Chapter 37
At six o’clock, Sam arrives home and dives straight into helping me prepare the meal for our guests.
He lays out the cheese board and the crackers on the kitchen island and puts hummus into a dish.
Meanwhile, I prepare the pasta, sauce, and shrimp.
We’re almost finished when the doorbell rings.
Of course, it’s Kalina, who greets both Sam and me with a warm hug after she steps into the foyer, although I notice that she lingers a bit longer with her embrace of Sam.
She also comes bearing gifts. A bottle of wine.
Although I’m far from a connoisseur, the bottle looks expensive.
It’s from a fancy-sounding French vineyard.
One side is also coated in a thin layer of dust, suggesting that it’s been laid up for quite some time.
Another clue to its pedigree, because she has clearly been letting the bottle age.
Sam takes it from her, then leads Kalina into the living room.
She’s wearing a green lace and silk wrap dress that shows enough leg and cleavage to make me wonder if she chose it because she thinks it looks sophisticated, or if she’s advertising.
If it’s the latter, then she’s achieved her goal, because Sam can’t help a quick, furtive look.
When he sees me watching, he clears his throat and heads toward the kitchen island, still clutching the bottle, which he proceeds to open, leaving me to make small talk.
I notice that she’s wearing the same earrings she wore at the cocktail party, the green stones matching the shade of her dress perfectly.
She toys with one of them absently as we talk.
When there’s another knock at the door, I excuse myself and answer.
It’s Dr. Burgess. He’s standing in the hallway with a bottle of whisky clutched in his hand.
“Ah. The Glendale’s very own Aphrodite,” he says, his eyes lighting up.
“I’m sorry?” The same feeling of unease that’s come upon me during our previous encounters now returns. I should have let Sam answer the door.
“Aphrodite? Greek goddess of love, pleasure, and beauty. A famously beguiling redhead, as depicted in Sandro Botticelli’s masterful painting The Birth of Venus, although of course, he was referencing her Roman counterpart. It’s hard not to compare you, given the obvious similarities.”
“Thank you,” I say, unenthusiastically. I’m familiar with that painting, and the subject is rendered in the nude. Is the doctor merely noting my hair as he claims, or do his thoughts run to more lurid comparisons? Ick. I move aside to let him enter. The quicker this encounter is over, the better.
Instead, he offers me the whisky. “A little housewarming gift to wet our whistles. Eighteen-year double-cask single malt.”
I accept the bottle. It looks expensive and I say as much.
Burgess nods. “I picked it up from a quaint little distillery on a trip to the Scottish Highlands several years ago.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“Nonsense.” Now Burgess steps past me into the apartment and heads toward Kalina, raising his hand in greeting.
I breathe a sigh of relief, even though I fear it will be a long night, and nothing like the intimate affair I originally anticipated with just ourselves, Kalina, and Dawn and Jamie. Which reminds me that they’re not yet here.
But then, before I have a chance to close the door, they step out of the elevator at the same moment that Frank and Jennifer leave their apartment next door, as if they somehow timed their arrivals. Both couples have brought wine, which I add to our growing stock of libations.
For the next hour, we chat, munch on appetizers, and make light work of the alcohol.
I do my best to avoid Burgess, and I’m grateful when he latches on to Dawn and Jamie, with whom he engages in a lively discussion.
Sam refrains from focusing all his attention on Kalina and talking about the Wainwright.
Instead, he stands with his arm around me and plays the role of host, steering the conversation and keeping everyone engaged with artful aplomb.
My heart skips a beat when I glance sideways at him.
He catches my eye and winks. He knows that I get nervous in social situations, and he’s really stepped up the charm tonight.
Finally, I excuse myself and go into the kitchen to heat up the pasta and sauce and grill the shrimp.
I’m surprised when Kalina follows and offers her services, which I politely decline.
Instead of returning to the living room, she lingers, wineglass in hand.
“I just wanted to say that I appreciate you letting me take up so much of Sam’s time,” she says. “I know that the two of you have just moved in and must have a million things to do, but he really has been a godsend. Your husband is such a sweetheart.”
“Fiancé,” I correct her sharply.
“Of course. I forgot that the two of you aren’t yet married.” A light smile lifts the corner of her mouth. “I wouldn’t wait too long to seal the deal. He is adorable. I’d snap him up in a heartbeat given half a chance.”
I bet you would, I think to myself. Then another thought rattles through my mind. Maybe that is exactly what she’s trying to do with her ridiculously tight green dress, which is struggling to contain her breasts.
“Anyway, I just wanted to let you know how I feel,” Kalina says.
She runs a finger slowly around the rim of her wineglass, which makes her appear even more seductive.
The way she speaks with that Eastern European lilt doesn’t hurt, either.
I find myself wondering how I can ever compete with this woman, until I remember that I don’t have to.
Sam already chose me long before Kalina was on the scene, and he’s not going to be swayed by a flash of cleavage and a sultry accent.
Even so, I hurry to finish preparing the meal after Kalina makes her way back into the living room.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re seated around the dining room table.
Frank and Jennifer sit on one side with Kalina, while Dawn, Jamie, and Dr. Burgess take the other.
Sam and I sit on opposite ends of the table facing each other.
My meal is a hit and garners enthusiastic compliments.
The wine flows freely, and the conversation is easy.
My reservations about Kalina soon fade, but not my curiosity about the apartment on the ground floor.
Which is why I take advantage of a lull in the conversation to mention it.
“What’s the deal with the apartment on the ground floor?” I ask in a light, casual tone, directing the question at Dr. Burgess, who sits on the Glendale’s board.
“Not sure what you mean,” Burgess replies.
“Angelo told me that no one lives there. That it’s been empty for ages.”
“There was a water leak some time ago. The unit needs a lot of work.”
“But it must be worth a fortune. I’m surprised the board would want to let it sit like that.”
Jennifer puts her fork down. She glances at Frank. I think she’s going to speak, but instead she picks the fork up again and goes back to her meal.
Burgess clears his throat. “It’s not ideally situated, being right next to the lobby.”
“That’s right,” Frank says as he spears a forkful of pasta, pops it into his mouth, and chews. “I can’t imagine anyone would want to live there, with the other residents coming and going at all hours of day and night.”
“Really?” I’ve lived in plenty of noisy apartment buildings, and real estate is at a premium in Boston. It seems like a petty reason to leave it unoccupied. “There must be more—”
“Jordan, why are you so worried about the ground floor apartment?” Sam asks, shooting me a sideways look. “There must be better things to talk about.”
“I agree.” Frank looks at Sam. “For example, your work. It must be so rewarding. People are so eager to tear down our historic buildings these days and replace them with ghastly steel and glass monstrosities.”
And that’s all it takes. Giving Sam an opening to talk about his work is like pouring gasoline on a fire. He happily regales everyone with stories of heartless developers and lost history for the next forty minutes.
Once the main course is finished, I clear away the plates and return to the table with the apple and ginger galette.
Afterward, we sit and chat for another hour and sip wine, although thankfully the conversation has moved on from Sam’s work to other topics that I find more interesting.
At one point, he gets up and slides open the balcony door, and a cool, whispering breeze flows through the apartment.
It’s a perfect end to the evening. At least until Kalina rises and declares that she needs to use the restroom, because when she walks past Sam, her hand drops to the back of his chair and trails along it, the touch light and seductive.
At the same time, her eyes meet mine, and the edges of her mouth curl into a smirk.
And in that moment, I realize that I have a problem . . .