Page 16 of Stick to the Deal
“There’s a truth in photography that other mediums are lacking. A subjectiveness to paint or clay the camera removes. Sure, you can still manipulate the image with software after the fact, but that original will always tell the truth.” She finally takes a bite of the appetizer.
“You don’t edit your photos?”
She shakes her head slightly as she sips her wine. “I’ll do some lighting tweaks. At most, I’ll remove something from the background, but my subject remains unaltered.”
Her words roll around my head as the starters are whisked away. Our main course arrives and Nic’s other dinner partner draws her into a discussion, leaving me to my thoughts.
The truth.
My life is filled with half-truths at best. Polite, meaningless conversations. Image over substance. Every move I make under a magnifying glass, so every move must be carefully made. So much so I must arrange a fake marriage.
The flaky fish turns to rubber in my mouth.
To my left, Nic’s smoky laugh sounds, and like a good scotch, it warms my gut.
No, not a fake marriage. Certainly not a love match, but a true partnership built on shared goals and ideals. That has to be a stronger foundation than the fleeting feelings of lust.
Although, I’d challenge you to find someone who didn’t desire Nic—even in that ghastly dress.
I breathe a sigh of relief as the final course is served. Having Nic by me has made the dinner infinitely easier, but I’m still looking forward to getting back to my flat. I manage to draw no more unwanted attention. Everyone happily ignores me until the party breaks up.
The guests stand to leave. I pull Nic’s chair back for her, then drop my hand to the small of her back. She gives me a wide smile as her candy-colored dress puffs around her, free once more from it’s confines. My pulse beats erratically. Unlike the polite expressions of earlier, this smile is real, and just for me. I lead her to the entry for her coat, when Mr. Ashcroft stops us.
“Ravenscourt, my boy, I have some business I’d like to discuss over a scotch.”
When I finally arrive home, I’m struck by how silent it is. Normally, the quiet is comforting, but tonight something is missing. I roughly tug at my tie as I stare out the window at the city. Like every night lately, my thoughts turn to Nic. She didn’t eat much at dinner—probably too worried about the dress. Without consciously thinking about it, I pull out my phone.
Me
Fancy a burger? I could go for some real food.
Nic
Yes! I know the perfect pub. I’ll drop a pin.
My lips curl into a smile as I pad into my closet to change.
Chapter 10
Black Swan
Icheck the time on my phone yet again. She’s cutting it a bit close, isn’t she? We really must be heading into town for the ballet.
Despite the ice pick width of my heels, my steps eat up the distance of the entryway. The white kitchen doors swing open as I push through to find our housekeeper and cook, Gloria, kneading dough. How many times did I rush in here after school to the same sight?
“Hey Glo, where is Grandmama? We’re going to be late.”
The older woman smiles as she wipes her brow with the back of her hand. Her wiry curls are more gray than black these days, and her apron is looking tattered. The smile on her face is exactly how I remember, though perhaps also a bit worn. “Oh, honey, she didn’t tell you? Madam’s taken to bed. I think she overdid it a tad this week. You should go on without her.”
My brows pinch as I frown. “Is she alright?” Grandmama has always been a force of nature. When did she start slowing down? “Maybe I should stay and call for a doctor?”
Gloria waves me off. “Don’t you dare. She’d want you to still go. You’ve always loved the ballet.”
“Well, if you’re certain.” I had been looking forward to this all week. The tickets are paid for, it would be a shame to waste them. Leaning in, I plant a kiss on her pillow-soft cheek, the skin softer than velvet. My fingers lash out and steal a pieceof pie dough as I dance back towards the door and away from her weak censure. “Make sure you bring her up dinner and some tea. Thanks, Glo.”
As I fold myself into the waiting town car, I replay our arrival home last night in my mind. Was Grandmama off even then?
The ride back had been silent, other than a muttered comment about letting anyone out in society these days. In the foyer, Grandmama had stopped, one pump resting on the bottom stair and her gem encrusted hand on the railing. Her eyes were clouded as she turned back to me over her shoulder. “Thank you for attending tonight. I hope the company wasn’t overly rude,” she’d said.
