by May, Linnea
Tonight’s guests are what our families call ‘close friends’, but I don’t really know most of them, let alone feel close to anyone.
Except one person.
She’s sitting at the grand piano in a corner at the far back of the ballroom, playing ambient music while the guests are arriving. Elodie and I haven’t spoken one word or even exchanged a look tonight, but I can feel her presence every moment. I feel drawn to her and it’s almost physically painful that I can’t just walk up to her, touch her, kiss her, bend her over that piano lid and fuck her like I did in my home a few weeks ago.
I miss her. God, I miss her.
She’s wearing the dress I bought for her and has curled her brown locks in a way that I’ve never seen before. Her lips are painted red and her green eyes framed with thick black mascara. I prefer less paint on her porcelain face, but she looks more beautiful than any other woman in the room nonetheless. The way she’s so deeply immersed in the music she’s playing is the most alluring sight.
“Geoffrey,” I hear Gloria piping next to me. “It’s good to see you.”
The way her voice jumps up as she says his name catches my attention, and I pull my eyes away from Elodie.
Geoffrey Goldbaum, the son of one of my father’s associates, is standing in front of us with his parents. He looks like a fucking Disney prince with his blond locks and that obnoxious smile that exposes his too white teeth. I’ve never liked the guy. There’s just something about him. That sleazy attitude, that fake smile, those damn teeth - and the fact that he’s everybody’s darling even though his nocturnal adventures have been very similar to mine for years. Somehow he manages to keep up the good guy image, while it’s apparent to anyone that I’m the bad boy who needs to be tamed with a fixed-up wife. However, he cares more about his image than I ever did.
He casts a grin at Gloria that would make any other husband-to-be next to her explode with jealousy, and that look is reciprocal. Gloria lets out a silly giggle as he takes her hand, planting a kiss on the back of it. The way they look at each other is sickening.
“You’re fucking him, aren’t you,” I whisper to her once Mr. Goldilocks and his parents are out of earshot.
Gloria inhales audibly and looks at me, her eyes wide with indignation. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, come on,” I say, rolling my eyes. “It’s so obvious.”
She huffs. “What do you care?”
I raise my eyebrows at her. “Weren’t you the one to remind me that we’re about to get married?”
Gloria huffs again, shaking her head and scanning our surroundings to make sure that no one is overhearing our whispered conversation.
“So, it’s okay for you to fuck that timid nerd over there, but I can’t have fun of my own?” she asks, nodding toward Elodie at the other end of the room.
“Not if you think you can threaten me without repercussions,” I hiss at her. “His father works with mine and so does he, which means that I will work closely with him in the very near future. You’re threatening this deal way more than I ever have!”
Gloria pouts, something that would look cute on almost any other woman’s face, but just makes her look like the affronted brat she is.
We’re interrupted by my mother, who emerges next to me, placing her hand on my shoulder to catch my attention.
“Kingston, Gloria,” she says in that polite but distant tone she reserves for public occasions such as this one. “I believe most of the guests are here now. I think it’s okay for you two to take your seats.”
She adds a little warning look as she sends us off, causing me to worry that she might have overheard our conversation before, or even parts of it.
Gloria and I follow her gesture and walk over to our seats at the head of the main table.
I glance over to Elodie as we approach our seats, but she’s too immersed in her music and doesn’t look my way once, not even for a second. Even though her music radiates through the entire ballroom, I’m the only person who pays attention to her. Before meeting her, I’d never wasted a thought on the musicians who accompany events like this, so I’m not surprised that she goes completely overlooked by the guests tonight.
But I can’t help staring at her. Every time my obligations force me to withdraw my attention from her, it’s accompanied by a painful sting.
And as I look at Gloria, I can’t help but think that she might be feeling the same way about the blond pompadour. As much as I despise her, the somber mood of her is palpable tonight, and I’ve never seen her like that.
It’s almost as if she’s miserably in love.
Chapter XXX
Elodie
It was easy while I was playing the piano. I have a very strict schedule, taped to the back of one of my sheets that includes almost every minute of tonight’s event. It’s a detailed timetable for the entire three hours that this engagement party is supposed to last, showing me when the evening asks for music and when it’s time for me to pause. The pauses are mainly reserved for speeches, and I’m filled with horror when I see Kingston listed as one of the speakers.
Of course he is. He’s the groom.
Mrs. Abrams asked me to accompany the first few minutes of the evening while the guests are arriving, but since this is the only part that’s not written out in detail on the schedule she gave me, I don’t know exactly when to stop. As a result, I just keep playing tune after tune, some of which I don’t really like. I’ve had to choose a few songs that I’m sick of personally, but that I know are still very suitable for an evening like this and popular with people who haven’t heard them over and over again like I have. I decided to play most of them in the early minutes of the evening, so that I have something to look forward to as the night progresses.
I’ve dreaded this evening, but even the worst thoughts that have occurred to me in regard to tonight don’t come close to how horrible it turns out to be right now. I can see Kingston and Gloria standing at the door, greeting their guests while she has her arm tucked into his. There’s no satisfaction for me in seeing that neither of them look happy. I’ve only met Gloria twice, but she’s never seemed as reserved as she does tonight.
Is she regretting this?
It may make me a terrible person, but a part of me wants to see her break tonight. In the darkest corners of my mind, I’m envisioning a dramatic outburst on her part, a scene in which she cries and yells, putting an end to this sick arrangement and freeing Kingston of his obligation.
And then I remember that he wouldn’t even want that. He’s in this for a reason, and if she breaks the deal, it will only put him in more trouble, but it won’t mean that he’ll declare his love for me and take me home on a white stallion, riding into the sunset as a happy couple.
He’s done with me no matter what.
Mrs. Abrams comes up to the piano, gesturing for me to stop after the current song. I nod at her and skip the last repetition to bring the song to an earlier end. If I remember correctly, the evening will start with a welcoming speech by Gloria’s father. I have zero interest in listening to that, but I also have no idea where to go. Mrs. Abrams told me that there would be breaks for me during the speeches, but she never mentioned if there was any place for me to go.
So, I just stay where I feel the safest, on my piano bench, partly hidden behind the instrument that is my life, with my hands resting in my lap instead of traveling along the keys.
I notice that Kingston and Gloria are no longer standing at the door, but have taken their seats at the main table. They’re sitting in the middle, surrounded by their parents to the left and right. The table is placed along the wall opposite the piano, allowing them to face me and the rest of the room.
And Kingston is looking directly at me.
Our eyes meet for the first time this evening, and his dark gazes feels as if he’s choking me. He’s not smiling, but just displaying a stone cold expression that doesn’t let me read anything into it. In a way, I’m glad that he’s not smiling at me bec
ause it would feel as if he’s mocking me. As if this is all just a big joke to him.
Clearly, it’s not.
It’s a relief to see that he’s suffering, too. But it makes me angry at the same time. Why the hell is he doing this? There must be another way? How can he let his parents dictate such a major part of his life?
I want to avert my eyes from him, but I can’t. Our eyes remain locked onto each other across the room, even when his father gets up from his seat and calls for everybody’s attention by clanging a spoon against his glass. I don’t listen to his speech, but continue to stare at Kingston as if I was waiting for an explanation. And he stares back.
His father’s speech is tedious and long, and I sigh with relief when Mrs. Abrams signals for me to continue playing. The evening drags on, but it’s so much easier as long as I can keep my eyes on the keys in front of me, focusing on the music, doing what I love. Music has always been my best solace, my companion when there was no one else. It’s also a reminder of the loneliness I’ve had to endure all my life. My father never understood this passion, all he saw in it was a threat, a threat that would take away the money he reserved for drinking, a threat to his daughter’s future, because becoming an artist is not a lucrative career choice.
I press my lips together as I think of him and his constant accusations. I wish he could see me now. He would hate every part of it, those filthy rich snobs, their ridiculous get-ups, the speeches, the tiny food portions, the decoration, the silly music. He would hate it because it shows him quite plainly how pitiful he is. Yes, artists may struggle, and yes, it’s not the most lucrative career choice, but it certainly beats being a deadbeat alcoholic.
I’ve fought hard for this, and my efforts are finally starting to pay off. If a broken heart is what I’ll have to endure to reach my goal, then so be it. I can do this. I know I can.
The schedule calls for another pause when the first course is announced, but I’m asked to continue playing while everyone eats. With every minute that passes, we’re getting closer to the moment when Kingston will have to give his speech. He will speak after the main course and hand over to Gloria right after so she can announce the dessert. What a silly display this all is.
I’m now moving on to some of my favorite pieces, some of Chopin’s Nocturnes, Schubert’s Serenade, the Adagio from one of Scriabin’s Sonatas. They’re all calm, but very melancholic in nature. I chose them for this time of the evening because I knew they’d reflect my mood as I anticipate Kingston’s speech. It’s my little secret that the sadness portrayed in these pieces is my own.
I don’t even notice the single tear running down my cheek until I’m asked to stop playing. My hands are resting on the final chord of the heavy piece, still fading away when I look up to see Kingston standing up, looking at me as if he just saw a ghost. He’s holding up his glass, staring at me with his mouth partly opened and his eyes unusually wide. Another tear travels down my face and I hurry to wipe it away.
I’m still hoping for a miracle. That dramatic outburst, a moment of weakness during which either Gloria or Kingston loses it and calls the whole thing off, showing the guests how idiotic this whole spectacle really is.
But it’s not happening. Kingston grabs a hold of himself, clearing his throat and tearing his eyes away from me to face the rest of the room, an audience of at least a hundred people, most of them now looking up at him in expectation.
I remain on my seat, my hands resting in my lap and my shoulders tense as I fight back the tears. No one is paying attention to me, and even if they were, my tears could be interpreted as tears of emotion for the happy couple. But I don’t want to give him this satisfaction. I don’t want him to see how much this is hurting me. Not if he keeps playing along like this.
And he does. When he begins speaking, it becomes crystal clear to me that there will be no miracle tonight. There will be no surprise outburst, no rebellion, no chance for us. Kingston speaks in a formal tone, thanking the guests for coming, addressing the food, the location, and the music. He nods toward me as he mentions the piano accompaniment, causing a few heads to turn my way. I don’t feel comfortable with this kind of attention and glare back at him for being such a heartless puppet. When his eyes meet mine, I see nothing in them. It’s like he’s a different person.
“… to celebrate this union,” he concludes another sentence, placing his hand on Gloria’s shoulder. She smiles absentmindedly and lifts her hand, placing it on his to give the impression that there’s some kind of emotional bond between them.
I choke.
No, not now. I feel like a cold clamp as been placed around my heart, closing around it and painfully squeezing every bit of emotion out of it. I feel sick to my stomach, and my vision blurs as a new wave of tears threatens to dampen my face.
I’m either going to throw up or wail any moment now. I don’t know which will be first, but I know I can do neither here.
Kingston is still speaking when I jump up from my bench, causing heads to turn to me again. His eyes are not the only ones following me as I dart out of the ballroom, making my awkwardly long way to the French doors at the entrance area while hiding most of my face with my right hand pressed against my mouth.
Chapter XXXI
Kingston
I tried. I really tried. I tried to act like the man my parents expect me to be today. I did everything within my power.
But this is too much. It was hard enough to watch Elodie look at me, tears running down her face after she finished what I know to be one of her favorite Nocturnes. Her music was hard to listen to because it was a clear telltale of her pain. I’m sure I’m the only one who didn’t mistake her melancholic tunes for just that, a calm and gentle background music. It’s not only the music itself, but the she way she played it, the way she carried herself while her hands were traveling along the keyboard. I’ve seen her play before, I know what she looks like when she’s in a good place.
This was not it. There was no swaying along with the music, no expression on her face. She just followed the notes, almost robotic and slower than some of the parts were intended to be played.
I tried to look away, and I succeeded in that, most of the time. But I couldn’t play deaf.
And I can’t ignore her now. She’s not causing a scene, I know she’s running out of the room because she wants to avoid just that. She doesn’t want people to see her distraught because she can no longer hide it behind her performance.
I’m just about to wrap up the hardest part of tonight, my dreaded dinner speech, when she jumps up from her bench, trying to hide her tortured face while she runs out. She’s doing it quietly and so quickly that she’s already out the door by the time most people realize that anything out of the ordinary is going on.
“Is she sick?” I hear my mother whisper from the side.
My eyes are glued to the door through which Elodie just escaped. It would be easy to gloss over this if I just continued to speak. I could wrap up this speech, raise my glass, thank everyone and hand over the microphone to Gloria so she can do the same.
It would be so easy.
But I can’t. The hand in which I’m holding the microphone sinks down on its own, and I turn to Gloria next to me. She’s looking up at me, raising her eyebrows and speaking a silent threat with her widened eyes. Everything in her gaze warns me to do this. She’ll get Elodie fired, she’ll ruin her reputation, she’ll ruin Elodie’s career - and me.
I agreed to this so I could finally take over my father’s job as the head of our shipping empire and save it from ruin. I know it’s a worthy goal, and it’s necessary to save my family’s fortune. Nothing has changed in that regard.
Except for me. I have changed.
I will save my family’s company, and I will “act like a man”.
But I will have to find another way to do it.
I drop the microphone on the table.
“Kingston,” Gloria hisses as she realizes what I’m about to do.
However, she doesn’t try to hold me back when I turn and walk away in wide and determined strides. No one tries to call me back. These people are all too afraid of causing a scene. They’ll sit quietly and act as if nothing happened, while Gloria will most likely find a way to distract them with her own speech. Or my father. My mother. Her parents.
I don’t care about any of this.
All I care about is finding Elodie and putting an end to her agony.
I sigh in relief when I walk through the French doors, turning right as she did when she left. This is when I start running, following the long hallway, passing the cloakroom and cursing at myself for waiting this long. The hallway leads to a big and open staircase and I have no idea where to go from here. She could be anywhere.
I come to a halt at the staircase, looking around, wondering what to do next, when I hear a sound to my left. Stone pillars are placed around the hall for decorations and behind one of them, I can see a fair-skinned elbow peeking out.
“Elodie?” I ask, approaching the pillar.
A faint sob is all I hear and when I walk around the pillar, I find her hiding away from me, hunched over and both her hands pressed against her face while she weeps uncontrollably.
“Go away,” she tells me, muffled by her hands. “Go, go, go.”
She flinches away when I touch her shoulders and try to pull her closer.
“Elodie, please look at me,” I say.
She shakes her head and tries to evade my touch.
“Go back,” she pleads. “Go away.”
“Please, Elodie, listen –”
“No!” she yells, removing her hands and looking up at me through teary eyes. “You don’t need to explain. I’m okay. Please, I don’t need to hear anything. I know, I know.”
She sniffs and takes a deep breath.
“I’ll finish my job,” she adds. “Just give me a minute. I’ll be okay.”
I shake my head.
“No, you don’t know,” I object. “I’m not going to do this.”