Thirty Nights (American Beauty #1)(86)

Javier looks bewildered. “Did you just use British slang?”

“Umm, yes, I reckon I did!” Good, that seems to distract everyone! Aiden is smiling without his dimple. Javier is blinking furiously. I skip to Aiden and rest my hands on his tense chest, feeling his strong hands clutching my waist like they are speaking words of their own.

“Thank you for everything,” I tell him.

“Be careful. And don’t forget your presents and your camera.”

“Oh, bloody hell! Thank you for reminding me.”

Benson opens the trunk and takes out the enormous cardboard box that contains all the turquoise gifts. I march to pick it up but all three give me a glare that says plainly drop it or ICE will be the least of your worries. Aiden nods once at Benson, who takes off toward the museum faster than Javier and I can blink.

“See you later, Mr. Hale,” Javier says, and follows Benson. I have a feeling he just gave us a moment alone.

I rise on my tiptoes to kiss Aiden expecting just a peck on the lips with Javier around. But his hands fist in my hair, and he kisses me once, hard. No extravagant dips or holds. Just a mouth-to-mouth kiss, like an exchange of air or a secret sign. And because of that, it leaves me equally breathless. I don’t want to leave him out here by himself when the rest of my world is inside. Hydrogen, 1.008—

“Have you reached magnesium yet?” he says.

How does he know? “No, just started your chemical namesake.”

“Toxic uranium?”

I pretend to smack his chest. “No! Helium. Nontoxic, rare on earth, and escapes easily.” I reach on my toes again and kiss his scar. “Don’t escape, Aiden.” I love you, I tell him with my eyes and run after Javier and Benson lest the words burst out on their own.





Chapter Thirty-Eight





Spartan


Javier pauses at the double doors of the English Silver gallery. Salsa music floats from the inside. His eyes are deep, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Hey, before we go in, can we stop by Euro Art really quick?” Javier says, glancing at Benson.

“Sure,” I say but my insides are spinning like the salsa records. I know this will be about Aiden and I know that Javier speaks with the kinds of truth you cannot unhear.

I turn to Benson, almost wishing he needed help carrying the boxes. “Thank you so much, Benson. You’re a wizard.”

He blushes to his ears. “That’s my job title, Miss Snow.”

I laugh. “Give him a kiss from me.”

“That’s not in my job description, Miss Snow.” His lips are twitching in a smile.

“Not even on his cheek?”

He loses his stoic expression. “I’ll see what I can do, ma’am.”

I laugh and follow Javier down the hall to the European Art exhibit. For a while, we do not speak. Just his polished shoes and my new cream Louboutin heels ringing on the marble floor. The ancient eyes of muses follow us from their frames. I am suddenly envious of their security.

Javier stops in front of an 1805 painting by Fran?ois Lebarbier. A Spartan Woman Giving a Shield to Her Son, the title card reads.

“Look at her face.” Javier breaks the silence, his fingers weaving through the air as though he is drawing her profile. I follow their motion, focusing on the chestnut-haired woman and her gaze at her son. Instantly, I think of Aiden’s mum, Stella.

“She is afraid,” he says. “Look at the dark shadow on her cheek. But she doesn’t show it. She’s smiling at him.”

I smile too, watching her curved, pale lips.

“Now, look at the Spartan.” Javier’s voice deepens, his finger tracing the warrior’s rippling shoulders. His back is to the viewer but his face is to Stella. Every muscle band from his rocklike calves to his hand gripping the sharp spear is ready for destruction.

“Totally deadly, yet he’s watching her with need, maybe because she has the shield that might save him.”

I stare at the warrior’s face without blinking. There is a childish craving on it, waiting for his mother to hoist the shield on his forearm.

Javier looks at me. “Do you think he will come home to her?”

At the question, tears singe my eyes but I cannot look away from the painting. “I don’t know,” I whisper. “Why are you showing me this?”

He puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me to face him. “Because I’m worried about you…you and Hale. See, he reminds me a bit of this warrior here. There is an anger about Hale—something is not right. For example, the way he looked at me just now, like he was going to rip my head off. But then you get near him and he looks at you with a desperate need like this Spartan here.”

“Why is that a bad thing?”

“Because with all that, he can’t even put aside a conference call to make time for you. He throws all this cash your way, buys all these presents, but he can’t even bother to take two floors to meet your family. That’s why it’s bad.”

My mouth dries and I look back at the Spartan warrior, his back strained with the weight of his armor. But Javier’s words have thickened the air. It sludges in my airways, unable to come either in or out.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on between you two, hmm? Last week, you said you weren’t seeing him again but it felt like there was more to the story. Then this week, he calls me, taking over this whole damn party.”