“I’m only here for you, Kace,” I say.
“And I am only here for you, Aria.”
“Thank you for the gifts.”
He studies me for several untold moments, unreadable, he is always so unreadable, and then he kisses me, a slide of his tongue that I feel everywhere before he says, “Hurry and get ready. We only have an hour and a half to get there. That means you have an hour to go through the bags and get ready.” He sets me away from him and doesn’t give me time to argue. He heads to the door and disappears into the hallway.
He does not shut the door.
And neither do I.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The bags are filled with everything a girl could possibly ask for: makeup, a flat iron, hair and bath products, several pairs of heels and boots, lingerie, and plenty of clothes. I try not to look at the price tags, but it’s hard not to. Just one bra is two hundred dollars, which is insanity. Searching for the items I absolutely need becomes my new goal. The rest can be returned. I start digging through everything and despite the worthy goal, I’m drawn to a Chanel box for one simple reason: my mother loved Chanel, though we didn’t have the income for it once we fled Italy. Nevertheless, the brand stirs memories of her and I quickly remove the lid of the box to suck in air, shocked at what I find. It’s impossible. I cannot be seeing what I’m seeing, but I am. The purse that I’m staring at is not just a purse. It’s pink, a classic recently brought back, but it is also familiar. My mother owned this exact purse. My father bought it for her before we left Italy and even years later, that bag had been in pristine condition. She adored it. It was a connection to him she cherished. She had it with her the day she died and it was never recovered.
Once again, Kace has managed to become a piece of my past. I swallow hard and slide the lid back on the box. I cannot keep that purse for about ten reasons including the price. It’s five thousand dollars.
Shoving a hand through my hair, I try to calm my emotions. How did I end up with that purse? How did he buy me that purse? It’s a coincidence, of course. It really is an old classic recently brought back, a hot item, but God, it’s killing me. It’s like the universe is trying to tell me something and I don’t know what. My gaze sweeps over the bags. There’s just so much here, so much money, so much generosity. And something in Kace’s reaction to me declining the gifts lingers with me, something beneath his surface, something from his past.
In these bags rest more than fancy trinkets and clothing, for both of us.
I’m not sure what to do with that realization. I just know that I want to understand him. I want to get to know him. Very much, and I can’t even seem to muster up an argument or warning that convinces me to walk away from Kace anymore. I don’t want to walk away.
I head to the shower, and lather up with a luxurious lily-scented shampoo and body wash. When I turn off the water, the sound of Kace’s violin somewhere in the distance sings to me, and my lashes lower, memories flooding my mind. Not since I was a child have I stepped out of a shower to violin music. It was always playing at home. Always. My father loved the instrument. We all did. I still do, but I shove away the past, reminding myself this is the present, and I want to live in the present. For once in my life, I need to live in the moment, if only for a weekend. I grab my towel and dry off, eager to enjoy the luxury of readying myself while he does what we discussed: practices his craft.
Thirty minutes later, I’m in Kace’s robe, rather than the pink silk robe I’d found in the bags, and beneath it, I’m wearing a lacy bra and panty set that cost a small fortune. My makeup is done in soft pinks and my hair is flat ironed to a soft brown silk, compliments of amazing products. And Kace’s violin notes are still hauntingly, beautifully present. I shut the bedroom door to try on clothes because no girl wants the man in her life to see her wearing something that looks horrible. I settle for a pair of dressy black jeans, a light V-neck black sweater, and a beautiful pair of high heel ankle boots. I also yank the tag off the adorable round black Gucci purse which is thousands cheaper than the pink Chanel bag. I have no history with this bag that won’t be created this weekend with Kace. I fill the bag with the personal items I will need to have handy, and then pack the Gucci suitcase I’ve been given as well.
Kace’s violin goes silent and I quickly prepare to join him, checking my phone to find it only ten percent charged. I consider dialing Nancy to check on the shop before I lose the little charge I have left, but decide better. I gave her time off for her protection. I’m about to slide it into my purse when it rings with a call from Alexander.
It’s a call I’d like to avoid, but he represents money I desperately need. I take the call. “Alexander,” I greet.
“Have you considered my offer to work for me?”
“Yes, but being frank here,” I say, “I’m uncomfortable. I don’t like being in the middle of you and Ed’s war. And he was my client first.”
“And I’m concerned. You seem to have a pattern of putting yourself in the path of powerful, ruthless men. First Ed, and now, from what I understand, Kace August.”
My lips purse. “Please don’t go there with Kace again. I’m not a part of whatever squabble is between you two.”
He laughs. “Squabble. We have far more than a squabble between us. Let’s meet tonight. Let’s get this contract signed and if we must, we’ll talk about Ed.”
“Look, Alexander—” In that moment, I feel Kace, even before I look to the doorway to find him standing there tall and strong, his jaw hard, his eyes harder, a pulse of dark energy waving off of him.
“Aria?” Alexander prods.
I wet my lips, cut my gaze from Kace’s, and force my reply. “I’ll call you Monday and we’ll talk about the contract.”
“He’s there, isn’t he?” he asks, the phone line now charged as tense as this room. “You’re with him. Of course. He moves fast.” When I would argue that far from true, he’s already moved on. “When can we meet? Commit to a time and place now.”
Kace must hear the question because his stare sharpens, his expression tightening.
“I’ll call you Monday, Alexander,” I say. “I need to go.” I hang up. “That was—”
“Alexander,” Kace supplies. “I heard.”
“Yes,” I say, not sure why I was even telling him who it was. He knew. I said Alexander’s name.
He saunters toward me, closing the space between me and him, stopping in front of me, his hand sliding possessively to my waist. He pulls me to him. “What are you doing with him?” His voice is low but tight, his mood dark.
“He offered me a retainer for some wine purchases. He’s trying to push out one of my other clients he apparently used to work for. I’m caught in the middle.”
“Because he’s a manipulative bastard. And he wants to fuck you. You know that, right?”
“You’ve said that. And he would say the same of you. He has. You both keep telling me the other one is the bad one.”