Vain (29 page)

He pressed end and I sank back into my seat.
“To be continued,” he said, kissing my temple.
 

Aubergine felt like a continuation of Abri Aberdeen’s home. It screamed elegance and contemporary and there wasn’t a moment it didn’t make you painfully aware of yourself, of where you placed your hands, where you looked, what you said and even how you felt. If Aubergine was a person, it would be Abri Aberdeen.

“Welcome to Aubergine. Name?” a clearly uninterested young woman asked us. When she glanced up, though, her tune changed a little. She smiled at Ian.

“We’re here with another party,” Ian told him. “Aberdeen?”

Her eyes grew round as saucers. “Of course, pardon me for not recognizing you. This way,” she said, scurrying in front of us. “Again,” she said over her shoulder, “forgive me. I’m so sorry.”

“Not a big deal,” Ian told her, shrugging his shoulders.

The young girl led us up a flight of stairs that stemmed from the main dining room to the mezzanine. Ian’s family was the only seated there. The perks of being the executive mayor, I supposed.
An unexpected surprise awaited us when we finally met the table. Instead of the three Aberdeens, a fourth patron had joined the dinner. A young, exquisitely beautiful girl with butterscotch hair and bright blue eyes. She looked stunned and wide-eyed. Already, I’d decided to like her.

“If I were to guess,” I whispered Ian’s direction, “I believe this may b
e Simon’s topic of discussion.”

He nodded. “Strap yourself in, Sophie Price. I believe things are about to get unpredictable
’round here,” he said, his accent thicker than I’d heard it in a while.
Simon and Henrik stood when we approached the table. Ian held my chair out for me and I sat. The boys followed suit. We all sat quietly and awkwardly, awaiting something, anything to happen. Rather, we all stared at Abri on edge.

“You’re being rude, Simon,” Abri finally spoke. “Introduce your
friend
to Ian and Miss Price.”
Uh-oh. Not looking good
.

Simon sighed audibly and pressed his lids closed for a moment before leaning into his date toward us. “Ian, Sophie, this is Imogen. Imogen, this
is Ian and Miss Sophie Price.”

“A pleasure,
” I smiled and offered my hand.

Imogen’s tense shoulders relaxed an infinitesimal amount and she took my extended hand, shaking
it. “Nice to meet you as well.”

Simon presented hi
s own hand and did the same.

Formalities over with, we all eyed Abri
, but she gave no indication it was okay to speak. I astonished myself. I couldn't believe I was bending to this ridiculous woman and her outrageous intimidation. I decided to ignore her. She already felt insane disdain toward me, what further damage could I possibly do?

I turned Imogen’s direction. “You’re English,” I stated with a smile
. “What part do you hail from?”

“Manchester,” she said, smiling back, her shoulders relaxing another inc
h. “Have you ever been?”

“I have,” I
told her. “It’s lovely there.”

“You’re kind,” she laughed.

“I actually stayed in Chester,” I corrected.

“Oh,
yes, it’s very charming there.”

“Agreed,” I said, taking a sip of my water.

I took the opportunity to study the table and noticed an almost too well put together Abri staring our direction. I smiled softly as if I was unaware she was secretly seething inside before turning back Imogen’s way.

“What brings y
ou to Cape Town?” I asked her.

“Simon does,” she said, laughing. “We attended
graduate school at Oxford together.”

“Really?”
I asked, leaning her direction more, her shoulders relaxed another inch. “How did you meet?”

“In our Stochastic Analysis class,” sh
e said before looking at Simon.

“Goddard!” they said in unison before breaking into laughter.
It died quickly when Abri cleared her throat before taking a sip of her own water.

“Fascinating,” I said, turning toward Ian. “You never
told me Simon went to Oxford.”

“
Simon went to Oxford, Sophie.”

I rolled my eyes. The table seemed to be getting more comfortable by the moment. Imogen’s shoulders were almost completely at ease and Ian placed his arm on the back of my chair. Henrik and the four of us continued with our conversation until the waiter took our
drink orders.

“We’ll have four glasses o
f your best red,” Abri ordered.

“Oh, just
bring the bottle,” Henrik said.

Abri’s hand rested on her husband’s. “Henrik,” she said,
tossing her eyes my direction.

Imogen
looked at me, but I just rolled my eyes and shook my head. She nodded in understanding.

Henrik narrowed his gaze at his wife then back at the waiter. “Bring the bottle,” he s
aid, handing him the wine menu.

When the waiter walked away, Abri sat up in her chair. “Why don’t you just
come out with it, Simon?”
The entire table got quiet.

Simon cleared his throat and took Imogen’s hand underneath the table.
“All right. Mom? Dad? Imogen and I are going to be wed.”

I knew it
!
This news made me giddy inside. I narrowly escaped my own beheading though when Ian stayed me with a hand to my shoulder, preventing me from shouting the congratulations balanced at the tip of my tongue.
Abri quietly lifted her napkin from her lap and laid it across her plate. I guessed correctly that was a bad sign.

“And you thought bringing me here would be the perfect venue for such an announcement?”

Simon sank in his chair, running a hand over his face. “This is hardly the end of the world, Mother. Most people rejoice when their children announce their engagement.”

Abri leaned in closer toward him, balancing herself over the table. “We are not
most
people,” she gritted between teeth.

“Lovely impression you’re giving our Sophie.”

I subtly shook my head at him. A silent
Don’t bring me into this
!

“Maybe I should go,” I said, when Abri’s chilling stare sank through me.
I made an attempt to get up, but she locked me in place with a single look.

“No, it would be blasted all over the papers tomorrow if you left our table bef
ore we’d even gotten our wine.”

“What?” I asked.

“You seem to be under a mistaken impression. Look around you, Miss Price. There are two paparazzi waiting by the valet as well as a Cape Times journalist in the main dining hall.”

“I see,” I said, not looking to rock the boat. I sat back in my chair, placing my napkin in my lap on
ce more.

“Yes, so even though I’m
loathe to have you privy to
my
family’s discussion, one that, I might add, could be extremely damaging if leaked,” she drilled me with another disparaging look, “you stay.”

“Staying.
Got it,” I said, sinking into my chair.

Abri faced Simon once more. “Why now?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Your half a term away from graduating. Why now?” she repeated.

“Because I love her and I don’t want to wait,” he stated as fa
ct.
I barely bit my “aww” back.

“Something’
s amiss,” she said, her nails tapping at the stem of her water glass, the only sign she wasn’t completely in check of her emotions.

Imogen fidgeted in her chair, glancing down at her lap, avoiding eye contact.

Uh-oh
.
Simon’s jaw clenched. “I know what you’re implying.”

“And?”
Abri asked, considering an obviously nervous Imogen.

“Not that one has anything to do with the other but, yes, Imogen is expecting,” Simon said, dropping the bombshell like he was announcing it would rain on Tuesday. “The only influence that had on my decision was when we would marry
, not if.”

Yowza.
And aww.
This time even Henrik lost his ever-present “It’s all good” facial expression.

“Not again,” Abri said, falling into the back of her chair.
I turned toward Ian and his face was devoid of color. I placed my hand within his, reminding him I was there. He squeezed my fingers.

“She’s only six weeks right now, Mom,” Simon continued. “We can marry at an undisclosed location and soon. We were thinking somewhere tropical, give the impression we’ve been planning a secret wedding for months. No one will think differently since Imogen has been a fixture in my life for
more than two years. In fact, they’ll be expecting it. And in a couple of months, we announce her pregnancy.”

“Well, you’ve thought it all out, haven’t you, son? It’s all nice and tidy, isn’t it
? Except you forgot one thing.”

“What?”

“Re-elections are this month and it would need to be immediate. No one would believe we were planning a wedding this close to the end of my campaign.”

“Jesus, Mom. You know what? You’re right. Let’s wait. Yes, we’ll wait and announce it when Imogen is showing and then you’ll really have a scandal on your hands. Listen, we’re only doing this for you because we don’t want to compromise your career. If it were up to us, we’d wait until school was done and the baby was born,
then wed in London at the church Imogen grew up in.”

“Do you expect me to be
grateful
?” Abri whisper-yelled, startling Imogen. “God, this is Ian all over again.”

“Abri,” Henrik said, “
enough
.”

“It’s,” she began
, but Henrik silenced her with a hand on hers.

“I said,
enough
, Abri.”

Abri looked appropriately chagrined and it made me have a little more respect for Henrik. He wasn’t quite the easy pushover I’d first thought he was. The table got quiet once more when the waiter brought our drinks and took our entree orders.

The meals had arrived and still not a word had been spoken. Surprisingly, none of us were that hungry and we all pushed our food around our plates.

I cleared my throat, inciting the potential ire of Abri
,
but I didn’t care. “My father’s company owns an island,” I announced to the table. “I can offer you discretion.”
 

CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
 

             
Long Street in Cape Town was busier than the French Quarter at Mardi Gras. The street seemed littered with people, a sea of heads donning every inch. Cape Town reminded me so much of America it was scary. The only real difference were the accents and occasionally someone would throw out a vibe that was typically Afrikan but other than that, if I’d captured the scene when I’d first arrived and pitted it next to a picture of Fat Tuesday, NOLA style, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Even the Long Street architecture was reminiscent of New Orleans.
              I was unexpectedly hit with a wave of homesickness in the moment and sidled closer to Ian as we meandered our way through the crowds. I didn’t know how you could miss a place that utterly defined a horrific life but there you had it. I was overwhelmed with a need to sleep in my bed, amongst my down pillows and Frette sheets. To have Margarite bring me my breakfast in bed. To have Katy, Peter and Gillian over for massage, hair, nails and makeup.
              “Do you miss Mandisa?” Ian asked me, interrupting my thoughts.
              “What?” I asked, shame heating my chest.
              “You looked sad for a minute there. Do you miss her?”
I thought about the baby back at Masego and felt a crushing desire to hold her. Home, comfort, quickly seeped from my conscious and my mind made a beeline toward Mandisa.
              “I miss her like mad. She’s my miniature sun.”
Ian wrapped his arm around my shoulder and kissed my neck.
              “Stay within these arms all night?”
              “You couldn’t pry me away.”
              “The street can get a little wild though. Hold tight.”
              “That really won’t be a issue,” I toyed.
Ian ushered me like a bodyguard down the street until we arrived at the entrance of a building labeled with an imposing vertical sign that read
Goes the Boom
.
              “This is where my old friends and I would go on Saturday nights. This was pure, unadulterated fun for me. I loved to dance.”
              I arched a teasing smiled his direction and wrapped both my hands around the back of his neck. “I have a feeling I’m in for lots of surprises tonight.”
              Ian twisted his hands through the hair at the top of my head and stayed them there. “Prepare yourself, Price, ‘cause I’m about to rock your world.”
Too late
.
             
Goes the Boom
wasn’t your typical dance club. It was fit within a beautiful two story Victorian with refurbished interiors of recycled dark wood and brick walls but contemporary concrete floors. And the bass was positively bumping, something you’d never expect in the low lit ambience of the sophistication it exuded but it was inviting. I found myself drawn like a magnet to the dance floor but Ian dragged me toward the bar instead.
              “What’ll you have?” he asked.
              I searched the bar and spotted what I wanted. A bottle of Glenlivet, single malt, aged twenty-one years. “Whisky, neat,” I told him, “that bottle.”
              “The same,” Ian told the bartender. “Damn, Sophie,” he said, turning toward me, “I had no idea you drank like a fifty year old man.”
I laughed out loud.
              “You're sixteen,” I told him, painting the picture, “your parents lock up their liquor cabinet, the kitchen is manned by people at all times, the only available liquor you can find is hidden away in a drawer in your father’s desk and it’s single malt whisky. What do
you
think you’d develop a taste for?”
              “Coca-cola?”