11. Let’s drive together
CHAPTER ELEVEN
let’s drive together
AIDEN
The whirring of the flywheel on the rowing machine is soothing.
One of the most familiar sounds to me. I’ve been a rower for eighteen years now.
And even though it’s only on a machine these days, it’s still with Mark.
Ever since our late teens, through university and competitions, to Saturday mornings in his home gym.
My stomach is in knots about the engagement party tonight. I was hoping the exercise would help, but I hate lying to Mark more than anyone. It’s the worst thing about this ridiculous situation I’ve got myself into.
Mark says something I can’t hear, but I hum in agreement as if I did.
My mind wanders back to two years ago. To when Linnea walked into The Orion.
She introduced herself swiftly, and started walking around the club.
I followed her. Watching how she smiled as she saw the different spaces, talked into her phone, recording her ideas, waving a hand around.
It’s like she redesigned it in her head right there, and I was in awe.
When she came to ask me questions, she was almost panting.
She was full of energy, talking fast, one idea after another, and I’d get carried away with her.
I could picture her ideas coming to life, and I wanted it all.
She basically described The Orion to me.
Grander and more extravagant than I could ever have imagined.
Then Henry stepped up behind her, and she dimmed. She spoke slower and more technically.
I didn’t dwell on it at the time.
But then, last spring, I found them whisper-fighting in a corridor at one of our events.
I’d stood frozen behind the door, not knowing what to do, not wanting to intervene in a private conversation, and certain she’d hate it if she found out I’d overheard.
We weren’t exactly friends—she never seemed to warm to me no matter how nice I was to her.
‘You need to stop flirting with everyone,’ he hissed.
‘What? I’m networking, like you said I should do more of. This is just me.’
‘I’ve told you so many times, you need to reel yourself in. Paul asked if you’re drunk or if you’re always this animated. You’re embarrassing me.’
‘I’m sorry… You’re right. I didn’t mean to embarrass you,’ she said. ‘I’ll do better.’
I heard her deflating right there. And afterwards, through the rest of the evening, he squeezed her thigh and touched her forearm whenever she spoke.
It’s hard to understand how she endured over six years of that man.
And Halloween last year was even worse.
Henry gripped her arm so hard his fingers dug into her skin.
I remember seeing it from where I sat and I rushed over to stop him.
Even from a distance I saw Linnea’s posture was frozen while he fumed at her, shook her.
It didn’t matter what she’d done—she could’ve set his hair on fire for all I cared—he was hurting her, and I needed it to stop.
That night, they both got to see a side of me very few do.
I pulled Henry away into the staff hallway. I yelled at him. And when I turned to Linnea standing behind me, she was visibly crying, and she didn’t seem able to look at me.
She buried her face in her hands and left the club without saying a word.
I located who she’d been there with that night: a small group from her work, who luckily hadn’t seen the drama unfold.
Linnea’s designer, Olga-something, told me Linnea and Henry split up two months before, and that Linnea had just gone to speak with Henry about him showing up at The Orion with his mistress.
A woman, once identified, I had promptly escorted out, and then banned. Easy decision.
Linnea was more distant than ever after that night. To everyone, but especially me. Not rude, just … inaccessible. Professional, but nothing more. The more I tried to charm my way through her walls, the more she seemed to retreat.
But this last week I’ve seen glimmers of the Linnea I noticed from the beginning, when she didn’t know I was watching. Moments of a smiling, joking, silly Linnea who laughs so hard at a gin shower she’s wheezing. She’s holding back, but she’s opened up somewhat.
Maybe this fake dating arrangement will be kind of fun. I’ll collect these moments like the treasures they are.
Mark’s voice makes its way through my thoughts, and I focus back on it.
“Isn’t it?” he asks, breathing hard as he pulls back on the rowing machine.
“Sorry, I missed that,” I answer, equally breathless. I’ve been rowing while letting my mind drift, and I’ve lost track of my kilometres. I’m far behind my regular level.
“All of it?”
“Yeah,” I breathe. “Mind elsewhere.”
“Fucking hell.”
“What did you say?”
“I said,” Mark pants. “The engagement party tonight will be fun.” He breathes out hard. “That’s the short version.”
I stop and get pulled through by the heavy flywheel. “Shit.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“I’m fine.” I get back to my exercise, going harder and harder. Mum didn’t say Mark would be there, did she? She said ‘the Beckers’. Fuck. I assumed she meant the parents only. Mark knows me better than anyone. Will he see right through my fake date?
No, his first assumption wouldn’t be that it’s fake. Because why the hell would we do that? Worst case, he’ll find we’re awkward and give me shit about it. I can blame early-stage jitters.
It’ll be alright.
But fuck, the prospect of actively lying to his face wreaks havoc on my insides.
“Let’s drive together,” Mark says.
I do a double-take. “What? From here?”
“Yes.” He stops his rowing now, well over his thirty-kilometre goal. I’m lagging today, but I stop as well.
Drive? With him and Rey? That’s almost an hour in close proximity before we’ve even had a chance to show off our relationship in a safe party scene.
But it makes total sense to do so. Saying no would be more suspicious.
Mark stares at me, sweat trickling down the ridge of his nose. “Seriously, are you okay today?”
“Yes, of course. Always.”
“Are you nervous about your mum meeting Linnea?”
“Why would I be nervous about that? We’re good. It’s good, you know?”
“It’s normal to be nervous for regular humans. But you, Aiden Aurellan, you’re never nervous.” Mark wipes his face. “You really like her, don’t you?”
I sigh. Oh, the tangled webs we weave…
“Yes, I do.” It’s not a lie. I do quite like her, actually. And I want to see more. Come to think of it, having Rey in the car with her bubbly attitude might help my case. Help me get to know Linnea without being the one to ask the questions.
“Okay, let’s drive together,” I agree. “We’ll pick up Linnea on the way.”
I suspected Linnea isn’t one for social surprises, so I texted her about us picking her up so she wouldn’t scream and run away once she saw Mark and Rey in the car. She’s been remarkably calm about it. No text outrage, at least. Maybe she sees the upside of it as well.
I’ll find out soon enough.
I’m in Mark’s new electric long-wheelbase Range Rover, and we’re on our way to get Linnea. The car has two rows of seats behind the driver, and they’ve put me in the back so, as Rey said, ‘you and Linnea can fondle each other in peace.’
We arrive and the driver parks along the road, and instead of having to greet Linnea in front of everyone, I run up to her door, and she opens it before I can knock.
Oh, shit. She’s definitely not calm.
Her poker face has been replaced with one full of nerves. Her forehead is pinched, and I bet her ears are flaming red under those gorgeous curls she’s done for the day.
“Hey,” I say, flashing her a smile, hoping it’ll soothe her. “I’m going to kiss your cheek because they might see us from there.”
“Hi,” she whispers as I lean in and place a gentle kiss on her smooth cheek. Mmm, she smells of a mild tropical something, like her hair products have coconut and vanilla fragrance. That’s what I smelled on the cardigan she gave me to wipe off the gin. That scent was on my face all night.
“Let me in, we need to talk,” I say into her ear. I turn and wave to the car as I step inside. I vaguely register that her hallway feels like a slice of a familiar place, but my focus is on her.
“She’s going to know.” Linnea worries her bottom lip, eyes flicking to the door and it’s clear she means Rey.
“Nah, she won’t. I went through it with myself this morning,” I say. “Assuming we’re faking it is preposterous. Why would they think that? Because why the hell would we fake it? Right? It’s messed up, so they won’t expect that from us.”
Her worry crease relaxes a little. “I guess so. I’ve just been fretting about it. If Lady Beauchamp finds out, I’m fucking done.”
I huff at her profanity. “Alright, sailor.” I place my hands on her upper arms and find her downward gaze with my face, making her look up.
“She won’t. I won’t let you down, and all you need to do is play along, okay?
But just do what’s natural to you. Don’t do the maniacal Monica-laugh or anything. ”
She huffs. “Okay.”
“Good.” I glide my hands down her lean arms, relishing the sensation of her skin, and stop myself.
“Sorry,” I mutter, and she shifts on her feet.
Only now do I appreciate the gorgeous cocktail dress she’s in.
It’s a lilac and white, one-shouldered floral dress and it’s draped at the waist, which accentuates her divine hips.
“Wow.” I want to rip that dress right off and pull her close to me.
I want to find out how soft she would feel against my skin, what sounds she would make if she knew how badly I want her.
The visceral thought hits hard, right in the lower belly, and I step back.
Linnea blinks, twirling her skirt tentatively. “Is it okay?”
“You’re stunning,” I breathe, but I recall what she said about commenting on her looks, and I definitely won’t reveal she’s so beautiful I’m having all kinds of images come to mind of what I want to do to her here in this hallway.
Images I’ll file away for when I’m back home, alone.
“The dress is perfect for the occasion,” I correct myself. “Are you ready?”
She breathes out loudly and nods once.