Page 66 of Pretender

It’s a thought that makes me forget how to breathe for a moment, and I just stand there, letting him take me in.

“Thank you,” I say after way too long. “And thank you for this,” I say, pulling lightly on the skirt of the dress as I swivel my hips, showing how the fabric moves around my knees and calves. “It’s truly the most magnificent dress I’ve worn.”

“Truly magnificent,” Aiden repeats, his voice close to a whisper.

Ready to go, in our new clothes and shoes (mine are golden sandals and already my favourites), Aiden pulls out his card to pay while the woman talks. She stops mid-sentence and stares at the card.

“Aurellan?” she asks, lifting her gaze to him again.

“Sì, è il cognome di mio padre. Era di qui.”

I study the side of his face as he talks. His jaw flexes. Did he say padre? His father something?

“Era un nome di copertura degli Aurato, no?” She gesticulates wildly and I worry she’ll pull a muscle. Why is she asking about Aurato, isn’t that this place?

He hesitates, or he’s thinking? I’m not sure how to interpret the change in him, but it’s like I can feel his muscles tensing. The air around him shifts.

“Non credo.” Aiden gives a little shrug.

I don’t know what she asked, but I’m quite sure he’s not telling her the truth.

“Dovrebbe visitare il museo, è qui vicino.”

Museum? What the hell is going on here?

“Lo farò, grazie.”

We leave the shop and I have to ask.

“What was it about your name? And something about a museum?”

Aiden traces his thumb across his lower lip.

“I heard something about padre, is your father from here?” I ask tentatively. I have a vague recollection of him saying his father took his mother back to his hometown, but was it Florence?

I’m not one to press people unless it’s important. We’re not close enough yet, but I do want to understand him better. It’s getting clearer that I’ve not interpreted his charm-side correctly, and I’d like to get to know this man who’s turning into a real friend.

Aiden drops his hand, sighing. “Yes, this is where he’s from.”

“Can we take a look?” I point to the museum next door. “It’s right here.”

“Sure.”

The museum is a history of the Casa Aurato brand, from the early 1900s through to modern high fashion. There are dresses and suits, different types of fabrics, and stages of design showcased. It’s a vast space with sections dedicated to shoes and dresses of the different decades, as well as production innovations and methods. It’s bright and spacious and my mind is working hard to take it all in. To decide where to start. Aiden starts at the right by the white wall of shoes and their designs through the ages. He puts his hands in his pockets and his gaze sweeps across the display.

“Wow,” I breathe, but in my periphery Aiden’s already moving on, so I follow him. What did the woman at the shop say about this place? Is his family related to this family somehow?

I want to see Aiden’s face, but he keeps walking, glancing around before moving on to the next section. I take a minute to appreciate the corner dedicated to the 1950s and the gorgeous shapes and colours of the dresses of that era. The wide skirts, the Bardot necklines. Bold prints and colours.

I rush past the next decades to find Aiden, and there he is.

He’s standing in front of a blue wall with a large painting of a sturdy, black-haired man with a solid, dented chin. Black and white photographs surround the artwork.

I step closer to see what Aiden’s focusing on. The painting has a small plaque that reads Aldo Aurato, 1952.

“Is he the founder?” I ask and Aiden hums. I take that as a ‘yes’. The man in the painting has blue eyes. I always pegged it as an Aiden thing, that dark hair versus light eyes.

Aiden leans in, seemingly entranced by the photos. They show the man from the painting, much older, with a grey-haired woman, and a younger couple; laughing, holding a baby. It doesn’t have names on but is dated 1965. The person I’m guessing is the father of the baby also has that dented chin. Like father like son.