Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)(74)

I put my arm around her shoulders. “I remember but I’m stronger now. Because of you. Besides, you may still get your wish because no one wants to push me away more than Aiden.” My voice drops to a whisper. I try to breathe as the future he may have saved spans colorless in the horizon without him.

Reagan gives me a hug that squeezes out whatever oxygen I was managing to draw in. “Of course he won’t push you away. And if he does, he’ll be sorry he was born. Now, stop this rubbish before I take the mickey out of you.”

And with that misplaced Britishism, I know she is back on my side. I hold her tightly, kissing her hair and looking at our pictures on her wall. The thought of ever losing her competes with Aiden’s void so I pull away.

“I started some soup. Should be ready in about fifteen minutes. Now I better go find him before he convinces himself that you’re right and scarpers off.”

She smiles and gives me a peck on the cheek. “You used a British word while talking about him.”

I laugh. “Did I? Your dream come true. See? He’s not a tosser. A right sight better than your Mr. Gandy.” I point at her screensaver collage of the British model.

“I wouldn’t go that far. Okay, okay.” She raises her hands in surrender. “Do you want to borrow my good-luck burgundy dress?” She stands to go to her closet but then stops, smacking her forehead with an “oh!” Her head whips around and she smiles.

“Actually no, not my dress. He needs to see the real you and he’ll never be the same again. Wear your mom’s dresses and make him fall him in love with you until he dies.”





Chapter Thirty-Four





Cloudless Climes


At Aiden’s home, I take advantage of his conference call with Tokyo to put away my mum’s tea dress in his closet. In case we go out tonight. The dress is sea gray with white roses printed along the full skirt. I caress the petal-soft silk, loving the way it blends with Aiden’s ubiquitous navy, black and charcoal suits.

I step back to take a picture with my new Nikon but as I focus, the lens zooms in on the hand-carved wooden box on the tall armoire in the back. The sun glows upon it like a shrine. There is something so reverential about its throne-high position that I rise on my tiptoes to go investigate.

“Miss Snow.” A quiet voice thwarts my snooping. I jump, looking back at the closet door. Mrs. Davis is standing there in her white apron and navy velvet flats.

“I’m sorry I startled you, Miss Snow,” she says with a smile. I take a small breath and say a silent, nonscientific thank you to luck for sparing me the embarrassment of being caught snooping on my…whatever he is. Dream, mission in life, blood of my veins, oxygen of my lungs. I stop before I decide to give up science and become a bad poet.

“No, I’m fine, Mrs. Davis. I was just absorbed.”

“Oh, please, call me Cora.” She smiles as she waddles inside. She sees my dress and her smile becomes a grin. “What a beautiful dress!” Then her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “Between us, Miss Snow, it’s nice having some girly things around for a change. I’ve never seen other girls here before.”

I almost hug her. “Thank you,” I say instead. “And please call me Isa.”

“Well, Isa, I came to ask if you need anything washed? Or something from the store?”

“Oh, no, but thank you! I brought my things.” I lift my empty rucksack as evidence.

She smiles. “Very good. I hope you stay this time, Isa.” She starts padding out of the closet but then stops and looks at me. “Mr. Hale is a good man. Difficult, yes, but good.” She nods once and walks off.

I watch the bow of her apron, thinking of Mr. Darcy’s housekeeper, Mrs. Reynolds, recommending her master to Elizabeth Bennett at Pemberley.

She opens the bedroom door and freezes. Because standing there, with an enormous purple box under one arm and his hand hovering over the doorknob, is none other than my Mr. Darcy.

“Cora?” He frowns in surprise, his eyes scanning the bedroom. When he spots me in the closet, he manages to smile and frown at the same time.

“Hello, Mr. Hale, sir. Just passing through, looking for dirty laundry.”

He smiles with his full dimple. “I’m sure you found plenty.” He tilts his head toward me.

She laughs, waits for him to lean against the wall and slips out of the door.

“Thank you,” Aiden says behind her, who knows for what.

“Anytime,” she answers, her footsteps echoing down the hall.

Aiden enters the bedroom, looking at me with a raised eyebrow. He sets the giant box on the bed and saunters to me.

“Charming my staff?” He smiles, pulling me close to him. He traces my lower lip with his thumb.

“I have to charm whomever I can these days.”

I’m about to ask about the purple box but he leans in, his lips millimeters from mine. “I don’t believe I have kissed you in my closet yet,” he whispers.

I get lost in his lips, kissing him hard like the kiss might morph into more nights here, more of my dresses blending with his suits. When my breathing becomes so loud that even Cora in the kitchen can hear it, he chuckles and frees my lips.

“Oxygen, Elisa. Come, I have something for you.” He wraps his arms around my waist and walks us to the bed.