“Do you do that, dress down to mess with people?”
She’d never been in public wearing anything less than a well put together ensemble, coordinated down to the stockings on her feet. All of her life she’d depended heavily on boutique saleswomen and her sister to make sure she didn’t clash or look like a fashion emergency.
“I dress down for myself. Ambiguity’s nice, but if I need to accomplish something and a suit carries more influence, I’ll put on a suit.” He shrugged, his relaxed posture a total contradiction to his pressed attire. “If I want to escape responsibility for a while, an old sweater and jeans does the trick.”
“Which is the real you, the suit or the sweater?”
“The sweater.”
For some reason she was glad he’d said that. She’d met enough tuxedos in her lifetime, but she’d never really spent time with the sweater sort.
She glanced over his shoulder. “Did you read any of these books?”
“I’ve read all of them. Sometimes I leave novels here for the next person. That one there…” He pointed. “That was mine.”
She slid the book from the shelf. “ Lord of the Flies .” Her hand brushed over the tattered cover, pausing over a butterfly.
“Can you see it?”
She nodded. “It’s blue. I read this a long time ago. I forget it now.”
“Take it with you.”
She glanced at him, guilty before even committing the crime. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not? It’s mine.”
“But you donated it. Taking it now would be like stealing.”
“Do you want me to ask permission? I’m sure they’d let me pay them for it.”
“No, that’s all right.” She could buy her own copy if she felt like reading it again. She slid it back onto the shelf and sipped her wine.
They sat silently for a moment and his attention drifted toward the entrance of the bar. “Do you hear that?”
She turned her ear in the same direction. “Hear what?”
“The music coming from the opera house. When I was younger I’d sit outside and listen to the shows. I think I’ve heard everything from Madama Butterfly to Otello , sitting right on those steps.”
Two of her favorite operas, but she couldn’t imagine only hearing them. There was something magical about witnessing the performers come to life on the stage and transcend time, creating a world out of nothing more than props, ambiance, and their own talent. Why would anyone want to miss seeing that?
She took a moment to appraise her company, feeling like something was a little off about him. His tuxedo looked like Oxford, but it was difficult to tell in the dim light. He didn’t wear any jewelry and his cufflinks were plain.
There really wasn’t anything extravagant about him, aside from his tux, which in all truth could have been rented. However, he’d been inside the opera house when they met, which meant he’d somehow earned his way onto that guest list.
“Have you ever watched an opera?”
The side of his mouth lifted into a half grin. “No, but I have a vivid imagination.”
“You were on the guest list tonight, right?”
He laughed. “Do you think I swindled my way inside?”
Maybe. He hadn’t been seated at the start of the evening. Perhaps he snuck in when those monitoring the doors were preoccupied. Realizing how foolish that sounded, even in her own head, she blushed.
“I was invited,” he assured, smiling. “I’ve invested a lot of my time with the people of St. Christopher’s. It’s important to me that it remains open.”
So he was a philanthropist. “I’ve never seen you there. I volunteer whenever I can.” She wondered if he knew Sawyer, if he was on the board with him.
Recalling Sawyer sent a punch to her heart, still painfully tender. Her hand started to shake and, as she reached for her glass, chardonnay sloshed over the rim onto the lap of her gown.
“Dear lord, I’m a train wreck tonight.”
She reached for the napkin, forgetting it was filled with ice, and sent melted chips pelting across the table. Shutting her eyes, she pinched her nose and drew in an exasperated breath.
“Hey,” he whispered softly. “It’s just water and wine.”
Exhaling slowly, she swallowed and gave him an apologetic look. “I’m not usually like this. I’m typically the calm one, the steady, put together one.”
“Everyone loses their balance once in a while.”
She studied him for a long moment, wondering who he was and where he’d come from. She wanted to ask his name, but only if she could avoid giving hers. She didn’t need the label of Patras interfering with the authenticity of their conversation. “Are you always this patient with people?”
“I’ve been known to have an off day.”
She liked the way he defined things. “That’s what this is for me, an off day.”
“Maybe it’s not. Maybe this is just an ordinary day and all the others were off. This might be the real you you’ve been hiding behind a shield of elegance and propriety. People hide all the time, but sometimes, no matter how much armor we wear, a few bullets get through.”
“A shield like a tux?”
“Maybe ball gowns are your sweaters,” he teased.
Her gaze went to the pristine white tie at his throat where stubble had started to grow. She glanced at her gown and thought about how much effort she put into her appearance tonight. All she wanted was to look unbroken on the outside, so much so that no one would notice how shattered she was inside.
She certainly used clothing to boost her shaky courage, but tonight that wasn’t enough. Maybe it stopped being enough a long time ago.
If this wasn’t her, then who was she? Was any of this real? Was she the heiress in a ball gown attending affairs, hiding in the shadow of her impressive brother? Or was she her own person?
“I don’t know who the real me is.”
“Well,” he said softly. “I think she’s probably kind. Gentle with other people’s hearts. Pretty. She’s read the classics, which tells me she has a romantic soul. And she’s fragile, but too focused on where she’s heading to consider herself breakable. How am I doing so far?”
She blinked at him, unsure how a perfect stranger could assess her with such detail in such a short time. But he gave her too much credit. “You forgot to say transparent.”
“No, I didn’t. People probably think they know you from what they see on the outside, but I bet there’s a lot more going on under the surface.”
His fingers brushed her discarded glove resting on the table. Her chest tightened as he touched the smudges of makeup, blood, and tears. So exposed, yet she didn’t move a muscle to hide away the evidence.
“Some people wear tuxedos while others wear silk gowns,” he whispered. “It’s all about illusions. And you, m’lady, have it down to an art form, I think.”
“I’m not that complicated,” she rasped, finding it difficult to draw in a full breath. The wine was getting to her. Her skin felt flushed and warm.
He flashed his teeth in a confident grin. “I think you’re one of those people who knows exactly what others anticipate from you and excel at meeting their expectations. Keep the cover simple, hide the story inside. Which is probably why tonight, when something clearly upset you, your first instinct was to hide. Protect the illusion at all costs for the sake of others.”
“I wasn’t hiding. I wanted to leave.”
His eyes watched her and her skin prickled, that strange sense of exposure taking hold again.
He was right. She ran off to hide, not from the man who hurt her, but from those who wouldn’t understand her response, the people who always expected her to be the unshakable one.
“It gets exhausting,” he confessed. “I did it for a while, at the start of my career, but then I realized even business can get too personal and I didn’t want to pretend to be someone I’m not anymore.”
“I’ve done that.”
She thought of Tyrian and how badly she wanted to be the girl perfectly satisfied with a charming, emotionally available, well-mannered guy. But she couldn’t. Without passion, there was no point.
Her lashes lowered, the shameful truth whispering past her lips. “It can feel like layers of your soul’s scraping away, like you’re trying so hard to please others that you’re losing yourself in the process.”
“Was it a job?”
“A guy. A long time ago. Not the one from tonight.”
“How long did it last?”
“About three months. You?”
“Mine was a job and it barely lasted a year.”
“At least you weren’t pretending in order to find love.”
He laughed. “That’s not necessarily true. I thought success would make her love me, but her heart belonged to someone else. In the end, when I saw the way she looked at him, I realized, for all my affection, I never looked at her that way.”
“You let her go?”
He shrugged. “There are varying levels of love and my feelings for her made a mockery of the word. Sometimes we love what’s comfortable, what’s familiar, and when it’s gone we panic. I didn’t have to let her go. She was never mine.”
“You’re quite the philosopher. Interesting, too. I imagine that helps with your success.” She wasn’t sure what he did for a living, but knowing he was on the guest list proved he was a successful man.
“Thank you. Occasionally I try.”
He was definitely charming, not because of the way he spoke, but how he spoke. He might even be a bit of a romantic. “If you had to choose between love or money which would you pick?”
“Love, all the way,” he answered quickly. “I respect money and everything it can do. It’s a necessary evil. But even the richest man is limited in terms of love.”
Another view they had in common. Yet, here they were, dressed like royalty, in the back corner of a bar covered in books.
Maybe they were just hypocrites. It was a lot easier to say money didn’t matter when you had plenty in the bank.
“Can I get you another glass of wine?”
She glanced at her cup, surprised to see it empty. “If you don’t mind staying a while longer.”
“Are you kidding? This is way more entertaining than the night I expected.” He stood and took their glasses to the bar.
She should text Toni and let her know where she went, but the overwhelming thought of having to explain herself kept her away from her phone. Maybe just a little longer. She felt safe here, like she could hide and catch her breath before facing reality again.
Two glasses of wine turned to three and eventually she lost count. The longer they talked the more comfortable she became around him. He was witty and sweet and charming in an unobtrusive way. There was something about him that soothed her, made her want to learn everything about him and trade secrets, even if they never saw each other again.
People dressed in gowns and tuxedos filtered into the bar, reminding her of where they were and how long they’d been missing. She reached in her purse to check the time on her phone, shocked to see it was almost midnight.
There were a few missed calls and texts from Toni asking where she was. Guilt slithered through her pleasant mood and she reluctantly accepted that she couldn’t hide forever. She should get back.
“Thank you for helping me tonight.”
“Please don’t thank me. I feel terrible I knocked you over.”
She shrugged, sort of glad they bumped into each other. “Accidents happen.”
His hand brushed hers and her stomach tightened, as she stared at his fingertip grazing her knuckles. A whoosh of butterflies exploded in her stomach and her gaze jumped to his face. He gave a shy smile and she understood their chemistry wasn’t one-sided.
“I had a great time getting to know you,” he said softly, his gaze holding hers.
Feeling winded though she’d been sitting for some time, she whispered, “Me too. It was sweet of you to bring me here and…” She gestured to the damp napkin. “The ice.”
“My pleasure.” His hand slowly pulled away.
She fidgeted, unsure how to say goodnight and thank you without seeming awkward. “People are probably wondering where I am.”
“Him?”
Her smile fell. “No, he doesn’t even know I’m here. My family, though … I just left without telling them.” She gestured to her phone. “My sister texted me about a hundred times.”
“Ah. If you want to stay and talk a while longer I could take you home. You could let her know you’re safe.”
Her lips parted, a curious feeling twisting inside of her. “I should probably go home with her. I insisted she come with me tonight.”
“Does she live with you?”
“No, but she’s spending the night.”
“Then you should probably let her know where you are,” he said, gesturing to her phone.
Reaching for it, her hands trembled, her mind protesting that she wanted to stay. She texted Toni letting her know she was at the bar across the street.
Her phone buzzed back and she slipped it inside her clutch. “She’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“Can I see you again?”
Fear and nervous excitement took hold. She wanted to see him again, but she was so afraid she was leading herself towards another letdown. He wasn’t like the other men she knew, yet she couldn’t put her finger on what made him so different.
Her phone vibrated again. “Excuse me.”
She pulled it out and read the text from her sister saying they were crossing the street now. Feeling suddenly rushed after such relaxed conversation, she collected her gloves and stood. He stood as well, a pulse of energy beating between them.
She wasn’t ready to say goodnight. Turning, she saw her siblings working their way through the late night rush at the bar. “I had a really nice time tonight.”
He smiled, his anxiousness seeming to shadow hers. “Me too…” He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t know your name.”
She laughed as well. How strange to share so much with someone, but never share their names. “It’s Isadora.”
Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a plain white business card with a phone number. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Isadora. I’m—”
Evelyn’s voice cut through the air. “ Parker? ”
Isadora turned as her sister-in-law stared up at her companion and Lucian scowled.
Toni took inventory of everyone’s expression, seeing their brother’s clear dislike for the person Isadora had spent the evening with, and a slow silent ooooh shaped her sister’s mouth.
They knew each other? How?
Evelyn laughed, her expression the absolute opposite of her husband’s. “Holy. Shit.”
To Be Continued…
Don’t miss the conclusion of Isadora’s story in
the second book of
The Surrender Games Series,
QUEEN OF THE KNIGHT
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Lydia Michaels is an award winning author of over 30 contemporary romance novels. She lives in Pennsylvania with her wonderfully supportive husband, beautiful daughter, and many crazy fur babies. If she is not off spending time with her family you can usually find Lydia at her computer working on her next story or hiding somewhere quiet with a great book. She loves taking a romantic plot with steamy chemistry and pressing the bounds of love. Her books are intellectual, erotic, haunting, always centered on love.
Lydia Michaels' darkly compelling Surrender Trilogy was an Apple iBooks bestseller and she has been featured in USA Today. In 2015 she was the winner of The Best of Bu
cks Award and she has been nominated as Best Author in the Bucks Happening Magazine three years running [2015, 2016, and 2017]. She is a four-time nominee for the prestigious RONE Award.
www.LydiaMichaelsBooks.com
Sacrifice of the Pawn: Spin-Off of the Surrender Trilogy (Surrender Games Book 1) Page 28