Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)(30)

He shakes his head again but lets it go. “Well, you want to stay here so you’ll be seated and relaxed, rather than standing. But we know you have to leave, so your feet will point toward the door to illustrate the conflict and uncertainty. He can see what he wants in the image.”

Brilliant. Javier is giving me a choice in art when I don’t have it in real life.

“With that message, I’m guessing you don’t want me to grin like a madwoman or look morose?”

Javier smiles. “You’re guessing right. I want you to be you. Think only of today, only of this room, and only of what you’re feeling right now.” He ruffles my hair and pads over to his easel.

His eyes focus on me. I start to close mine before remembering that this time, I need them open. The sound of his sketching takes over. Soon, I’m daydreaming.

I wonder where Aiden is in this palace. Can he see us? Instantly, I shiver. The idea of his eyes on me—now primal, now soft—sets my skin ablaze. What will we do when we’re alone? Will he still be furious and pin me against a wall, tear off my sheet and growl in my ear you’re staying? Or will the tender Aiden who buys every single flower to guess my favorite be waiting? I don’t know which one I want more. Is there a way to merge them? Kiss them, bite them. My thighs flex and I shift in my chair.

Javier looks up.

“What’s up with you? You look all red.”

“Do I? Must be the heat from the lights,” I mumble.

“Do you need a break or something?”

“No, no! Keep going.”

A break is all I need right now. I want this to end as soon as possible, because now, in this shirt that smells like Aiden, my achy thighs are not the only problem. The bigger problem is that I’m pretty sure this is what people mean by “really wet”. And the silky knickers will probably show it. Hydrogen, 1.008. Helium, 4.003. Lithium, 6.94… Oh, blast, it’s not working. Right. 173 times 432 is—umm—74,736.

“That’s it. I’m calling a break,” Javier says with finality, shaking his head. Good thing, too, because Mrs. Davis comes in, bringing snacks and drinks. I attack the ice with the desperation of an Eskimo in the Sahara Desert. After bread, salami and cheese, Javier puts me back to work.

I take my seat again, my eyes drifting to the clock on the wall. Instantly, every ounce of desire that was ravaging my body minutes ago vanishes. Thirty days. It’s excruciating enough to split them between Reagan, Javier and the Solises. How can I give even a single day to Aiden? And what happens if I do? Already, he feels fundamental somehow. If I let him in, will I be able to let him go?

“Okay, that’s it for today,” Javier announces, breaking my thoughts. I stumble up and stretch my legs, clutching my sheet to my chest as Javier stows his brushes away.

“Are you going to leave everything here?”

“Yeah. I have a few more sessions left before I go back to Feign. But I’ll sketch you first so you don’t waste your time with this.”

When he is finished organizing his supplies, Benson offers to take Javier home.

“Isa?” Javier looks at me. “Are you coming?”

I guess I knew he would ask. “I think I’m hanging out with Aiden tonight.”

A shadow of worry blurs Javier’s eyes.

“But I will see you tomorrow. And plenty after that, too, until—” I can’t finish my sentence because my throat constricts. And also because Benson is here.

Javier watches me for a long moment—searching my face like a map. I don’t know what he sees there, but his lips press slightly, his chin puckering.

“We need you too, sweetheart,” he says, and with a last nod, he darts out of the room, Benson behind him.

A choking gasp bursts from my mouth, but I gnash my teeth together. I run down the hall straight to Aiden’s bedroom, fighting the fire in my throat. My clothes are at the foot of the bed where I left them. I barge into the restroom, lock the door and put them on. On a whim I decide to keep my new knickers. Who knows what will happen tonight? Truthfully, I may be assuming things because Aiden has not asked me to stay. Either way, I’ll have a souvenir.

The idea of a night here unfolds before me like the American flag at the immigration office. I sit on the edge of the marble bathtub that looks like it could hold six people. The image makes me nauseous. How many women have been in this tub, sitting here as I am, perhaps feeling the same despair over Aiden Hale as I do? Can I be another number? Can I be something more? Even when the clock is ticking?

Instinctively, I grasp my dad’s watch and in that grip, two answers emerge from the chaos:

One, Aiden Hale is dark, maybe even dangerous. His warnings—the flickering lights, the thousand-yard stare, the physical distance, the anger, the violence that radiates from him at certain moments—are living proof of that hypothesis. The right thing to do is to leave him and spend every minute I have with Javier and Reagan.

Two, I can’t do that.





Chapter Eighteen





Timeless


I march out of Aiden’s bedroom, down to the living room. I have my eyes on my red flats, planning my next words, when I almost collide with him in the kitchen. He looks warm, giddy even. The anger seems to have vanished. This is the look that confuses me above all others. The sheer joy amid bleakness and isolation. Arrested as I am by him, I can’t help the grin that splits my face in two.