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CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Aurelia
I showerand change into shorts and a tank, then I do what I hardly ever do when I’m planning to spend a night in watching crappy movies and stuffing my face with bad food. I check myself out in the mirror. Without makeup, I look even younger than I am. Maybe sixteen, seventeen. I pull out my makeup bag and apply some concealer, blush and mascara. I still look too young. I layer on some shadow and run a kohl pencil along my eyelids. Marginally better. I could pass for twenty-one, twenty-two maybe.
I stand back and stare at my reflection. What am I trying to achieve? Do I want Isaac to simply notice me? Something tells me he already has, so what is it? Do I want him to make a move? Just the thought makes me blush and I feel like a damn adolescent, not a strong female performer who has no qualms about forcing my sex appeal onto hundreds of thousands of fans. As my eyes roam my face, my large brown eyes, my carefully mussed-up hair, my lightly glossed lips, a thought occurs to me. I want to affect him and I want to see it. I want to be reassured that this isn’t all in my head. I know he feels something for me, despite the difference in our age, and the responsibility he has towards me. I want him to show me, in some small way, that he’s attracted to me—beyond that one time when he saw me in a corset and very little else—so I know I’m not going insane.
I walk out of my suite and head straight for the kitchen. I’m nervous, and my shaking hands make opening the popcorn wrapper a lot more challenging than it should be. Isaac is standing in front of the giant TV screen with the remote in his hand, scanning through potential movies.
“Did you have anything in mind?” he asks, without looking round.
“Something scary,” I reply, focusing on the task of finding a bowl to pour the popcorn into.
“Yeah, you already said that, but are you into blood and guts? Or freak the shit out of yourself scary? Or ghosts and ghouls?”
“Um…” I locate a bowl and place it on the counter. “I don’t mind. I likedGet Out…” I turn the bag upside down.
“Psycho thriller, huh? I’m seeing you in a different light, Aurelia.”
I turn too quickly and popcorn rains down on the counter. “Shit.”
I sense Isaac coming towards me. “Ah man, you know this means I’m gonna have to let you share my bag, and Isaac doesn’t usually share food.”
He bends down to where I’m crouched on the floor scooping up pieces of popcorn. My hands are still shaking.
“Hey.” I feel his finger under my chin and I look up, nervously. “You ok? You’re shaking.”
“Yeah, I’m fine, bit cold, that’s all.”
“Come here, sit on the couch and I’ll fetch a blanket.”
He pulls me to my feet then looks at me again, narrowing his eyes as they roam my face. I suddenly feel uncomfortable about the makeup I’ve applied. He sees me covered in it every night on stage, but as soon as we’re back in the villa, I always wash it off.
“Wh—what?” I stammer.
“Nothing.” He leads me to the sofa and sits me down carefully, like I’m eighty years old. Then he goes to his suite and returns with a beautifully soft, grey cashmere blanket. I cuddle it to me, to give him the impression I really am cold and not just shivering with lust-sick nerves. Even though we spend every night in the villa together, tonight feels as though we’re on a date. I wonder if he feels it too.
“Soda?” he asks.
“Can I get a hot chocolate?” Might as well keep this pretense up.
He looks at me, amused. “Sure. Coming right up.”
Once Isaac has cleared the kitchen, he brings over the bowl of popcorn and places it on the table. “You can share mine,” he winks. Then he hands me a giant mug of hot chocolate and sits down beside me with a bottle of alcohol-free beer.
“How aboutThe Purge?” he says, crossing an ankle over his knee.
“The what?” I take the opportunity to look at his profile. He has a look of mischief in his eye and I notice the corner of his lips twitch as though he’s holding back a smile. Sometimes he seems a lot younger than he is. Other times, like when he first moved me into the villa, he appears older. Either way, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to mess with him. He’s not built as large as some of the other members of the security team, but with his firm Italian features and the tastefully placed tattoos sneaking out from beneath his shirts and t-shirts, he can look just as menacing.
“The Purge,” he grins. “It’s a personal favorite.” He twists to face me and pulls up one knee to rest between us. “Imagine the United States government sanctioned one night a year when all crime was permitted. The film is basically about what happens on the night—how people vent their pent-up anger…”
I arch an eyebrow, suspiciously. “And you like this movie because the idea of killing people without any consequence appeals to you?”
He doesn’t answer straight away but allows his eyes to roam my face. I wish I knew what he was thinking, but I can’t tell if he’s confirming my summary or feeling insulted by it. “No, I like this movie because I’m interested in the lengths people will go to, to protect themselves.”
I look away, feeling slightly foolish. “Right. Sounds good. Let’s do it.”
Just before he turns back to the screen, I shiver, involuntarily. I’m feeling more and more small and vulnerable in his presence, as though he knows my secret—that I feel something for him—and he wants to make me sweat.
