Vain (The Seven Deadly, #1)(64)

We both turned to see it was, indeed, Simon.

“Hello?” he answered, smiling up at me. “Yeah, we got separated. We’ll be there soon.”

He pressed end and I sank back into my seat.

“To be continued,” he said, kissing my temple.



Aubergine felt like a continuation of Abri Aberdeen’s home. It screamed elegance and contemporary and there wasn’t a moment it didn’t make you painfully aware of yourself, of where you placed your hands, where you looked, what you said and even how you felt. If Aubergine was a person, it would be Abri Aberdeen.

“Welcome to Aubergine. Name?” a clearly uninterested young woman asked us. When she glanced up, though, her tune changed a little. She smiled at Ian.

“We’re here with another party,” Ian told him. “Aberdeen?”

Her eyes grew round as saucers. “Of course, pardon me for not recognizing you. This way,” she said, scurrying in front of us. “Again,” she said over her shoulder, “forgive me. I’m so sorry.”

“Not a big deal,” Ian told her, shrugging his shoulders.

The young girl led us up a flight of stairs that stemmed from the main dining room to the mezzanine. Ian’s family was the only seated there. The perks of being the executive mayor, I supposed.

An unexpected surprise awaited us when we finally met the table. Instead of the three Aberdeens, a fourth patron had joined the dinner. A young, exquisitely beautiful girl with butterscotch hair and bright blue eyes. She looked stunned and wide-eyed. Already, I’d decided to like her.

“If I were to guess,” I whispered Ian’s direction, “I believe this may be Simon’s topic of discussion.”

He nodded. “Strap yourself in, Sophie Price. I believe things are about to get unpredictable ’round here,” he said, his accent thicker than I’d heard it in a while.

Simon and Henrik stood when we approached the table. Ian held my chair out for me and I sat. The boys followed suit. We all sat quietly and awkwardly, awaiting something, anything to happen. Rather, we all stared at Abri on edge.

“You’re being rude, Simon,” Abri finally spoke. “Introduce your friend to Ian and Miss Price.”

Uh-oh. Not looking good.

Simon sighed audibly and pressed his lids closed for a moment before leaning into his date toward us. “Ian, Sophie, this is Imogen. Imogen, this is Ian and Miss Sophie Price.”

“A pleasure,” I smiled and offered my hand.

Imogen’s tense shoulders relaxed an infinitesimal amount and she took my extended hand, shaking it. “Nice to meet you as well.”

Simon presented his own hand and did the same.

Formalities over with, we all eyed Abri, but she gave no indication it was okay to speak. I astonished myself. I couldn't believe I was bending to this ridiculous woman and her outrageous intimidation. I decided to ignore her. She already felt insane disdain toward me, what further damage could I possibly do?

I turned Imogen’s direction. “You’re English,” I stated with a smile. “What part do you hail from?”

“Manchester,” she said, smiling back, her shoulders relaxing another inch. “Have you ever been?”

“I have,” I told her. “It’s lovely there.”

“You’re kind,” she laughed.

“I actually stayed in Chester,” I corrected.

“Oh, yes, it’s very charming there.”

“Agreed,” I said, taking a sip of my water.

I took the opportunity to study the table and noticed an almost too well put together Abri staring our direction. I smiled softly as if I was unaware she was secretly seething inside before turning back Imogen’s way.

“What brings you to Cape Town?” I asked her.

“Simon does,” she said, laughing. “We attended graduate school at Oxford together.”

“Really?” I asked, leaning her direction more, her shoulders relaxed another inch. “How did you meet?”

“In our Stochastic Analysis class,” she said before looking at Simon.

“Goddard!” they said in unison before breaking into laughter.

It died quickly when Abri cleared her throat before taking a sip of her own water.

“Fascinating,” I said, turning toward Ian. “You never told me Simon went to Oxford.”

“Simon went to Oxford, Sophie.”

I rolled my eyes. The table seemed to be getting more comfortable by the moment. Imogen’s shoulders were almost completely at ease and Ian placed his arm on the back of my chair. Henrik and the four of us continued with our conversation until the waiter took our drink orders.

“We’ll have four glasses of your best red,” Abri ordered.

“Oh, just bring the bottle,” Henrik said.

Abri’s hand rested on her husband’s. “Henrik,” she said, tossing her eyes my direction.

Imogen looked at me, but I just rolled my eyes and shook my head. She nodded in understanding.

Henrik narrowed his gaze at his wife then back at the waiter. “Bring the bottle,” he said, handing him the wine menu.

When the waiter walked away, Abri sat up in her chair. “Why don’t you just come out with it, Simon?”

The entire table got quiet.