Blossom in Winter (Blossom in Winter #1)(11)
Standing with Emma by the entrance, I start looking around to find Dad, but there are at least forty tables spread across the dark ballroom and something like four hundred guests sitting and two hundred standing. I don’t recognize anyone. The music is festive and a remix from the fifties, “Gotta Find a New World” by Al Green, is playing. The crowd looks enchanted. Couples are dancing as the waiters mingle among the guests with flutes of champagne. And photographers are flashing their lenses towards everyone and anyone—especially those standing in dark corners.
“Here we are, babygirl. Hmm…” Emma scans the room for her next prey, just like in a hunt. “Too many old men here. Where are the cute executives? Oh! Look that guy over there.”
I couldn’t care less but I pretend I do. “Where?”
“Between the blonde and the brunette at the table on the left.”
“I don’t see any guy there. Just women…”
Behind us amid the giddy female laughter, there is a particular masculine voice that sounds familiar. My ears perk up instinctively. I know this voice! I shut my eyes for an instant, walking down my memory lane. It’s a voice from my childhood, but who? Nevertheless, with so much noise interfering, it’s way too hard to remember. I reopen my eyes and try once more to find Dad for the infamous picture.
But the voice comes back and persists. This time louder and giving me goose bumps. I turn around, trying to put a face to that voice once and for all. To my surprise, all I can see are the rears of three women standing beside the marble stairs in front of him. After walking a bit to my left, finally his figure emerges...
I gasp and blink twice to be sure I’m wide-awake. “Alex?” I mumble.
“Who?” Emma asks.
“Nothing.” I turn back at her voice. “I’m gonna get a drink.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No, that’s fine. I can manage.”
But I’m not getting a drink. I cross the entire ballroom, take the door on my left, and head back to the entrance to check once more. It cannot be him. But the voice, the face…
My heartbeat starts pounding faster with every step. The closer I get to the entrance, the louder I can hear the laughs of those women.
I’m now close enough to see.
What? Is he really back?
My jaw drops at the sight of him, and I find my eyes blinking faster than they should.
Wow. I realize I haven’t seen him in ten years!
Alexander Van Dieren is standing near the marble stairs surrounded by attentive ladies. Sporting a tailor-made black tux, he looks even better than I recall. Unbelievable. It’s really him. I don’t remember him being so lean, his shoulders so wide, and tall—well over six feet. However, I do remember his sharp, stubbled jawline, his charismatic presence, and his rugged appearance. His smile hasn’t changed either—always so charming and rare. His stare is mysterious and piercing as always, and with those irresistible blue eyes, he’s hard to forget. In fact, he’s the only man I know with the same eye color as me. His mid-length hair has retained its brown sheen, still so thick, dense, a bit wavy and wild. I remember how his girlfriends loved to play with it, brushing some strands to the sides or behind.
His face has a healthy hue, looking tanned like Dad’s. I, on the other hand, have always been the fairest of the family, “like snow white,” they would joke.
I feel my eyes watering from staring for so long, my heart thundering, and my stomach burning. He really is back. That’s why Dad wanted me here. To surprise me, I think with a smile.
Mr. Van Dieren is Dad’s best friend, utmost confidant, and business partner. Oh, and he’s also my godfather. Although he’s fifteen years younger than Dad, they are both inseparable, just like brothers. They met twenty years ago when Dad was one of the portfolio managers at the Van Dieren’s family office in the Netherlands. And since Alex had always wanted to make a name for himself, away from his family business, they decided to join forces and start their very own investment firm: Gatt-Dieren Capital, with offices in New York and Amsterdam.
I spent a big part of my childhood with him. We used to go to the lakes in Central Park to feed ducks and swans, to the beach in the Hamptons to build sandcastles, and to Aspen to ski. In fact, he even taught me how to ride my first pony. I was pretty scared of ponies and heights at the time. Oh boy. He was so caring, supportive, patient, and funny. When it rained, we’d watch cartoons while eating marshmallows until late. I mean, I would be eating the marshmallows; Alex doesn’t like sweets. He was also present the very first time I ever painted.
But all of a sudden, when I was seven, Alex got a new girlfriend—Amanda Parker. And from that moment on, he didn’t come back to play with me. When I finished my first painting, I was so proud. I wanted to give it to him and show him how talented I was. But he never came back to pick up his gift.
Days passed, then weeks, and ultimately months, and it was like he’d gone from my life forever. I would often ask Dad about him. Did I do something to upset him? Do you know if Alex will come back? Dad just said Alex had some personal obligations and had returned to the Netherlands.
But Alex never wrote or even called. I can still remember the terrible sadness and pain I endured when he left, feeling so empty, so betrayed. After all, what kind of godfather disappears like that?