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“You’re telling me you’re giving away a house?”
I’m not sure if her question is rhetorical but I answer anyway. “It’s for a good cause.”
Chelsea shuffles from one foot to the other. “Breast cancer. Farrah told me all about your mother. Lucian, I’m so sorry.”
There it is right there. The reason she reciprocated the kiss, and the look in her eyes I couldn’t quite place. Pity. Pity is such a condescending emotion. To pity shows empathy, but to be pitied shows weakness. This is the second time I have been met by Chelsea’s compassion, but there will not be a third.
“Love me, hate me or loathe me, but never pity me,” I say as memories of my mother strike me deep, so deep that I can feel the cracks making their way to my heart.
“I’m sorry.” Gazing up at me, Chelsea rubs her hand up and down the length of her arm. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t. I’m fine.” I glance around the room, needing a momentary distraction, and that comes in the form of Angus Blackwell.
“Angus,” I say, and with my hand placed on the small of Chelsea’s back I walk a few steps forward and greet the old man.
Angus is quite the character, dressed in his signature pea-green suit and matching top hat. Angus lifts a monocle to his left eye and studies me for a beat. “Ah, young Calloway, how’s life treating you?”
I flash a glance at Chelsea and smile. “Very well, as you can see.”
“How’s your old man doing?” Angus and my father go way back, though Angus’s wealth is derived from pharmaceuticals. Growing bored of having all his eggs in one basket, Angus was more than happy to invest in the Calloways’ cruise liner business. He is always dropping not-so-subtle hints that he wants to become a partner.
“You know my father. Busy working, and when he isn’t in his office, he is occupying the golf course.”
“Is he ever going to retire?” Angus presses, running his index finger up and down the length of his wiry moustache.
The news that my father is retiring isn’t yet public knowledge, and that is how it will remain. “You know my father; he will take his laptop and phone to the grave. Tell me all about your new home in Swansea.” I change the subject because as much as I like and respect Angus, the man’s the world’s worst gossip.
Chelsea stands in total silence as Angus and I talk. It isn’t long before he invites me to join him at his private lake.
“Fishing? I would be delighted,” I say.
“Will the young lady be joining you?”
I won’t be able to join Angus in Swansea for a few months, by which time Chelsea’s and my arrangement will be over. I fear that when our time is up I shall never want to let her go. My only hope is I can present her with enough of an incentive that she’ll never want to leave.
Chelsea laughs. “Fishing isn’t really—”
“She would be delighted,” I answer for her.
When my conversation with Angus comes to an end, Chelsea and I take a quick turn around the room. I manage to locate my little sister, who is standing possessively in front of a trio of designer handbags.
I casually make my way over to where she is standing. “Sister dearest,” I say only loud enough that she can hear. With an arm draped around Chelsea, I use my free hand to give Farrah a small nudge. “Why don’t you step aside so that other people may admire the designer bags.”
“Sure thing,” she says with a smile so sharp it would slice through titanium. Though I give my sister credit for not reacting, because letting her mouth run away with her is a trait she has always been unable to control.
When Farrah’s back is turned and she walks in the opposite direction I place a bid on the trio of bags. A bid I know won’t be beaten. I request that my identity remain anonymous when the names of the highest bidders are announced at the end of the evening. I plan to surprise Farrah with the bags on her eighteenth birthday.
I fill out several additional ledgers, bidding on a wide range of items. From the auction I direct Chelsea through the double doors and back into the main room. From this moment on we are the perfect duo. Our relationship is so believable to the outside world that I almost believe it myself. Chelsea returns my glances, laughs at my jokes, and joins in on conversations with other guests. We mingle, drink champagne and snack on the hors d’oeuvres. With Chelsea on my arm, I glide around the room like a man who has everything, because in this moment I have.
I smile big as people pass me by but stop suddenly when I come face to face with a person, a woman I never thought I’d lay eyes on again.
“Lucian.” Her voice fills my ears like liquid lava. She smiles at me, though glowers at Chelsea.
I swallow. “Samantha.”
Chelsea
Ismile and await a formal introduction, but my smile is met with a scowl.
