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“Can we also promise each other not to bring up the past while there? The last thing we need is to revisit heavy emotions when our mission is expansion.”
“I’m not certain my mission is expansion when—“
“Micola, I’m donating to your studio. Thatisan expansion.” Alex pours himself more tea as I sit in the truth.
“Okay, once your accountant sends me the number, I’ll decide if it’s a deal or not.”
Immediately, Alex pulls out his phone and starts texting. The waitress comes by and offers us food, but I decline. I think I need to go home and scream. Google London summer weather and start packing. See if my friend, Anastasia, is still living in Islington.
“What’s your email?”
Alex is right; we always did look good together. I shut myself up by giving him my email address. In less than a minute, an email is received with detailed specifics, including a handsome donation amount. Well, damn! I sign it electronically, thinking of the several New York events I’ll be missing this summer. I’m cool with it. So I think as I watch Alexander lean back into his booth chair with bright satisfied eyes and an arrogance so loud my bones rattle at it. This. This is going to be interesting.
Chapter 4
ALEXANDER
Nothinglikethechillof London’s summer breeze to remind me its beauty is mostly indoors than anywhere else. I’m not a fan of gray or rain or gloom, but most times, the folk in London know how to channel paradise by creating it in their indoor spaces.
My home in Knightsbridge is two stories and a half. As soon as you walk into the ground level, you are greeted with a long wide hallway. The staircase is to the left. If you walk straight, you enter the laundry room and a small outdoor patio filled with an array of vivacious flora and fauna, with a small restroom tucked to the side and a jacuzzi underneath an artistic display of lights.
The second floor is where the kitchen, living room, dining room, and two spare rooms lie. My interior eye has a heavy liking for sculptures, naturally. The second floor’s wall is painted a creamy beige, so the wooden sculptures that inhabit the space give the floor warmth and lux. Most of the sculptures are statues of various community people represented around the world; a beautiful naked Spanish virgin, a classic British milkman, a stout Russian soldier, and the story goes on. Primarily the sculptures act as pillars or separators between the rooms, with the exception of the spare bedrooms.
On the top floor lies two more bedrooms with their own bathrooms and personal balconies. I’m giving Micola the larger of the two, which faces the front, including a gorgeous view of the London skyline. I doubt she’ll complain about it, but who knows. As I settle into my room across the hall from hers, she has yet to arrive because, well…she refused to fly on my private Jet.
¨Ms. Micola Costa has arrived, Mr. Masters.” Benjamin announces at my bedroom door frame. I turn from folding my clothes and give him a nod.
¨Please send her my way after her tour, please.¨
¨Most certainly.¨
It’s a quarter to noon in London when Micola steps onto my back balcony. She looks like heaven wearing a mid-length forest green dress. Her hair pushed up in a messy traveler’s bun. I could tell she didn’t want to come across as beautiful or radiant, but she couldn’t help it.
¨This place is sensational. I can’t lie.¨ She admits.
¨And so are you. Sorry. Thank you. How was your flight?¨
¨Good. Slept for the most part.¨
¨Great. This means you have the energy and possibly the adrenaline to get going today?¨
¨I know. I saw the huge dinner party on the agenda tonight.¨
¨You should have your outfit waiting in your dressing room.¨
¨I saw that. A little risky for my liking, but it’s doable.¨
¨Would you like to accompany me for a quick bite down the street?¨
¨No, thank you. I’m only committed to hanging with you when the agenda calls for it.¨ Her mouth trembles.
Yes, I remember this. When grappling for control, her mouth twitches. It’s a Costa trait, one she wears sensually.
¨Well…I suppose I’ll see you closer to four.”
With a gentle nod, she excuses herself.
Gawd, she’s a dramatic woman. Same kind that makes my heart swing. Does she not remember her resistance turns me into a chaser? I love a good chase. It parallels my competitive spirit. Precisely, I can recall the sweet taste of her skin, her lips, and like a man lacking love, it makes me want to find out how to…I shouldn’t. I won’t. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. I applaud Micola for creating boundaries for herself. She’s helping us both.
