It’s a video call.”
Aiden was actually glad his father had picked up the call. It had been a while since they last had time for a decent conversation.
“Oh, bloody hell. Every time.” Then his father’s face occupied the screen and opened up in a smile. “I see you have a guitar with you! Know anything from that bloke with a funny name? Faya May? Kyla Slay?”
Oh, no. Did he mean—
“Myra Flay! Your brother listens to him all the t—”
“No.” For fuck’s sake . What were the odds? Aiden forced his thoughts elsewhere.
But of course his brain would choose to dwell on Nora. How could it not? He’d actually pictured a future with her. But maybe he didn’t know her at all. She’d betrayed any trust he’d foolishly built with her, knowing her for so little time. What she’d said, twisting his worst regret... it was unfair and undeserved, regardless of what he’d done wrong.
And had he done anything wrong, anyway? He never actually lied to her. Was it his fault if she didn’t know who he was? Aiden wasn’t one to go flaunting his career, especially after she declared her distaste for people with fame. So was that really his fault?
No need to be rude to his father, though.
“I’m sorry, Dad. That came out wrong. I can’t play any songs by Myra Flay, that is. Didn’t even know he existed until a few days ago.”
“It’s all right, son. Just play whatever and your old man will be glad to hear it. Just like old times.”
Aiden continued playing a generic chord progression. “Why do you have Mum’s phone, anyway? Is everything all right?” Unlike Aiden, his mother had a very close relationship with technology. She was never without her phone. And half a dozen other gadgets.
“She’s getting ready. We’re going out for dinner.”
His parents never went out for dinner unless it was a special occasion. “What are you celebrating?”
“Our thirty-fifth anniversary, of course.”
Aiden frowned. “Dad, your thirty-third wedding anniversary is half a year from now.”
Should he be concerned? His parents were getting old, yes, but he never thought they would start mistaking important dates this early.
“Not our wedding anniversary. The anniversary of when your mother found out who I was.”
“Huh?”
“Yes. She met me in November. I’d known her for quite some time before that.”
“Were you a secret admirer or something?”
“You could say that . . .”
Aiden’s guitar was the only sound for a few moments. “Go on, Dad. Unless it’s something I shouldn’t know. Then, by all means, please don’t tell me.”
His father let out his throaty laugh. “Nothing of the sort. Your mother isn’t particularly proud of this story. But it has a happy ending, so I think it’s a good one.” Aiden waited for his father to continue. “At uni, I took an elective French course. Your mother sat a few rows behind me, and I couldn’t get her sparkling green eyes out of my head. She was so beautiful and outgoing, and I was, well, I was me, so of course I never approached her.”
Aiden could relate.
“One day, almost at the end of the course, I saw her at a party,” his father continued. “The extra pint I drank gave me the liquid courage I needed. We talked, and danced, and...” He cleared his throat. “Well. We spent that weekend together, and I thought I would die of happiness. Then, she asked if I lived nearby or was just there for the weekend. Two months of biweekly classes together, and she had no idea who I was.”
Aiden gasped. “You’re joking. What did you do?”
“I outed myself without thinking. ‘We’re in the same French course,’ I said, and instantly regretted it, thinking I should have kept some of my pride. She disappeared for almost two weeks after that, and I was sure it was my fault for being weird. But one day she came back and asked to talk to me.”
“And . . . ?”
“And she was mortified. I was almost apologizing for having caused her such inconvenience, but in the end it was a good thing that I had been honest with her. We talked, she apologized profusely, and of course I forgave her then and there. The rest is history.”
“You weren’t offended she’d never noticed you there before?” Aiden asked.
“Offended?” His father laughed. “My heart was taken by her; there was no space for other feelings.”
“I think you gave in too easily.” It made sense, though. His father had been honest from the start. His own situation with Nora was different, and a non-negligible part of it was his fault.
“Sometimes, it’s best to swallow our pride, son. I could have made your mother suffer. I could have snubbed her. However, losing her would hurt more than yielding. It proved to be the right decision, don’t you think?”
His parents had been lucky. That was Aiden’s conclusion when he hung up the phone.
In any case, Aiden had tried to apologize to Nora, before she said those horrible things. And she hadn’t accepted it, putting up a shield of anger and resentment, something that no questionnaire could ever predict.
Even apart from the bits that he had actively kept to himself, it’d been na?ve of them both to assume they knew anything relevant about each other. Hearing someone’s answers to random questions didn’t make you know them.
She’d said it herself; people only meet the version of ourselves we choose to show them. They’d been fools to believe this was anything more.
At least it ended before it even started. Whatever it was or would have been.