Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1) (7 page)

Chapter Fourteen

Valedictorian

After watching the full BBC series of
Pride and Prejudice
, I finally go to bed. Even though I should be exhausted, I’m so wired thinking of tomorrow that I start on the periodic table, this time in Spanish. Reagan grilled me through dinner and it took one hour to calm Javier down over the phone. Apparently, Benson will pick him up at the gallery two hours after Hale picks me up here. I wonder why he staggered our appointments, and my stomach does backflips.

For the first time, I experiment with whispering his name out loud.
Aiden. Aiden. Aiden
. It’s getting easier to say it. Easier to let him in. When I finally fall sleep, his name echoes in my head.

I wake up at the sound of Reagan pounding on my door.

“Isa, wake up, you’ll miss graduation if you don’t start getting ready.”

Oh, bollocks!
I didn’t break this news to her last night because she was freaking out about Hale and Colin Firth. I crawl out of bed and open my door.

“Morning, Reg.”

“Come on sleepy head, I’ll do your hair. Your big speech!” She claps her hands.

Okay, here goes nothing. “Reg, I’m not giving a speech. Actually, I—umm—I’m not going.”

She gawks at me like I’m speaking pig Latin. “What the fuck?”

I don’t expect her to understand, or anyone else for that matter. But there’s no way I’m wasting four hours of my numbered days to hear about what a great beginning this is. ICE’s formal countdown starts today, even if mine started a week ago. I’d much rather spend the next four hours getting ready for my painting, practicing the name
Aiden
, shaving my legs and doing other wonderful things. Not to mention that walking at graduation without my parents there makes my stomach twist worse than any hangover. I give Reagan an edited version of this. It takes a good fifteen minutes to convince her. Finally, she relents.

“Fine. I guess I get it. Frankly, I’d be upset too. So, do you want me accept on your behalf?”

“I don’t think they’ll let you. It’s not the Oscars, Reg.”

She gives me a puppy-eyes look and skips to her room to get ready while I eat some cereal in the kitchen.

The moment I’m alone, my nerves start making an unwelcome but assertive appearance. I’m about to face Aiden Hale with nothing but knickers and an undone shirt. Bloody hell, what if he picks a thong? What if the room is cold and I get all…nippy? Javier will be there too. He will see all that as well. Why on earth did I agree to this with so little information? Oh, right, because my brain was mush at the time and because I never thought it would actually happen. Now that it’s only five hours away, my hands start shaking and I have to set my cereal bowl down on the table. Deep breaths, deep breaths.
Hydrogen, 1.008. Helium, 4.003. Lithium, 6.94…

Reagan walks into the kitchen, delaying the breakdown that is sure to come. She looks stunning in a simple moss-green dress. Before she can see the madness inside, I distract her.

“Reg, you look great. Here, let me take some pics.” It works immediately. She giggles and poses, blowing kisses at my camera as I snap away.

“Speaking of looking great, what are
you
wearing today?” she asks, striking a serious-psychology-student pose.

I know exactly what I’m wearing. Or
not
wearing. “Whatever I can find in your closet.” I shrug with a smile.

“My push-up bras are in the second drawer.” She giggles.

This was not the thought I needed in my head.

“Here, happy graduation!” I say, handing her a small box, wrapped in red, white and blue. My hand shakes a little.

“Isa! You’re not supposed to buy me—”

“I didn’t. It’s something I’ve had for a while.”

She must hear the thickness in my voice because she squints at me. But Reagan cannot resist a present for more than three seconds.
Three, two, one
.

She tears the patriotic paper and lifts the lid. Then she gasps and jumps back two steps.

“Oh my God!” she whispers and looks up at me, green eyes wide. “Is this your mom’s emerald brooch?”

I smile. “Yes. And my grandma Cecilia’s. It has always belonged to the women in my family. And now it belongs to you.”

Reagan’s eyes fill up with tears. “Isa, I can’t—”

I take her hand in both of mine. “Yes, you can. I want you to. Besides, it matches your eyes—”

A red-haired fireball almost knocks me to the kitchen floor. She doesn’t speak. Nor do I. We just hold each other, refusing to say what we are both thinking.
Goodbye
.

“Go on, then,” I say. “Or President Campbell will get all shirty.”

She sniffles and smiles. “That means
mad
, right?”

“Right.”

She pins Clare’s brooch on her dress and pats it. “Okay, I’m staying at Hotel Lucia with Mom and Dad tonight. Come over if Hale is being a wanker. Or better yet, shag him silly.”

“Reagan!”

“Cheerio!” she calls over her shoulder and slams the door behind her.

In the ringing silence, my nerves hit full force. I distract myself by tackling the dilemma of what to wear. Yes, it’s ridiculous because it will come off the moment I go to his house, but still, in my escapist fantasy this is almost a date. A very one-sided date. I try at least twenty outfits before I decide on a navy sheath dress and red flats. Patriotic. For good luck. Then, I march into the restroom to shower. I shave my legs, saying a silent thanks to my ancestors for the genetic quirk that has caused me to have so very little pubic hair. A Brazilian wax would be just as effective but more expensive. If Hale has opted for some lacy, see-through affair, pubic hair would definitely kill me if the nerves don’t do the job before he gets here.

When I’m finally ready and dressed, the nerves get so bad that I start sweating. I plug in the floor fan and stand in front of it with my arms up in the air, trying to reason with myself.

Javier will be there. He knows you. If Hale asks for anything too crazy, like legs behind the ears, Javier will put his foot down for aesthetic reasons. He’s nothing if not persnickety about his art. If you’re asked to wear a G-string, you just say “no” in a polite fashion and insist on wearing your knickers. And no matter what, don’t drop them at the sight of him.

My thighs flex at the thought, and I triple-check my knickers to make sure they’re the right ones. The only lace ones I have, just in case I need to resort to them. My pep talk is not working so I go to my favorite chocolate, Baci, stashed in the back of the spice drawer in the kitchen. I usually have one of these for emergencies. I take two today, and tuck them in my purse. Then I go back to the fan and start the periodic table backward in Italian.

On
fosforo
, the door rattles under four sharp, loud knocks. According to my dad’s watch, I still have one hour before Hale gets here. I peek through the hole and freeze. Bloody hell, it’s the Dragon, with a capital D this time. What did I do
today
? Oh, maybe he is canceling the painting. I put a half-baked plan together and open the door.

“Mr. Hale, what a nice surprise,” I start with a big smile, my voice high enough for the bats to hear it.

He steps inside. I think he’s trying to calm himself but it’s hard to tell with the smoke coming out of his ears. He runs a hand over his hair.
What the devil is wrong with him?
My knickers are a little terrified, clinging to my hips for dear life. He takes one deep breath and explodes.

“Are you so above the rest, Miss Snow, that you will not deign to attend even your graduation from the institution that has granted you its highest academic honor? Or is this how little your own life means to you?” He speaks through gritted teeth.

Oh, bollocks! How did he find out, and why does he care? Be strong, Isa.
“I’m sorry, but that’s none of your business.” I ignore his second question. Something about it makes me recoil.

He looks at me like I just insulted his mother. Honestly, I think I see fire from his nostrils. “None of my fucking business? Is that your answer?” Still gritted teeth, which I suppose is better than fangs.

“Yes, that’s my answer.” I stay calm, hoping some of it will rub off on him. No such luck.

“Over three thousand people watched President Campbell announce Miss Elisa Cecilia Snow,
valedictorian
in absentia
, and a full minute of silence fell over the crowd, and you say it’s none of my fucking business?” He is spitting fire.

Damn it! Why would President Campbell announce it?
I emailed the traitor. Well, one thing at a time. The Dragon first. “No, I didn’t say
fucking
business. I said simply
business
.”

He looks at me with flared nostrils and roars, his fists hanging down.

“What is wrong with you?”

Oh, this is rich. He is morphing into a Tolkien creature and I’m the freak? I am usually a calm, rational agent. It’s probably not apparent based on this last week, but I am. But right now, with my newly shaved legs and my lacy knickers on, after practicing his name all day in front of a stupid fan, I want to scratch his eyes out.

“There’s nothing wrong with me, Mr. Hale. However, based on your behavior these last two days, may I suggest the very real possibility that there is something seriously wrong with
you
? I strongly recommend that you visit a psychiatrist, sir, and soon, before you become a menace on the streets of Portland and incinerate us all for exercising our right as free human beings to go wherever we bloody well please,” I hiss, feeling a kindred spirit with Medusa because he has turned to stone.

Before I can draw a breath, he takes the two steps between us and his mouth closes in on mine, his hands like a vise around my face.

The force of his kiss slams me against the wall and makes me gasp. His lips mold with mine, and his tongue is dancing inside my mouth. My knees shake a little. As if he knows, one of his hands leaves my face, trails down my body and rests at the small of my back, arching me against him and supporting all my weight. I move my tongue shyly around his. I taste cinnamon and something else, something Aiden. My blood ignites, and another gasp escapes me. At the sound, he presses his hips against me, and his long fingers reach into my hair. He pulls my head back until my mouth opens wider. Our tongues move together, and his anger changes to desperation and then to a slower rhythm that I can follow. Of their own accord, my arms reach up around his neck and my fingers knot in his hair. He tenses, so I try to let go but he draws me closer until there is no more space left. I feel every line of his body against mine. His teeth graze my bottom lip. It takes me a moment to realize that the moan I hear is coming from me. He pulls away, his breathing harsh and labored.

“Impossible woman,” he growls.

I open my eyes. His sapphire depths are blazing. Without his arm supporting me, my knees go back to shaky and weak. Then it dawns on me.
Bloody hell, I’ve just been kissed by Aiden Hale!
And what a kiss it was. I’ll be the first to admit I don’t have much experience with such things, but I am willing to bet my supplement’s formula that no girl, anywhere, has been kissed like this. I pinch myself discreetly to make sure I’m awake. Yes, it was real. My lips are tingling.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks, his breathing now back in control. Apparently, we are not going to talk about it. That’s good. What if his next words end this? And what is there to say regardless? By some miracle, he wants me at some level, and I want him at all levels. That’s good enough for now. Good enough for forever for someone like me.

It takes me a while to formulate a thought, let alone an answer. Even then, all I can manage is to nod and pick up my purse.

He takes my hand and we step out in the first sunny morning of Portland’s spring.

Chapter Fifteen

Garden of Aiden

Aiden opens the door of a gunmetal Aston Martin for me. Maybe he likes British things. I take the seat as gingerly as possible, feeling oddly adrift when he lets go of my hand. He lopes around the car, gets in and starts driving. He is abruptly tense. His eyes darken as he scans the street with sniper vigilance. The tension of his shoulders snaps back around him like an elastic band. I want to ask why but I’m afraid of the answer.

He switches on the sound system and Lucio Dalla’s “Caruso”
fills the car.
What are the chances?

“Are you all right?” Aiden asks. It must have shown on my face.

“Yes. It’s just the song. My parents loved it.” I feel strangely as though they just gave me a blessing.

“I can change it if it’s too much.” He is looking at me like I might break.

“No, I like it. They must be happy up there. Besides, I love the words.”

He studies me for an instant, like he is trying to break a code. “What do you love about them?”

I shrug. “I guess how the two refuse to say goodbye even in the end.”

“There
would
be better things to do in the end.” He nods, looking back at the road. The looming deadline suddenly takes the shape of a harpy, destroying every warm tingle his kiss left behind.

“So, you went to my graduation?” I ask to distract myself from the burning in my throat.

He smirks. “So it would seem.”

“Why?”

He blows out a gusty sigh. “I didn’t want you to be alone at one of your life’s biggest moments.” He shakes his head as if the thought itself is an aberration.

It’s one of the sweetest things he has said. My fingers itch to touch his face, so I knot them together lest they move on their own.

“Thank you. That was very thoughtful. And it explains why you were so upset. Alas, not a madman after all.”

He huffs as if he really thinks he is a madman. “Elisa, why didn’t you go?” The anger is gone now. All that’s left behind is something like concern. Is that it? He’s worried about me? Under that theory, his behavior these last few days takes on a different meaning.

I stare out of the window, repressing a sob for finding this so late in the game. End it now or end it later? Which would hurt less? The painful clenching in my stomach says plainly that either option is hideous. And if I have so little time left, would it be such a crime to hold on to him a little longer? Maybe just for today?

“Mr. Hale—” I stop talking because he reaches for my chin with his long fingers and turns my face toward him.

“Say my name.” His voice is low and rugged but his eyes are soft.

“Aiden,” I whisper. Instantly, he becomes more real, urging me to nurse the fantasy of him and me a little longer. “Aiden, can we agree to something?”

He frowns. “It depends on what it is.”

“Can we agree that, at least for today, we implement an embargo?”

His eyebrows knit together. “An embargo? Embargo on what?”

“On secrets. I share none of mine, and you share none of yours. A free pass to us both, but everything else is on the table.” I keep my voice soft to mask the hideousness inside.

He veers sharply to the right and slams the brakes. The car behind us honks and swerves around, the driver flipping us off. Aiden’s posture straightens, his muscles rise and he turns his body to face me.

“Elisa, are you in trouble? Because if you are, you should tell me. I can help you. There’s no reason for you to suffer through whatever it is alone.”

How can I share this pain and not forge a bond with him? And then where do I go from there? If you thought you had lost everything only to find out there was a lot more to lose, would you risk it? Or would you play it safe and try to survive?

“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind. So do we have a deal?” I look him in the eye, trying to hold my face together.

“No, goddamn it, we don’t have a deal.” He looks around wildly. For the first time I notice a whisper of helplessness in his eyes. Unable to resist, I reach slowly to caress his cheek so that he sees my intention. With his force field around him, he may need the warning.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m not in danger. Let’s just try it. Surely the private part of you finds that appealing too?”

He shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his index finger, drawing a deep breath.

“As if your paintings and brain were not enough to drive any man insane, now you have thrown this into the mix. But I suppose I’m in a better position to help you if I strike this deal than if I don’t. So, yes, we have an embargo on sharing. For
today
.” He shakes his head as if he cannot believe this himself.

Yes! Twenty-four hours of paradise smack in the middle of hell. I lean in slowly and give him a small kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”

He looks like he has never been kissed on the cheek before. I pull away in case it makes him uncomfortable. His eyes are unfathomable—light on the surface, dark within.

He starts driving again without a word. We wind higher and higher up the West Hills, curving around the Portland Rose Garden. With a vibration between my lungs, I realize Aiden lives by a rose garden like I used to—although
lives
may be too soft a word.
Presides
fits him better.

The Rose Garden is behind now, and we are still climbing. Suddenly, I know we have entered his domain the way we know spring has arrived. With a feeling in our blood, right before ice starts to melt. The pressure of the altitude muffles my ears until all I hear is my own heartbeat. There are no houses around anymore, only dense evergreens and sky. Aiden takes a sharp left and comes to a stop before a modern iron gate. He slides his palm over a pad in a stainless steel monitor. The gates open.

I expect to see a house, but no. An endless hide-and-seek driveway undulates before us, framed by tall oaks and cedars. On the right, in a green clearing, is a paved, smooth circle. It takes a few blinks to realize it’s a helipad.

At last, as though part of nature, a stately house materializes among the trees. Except, the word
house
is too artificial. This is almost an extension of the primordial forest. Everything about it, from the red cedar wood panels to the charcoal slate, the gray riverbed rocks and the airy spatial windows, is organic. The modern minimalist lines curve around nature rather than bending nature to their will.

Aiden chuckles next to me, and I close my gaping mouth. “It’s beautiful here,” I say.

“It’s getting better.” He smiles, and gets out of the car to open my door. The moment I’m out, he takes my hand again and presses his lips to my hair. I lean into him, sniffing his Aiden scent surreptitiously. I should figure out a way to bottle this.

At the double front doors, he slides his palm over another pad. The doors open into a cream-and-slate foyer. The moment we step inside, lights brighten almost imperceptibly. I blink once and everything is back to normal. Hmm, maybe I imagined it.

Aiden leads me by my waist to a palatial living room. As we cross the threshold, the lights brighten and dim again, blinking fast. I turn to ask him, but he shakes his head. I tuck this away as a world perched between earth and sky surrounds me.

Straight ahead, Mount Hood is almost touchable. Refracting sunrays are my only clue that a back wall separates us, made entirely of glass. I blink, recalling Denton’s lecture on glass optical qualities. This must be the highest—nearly invisible.

Everything from the open-flame riverbed rock fireplace to the barstools in a kitchen the size of Feign Art is bespoke and chic. All light gray and cream, except the chestnut wooden floor and the oversized salvaged oak coffee table. Colors of rivers and forests. Abstract, understated art, none of it my paintings. There is something peaceful about the stunning natural décor.

Yet my first thought is…
not loneliness
. The controlled minimalism is too intentional for that.
Isolation
. That’s what it is. I look for signs of the inner Aiden. There are some books stacked on the coffee table.
The Brothers Karamazov—
one of my favorites,
Byron’s Poems
,
The Things They Carried
. Redemption, passion, guilt, war. And poetry. Aiden Hale has soul.

My eyes drift to a shiny black piano, tucked by the glass wall. My breath catches a little at the sight. Not because it’s a rare Bösendorfer. But because on it, is the most astonishing arrangement of flowers I have ever seen. They’re not in a vase—they’re in a low crystal terrarium, like a secret garden. I walk to it in a trance, sensing Aiden’s body heat behind me.

And there, rising over green moss, is a single bloom of probably every flower genus they sell in Portland. Hyacinth, orchid, gardenia, peony, amaryllis, calla lily, rose…

“I didn’t know which one was your favorite.” Aiden’s warm breath tickles my cheek. It’s just air—
his
air—but my knees start wobbling. He pulls me against his front, his lips fluttering over my jawline to my ear.

“So?” he whispers.

“Hmm?”

“Favorite flower?” He kisses the soft spot behind my ear. I shiver.

“Umm…”

He chuckles and pulls away. “Maybe it’s too soon to combine thinking with kissing.”

I flush the color of the amaryllis.“Roses,” I breathe.

He raises an eyebrow. “Roses?” There is a hint of humor in his voice.

“What’s wrong with roses?”

“Nothing. It’s just such a common choice for such an uncommon woman.”

I want to kiss him—hard like he kissed me. So I start babbling. “Well, my favorite breed is
Aeternum romantica
. They’re very rare because they have very little pollen. They could do okay in a warm terrarium, which of course was invented by botanist Nathaniel Bagshaw Ward in 1829—”
Stop! Stop right now!

Aiden’s sculpted lips are twitching with a smile.

“Thank you for the flowers,” I mumble.

“Thank you for the botany lesson.”

“So, can we talk about this painting?” I ask to upgrade myself from geek to semidesirable muse status.

He gives me a full, dimple-in-the-cheek smile. “Yes, we should. But first, we have your graduation lunch. Moot point since you didn’t go to your graduation, but it was already planned.”

I make an effort not to gape. Or drool. Oh, these twenty-four hours are getting better and better. “If I had known you’d be there, I might have gone.” But if I had gone, would his control have slipped enough for him to kiss me? Probably not. Another reason why it was a brilliant idea.

He leads me to a breakfast bar and a woman in a white apron appears to serve us. Aiden introduces her as his housekeeper, Cora Davis. She is in her late forties, with a kind, sweetheart face and short, chestnut hair. She sets out our lunch of wild salmon with fennel-and-apple salad.

“The new room is ready, sir,” she says, and after a nod from him, she leaves with a smile.

“The new room?” I ask while Aiden uncorks some wine with a name that is one paragraph long. I couldn’t repeat it if I were at gunpoint.

He smiles. “Yes. For your painting.”

“You created an
entire
room for my painting?”

He shrugs like this should be obvious. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“I have a specific idea in mind.”

“What’s the idea?”

“A fantasy.”

His voice is soft but something about the word—desired but never real—makes my stomach twist sharply. Just like he will always be for me. Except, without my numbered days, I’d want more than a fantasy. Would he?

“Javier will love it,” I say to move away from the dark thought. “It will be his first domain.”

I meant to lighten my mood but Aiden puts down the wine bottle and looks at me, his eyes midnight blue. The change is so sudden that it makes me gasp.

“I’ll ask you this once today despite our embargo.” His voice has lost all its seduction and is now back to cold. “What is your relationship with Mr. Solis?”

It takes me a moment to find words. I can’t look away from his dark eyes. For some reason, I have a fleeting sense of danger.

“Javier and I have been best friends for the last four years,” I manage. “But he’s more than that, he is family. The Solises saved my life after my parents’ accident.”

He nods slowly, and his eyes start tracing my jawline, my throat—almost like a search. As they do so, they lighten with that turquoise glow I’ve come to expect, even know.

“My apologies, Elisa.” His voice is now gentle. “The question is none of my business.”

Something about his words frightens me a lot more than his dark gaze. “I don’t mind,” I say, my voice cracking.

He raises his hand very slowly and brushes the back of his fingers along my lower lip, down my throat. Lightly, like a warm breeze. But my body responds with vengeance. My pulse starts breaking through my skin. Goose bumps erupt everywhere. He smiles.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says, tracing my collarbones with the tips of his fingers.

“I’ve seen worse,” I breathe. “Nitroglycerin for example.”

The dimple forms in his cheek. “I’m still sorry. It’s very difficult for me to control my reactions around you.”

I know somewhere deep in my brain I should ask many questions. But the only one I can form is, “Why?”

He sighs and drops his hand. “Embargo,” he says, pouring some wine and handing me a glass.

How can I argue with that?

I take a deep, steadying breath and clink his glass with mine. “To embargoes, then.”

He chuckles now, shifting his chair closer to mine, our arms almost touching.

“And to the women who broker them.”