Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)(61)

“Yes, it does. By the way, Professor Denton is beyond himself with excitement and has asked, or rather begged, that he comes tomorrow. He has been there from the beginning, and I’d like to give him that opportunity. Is that all right with you?”

Another pause.

“Yes, that’s fine.” His voice is clipped. The dragon is alive and well and it’s taking aim at poor Denton.

The longer I’m on the line, the more my knees tremble. It’s a matter of time before my voice starts to shake. I have to quit while I’m ahead.

“So what time tomorrow, Mr. Hale?” Reagan hands me a pen and notepad as if there is any chance I would forget.

“How about ten at my office? I can send Benson to pick you up.” His tone is softer.

“Ten works but I don’t need a ride. Professor Denton will feel very slighted if I ride with anyone but him. But thank you for the offer.” I stick to British gentility, which is going to be my theme tomorrow.

“My pleasure, Elisa.” It sounds like he wants to say something else. He stays on the line.

“Thank you for putting this together so quickly for my benefit. I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.” Reagan breaks into a cheerleader dance, using napkins as pom-poms.

“It was…cathartic. I’ll see you tomorrow, Elisa.” He hangs up.

Cathartic? Does this man ever speak in plain, transparent English? I stare at the receiver, amazed that it survived the commotion. Reagan takes it from my hand and places it back on the wall.

“You were brilliant,” she says. “A total pro. If Aiden thought you were going to pine for him all day, he’s sorely disappointed. Now the real question is, what are you going to wear?”

She sprints to her closet mumbling to herself while I call Denton. When I finish, I have no time to take in what happened because Reagan is bombarding me with possible outfits. She thinks I should go for sexy and has four dresses that belong in a bar, not a boardroom.

“Reagan, no way. These are too obvious. I’m not going there looking like I’m begging for him to notice me. I just need to get through tomorrow with as much dignity as possible and deal with the rest of this mess on my own.”

Reagan pouts. “Okay, I see your point. It’s not that I think you should lure him. I just think you need to remind him of what he’s missing.”

Remind Aiden? Aiden doesn’t need reminders. He will remember every part of me—every flawed, inadequate part that couldn’t keep up with the fantasy—forever in his eternal mind.

“Do you want to see what I’m going to wear tomorrow?” I ask gently.

She smiles and lets it go. “Yes! Although I think it should involve a hat. Or at the very least a fascinator.”

She follows me into my room, discussing the merits of a birdcage hat. I dig in my microscopic closet for a garment bag in the back. This is one of my most precious treasures. My mum’s dress that she wore on her first interview at the Ashmolean. It’s one of those timeless pieces that look like something Jackie O. would wear. Lilac, three-quarter length sleeves and tailored. I’ve never had a chance to wear it. When I show it to Reagan, she whistles.

“Elisa Cecilia Snow, this is an amazing dress! Yes, forget everything else. That’s what you’re wearing.” She does not touch the silky fabric but looks at it with reverence.

“But you have to wear my lucky Louboutins,” she orders, her eyes still on the dress.

“Lucky? How are they lucky?” I’m all for luck these days.

“No man has ever turned me down when I was wearing them.” She shrugs.

“Reagan, that’s because you’re you. It has nothing to do with your shoes.”

She ignores me, bolts out of my room and comes back before I can blink, carrying the nude Lucky Shoes with their signature red soles.

“If I click the heels together three times, will they return me home?”

“Only if home is here, luv.” She throws her arm around my shoulders. “You’re really into him, aren’t you? I’ve never seen anyone’s knees give out from the sound of a voice alone,” she says with feeling.

“Yes, I guess I am. But that’s how it is for every woman after her first time, isn’t it?”

Reagan perches on my bed, shaking her head. “Not always, Isa. I was head over heels after my first time, but we had dated for a whole year. And I didn’t tremble at the sound of Jason’s voice. But you have it harder than I did because Jason was not a dragon in the morning. And he didn’t pay a million dollars to get me out of his life.”

“He’s also saving me, Reg,” I mumble.

“Yeah, out of guilt.”

I pick at the blanket that Maria knitted for my last birthday. “It’s my own fault anyway. I knew it was going to end and I still let it get here.”

She grips my hand. “You listen to me right now,” she says, squeezing my fingers on each word. “This was not your fault. You thought you’d get hurt because you had to leave. Not because you opened up to a man who treated you like a hooker in the morning.”

I sigh. The feeling is strange, empty—the way the wind may blow through a vacant crypt.

“You should get some rest,” Reagan says. “Big day tomorrow.” She pecks me on the cheek and leaves the room.