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“Please, come inside.”
We step inside a smaller room, and Tamara returns with two coffees. Lauren pulls a laptop out of her big purse and places it on the table. Kieran must really feel guilty. Or is it because he doesn’t care anymore? Or he’s confident enough that I won’t try to escape? Too many thoughts swirl in my head, causing a headache.
“Mr. Hunt told me you’d like to go to college. We could start with your application,” she begins.
“Aren’t most of them already filled?”
“Yes, but with a hefty donation . . .”
“I don’t want to take someone else’s place.”
She slides her black-rimmed glasses higher up her nose. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“What else do you do for Kieran?”
“All his social planning.”
“Are there any events coming up?”
“A few, but he said he wants you to focus on college first. There is time.”
I nod, swallowing the unpleasant lump lodged in my throat.
“Can you tell me more about what my husband does exactly when he’s out in public?”
“Mostly galas. He only accepts invitations for charity dinners, or when his favorite sculptor has an opening.”
I didn’t even know about his love of art. It’s surprising how I know next to nothing about Kieran, the man. By now Lauren has to think I am brain dead.
“What is the sculptor’s name?”
“Arturo de Savoja.”
We talk for a while longer and at the door, she offers me her business card. “Call me if you need anything. I am at your service. I’ll let you know how things go with your application.”
The moment she’s gone, I search the internet for Arturo de Savoja. I go to his website and the few sculptures he has displayed have me immersed in them, sharp edges, magnificent shapes of human perfection and disfigurement. Two halves carved out, reflecting the good and bad in humanity. They do something to me, like any good art does. I wonder if Kieran loves them for the same reason, for this striking view of perfection and complete destruction mingled into one human form.
The rest of the day, I write in a frenzy. When the words stop flowing, I save my work and shut the laptop. I cannot decide if I should move out of his bedroom again. But this move in, move out bothers me. Who does he think he is? I am staying. That is my room now, too.
“Aurora, is everything all right?” Tamara asks when she puts my dinner in front of me.
“Yes.”
“You both say that, yet neither of you seem like it.”
I force my lips into a small smile. “The food was excellent as ever.”
I return to our room, and scribble down in my notebook. One hour slips into another. I am so upset and confused. A ball of mixed feelings rolls in my belly, making me feel sick. I am both relieved and on edge when the door opens, and Kieran steps inside. He stops midway but masks his surprise quickly. He tugs at his collar, moving toward the walk-in closet.
His indifference kills me slowly. I don’t like it at all. I can’t stand it. I storm after him to find him undressing, watching me from the corner of his eye.
“Is there something you need, Aurora?” He uses my given name.
I want him to go back to calling me sweetheart and princess. He flipped everything inside me on its head.
“I’m not your dog, Kieran, or a damn ball you toss from room to room.”
His eyes cut through me as he continues undressing. What did I think I would achieve? That we’d talk about what happened last night.
