I barked out a raw laugh. “He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?”
“He’s very magnetic.”
“Uh huh.”
“He has this aura about him.”
“Tin, you don’t need to sell me on this guy. I just came all over him.”
“Vraiment?”
“Really.”
Someone knocked on the bedroom door. “Shit,” I pushed Tin away. “That’s probably Trent. Hold him off for a minute while I get ready.”
“With pleasure.”
“I don’t mean that literally, Tin.”
“Possessive already.”
“You know I don’t like to share.”
Tin rolled his eyes. “I know.”
“Get your continental self out there and charm him with small talk.”
“J’y vais.”
Chapter 21
BY THE time I walked back into Trent’s room, I was in complete control. A few drops of Bright Eyes were all I needed to wipe out any outward signs of my pity party. Trent was discerning enough not to press for more information. He had showered and shaved as well and was wearing another pair of jeans, black with a black turtleneck. The somber colors complemented his new palette. Before the dye job he was an arresting man. Now, he was drop-dead gorgeous. The auburn intensified the blueness of his eyes and made his fair skin glow. There were a few freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose I’d never noticed before. They seemed fitting on a redhead and softened his otherwise cool and untouchable appearance. My heart skipped a beat when he cast a discerning look in my direction.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “You’ll make a kick-ass Scotsman.”
Trent grinned, dimpling at my compliment. “My father’s Scottish.”
“Is that why Max picked you for the part?”
“He doesn’t know.”
“Do you know much about them?”
“Who?”
“The Scots,” I reminded him. “Aren’t you paying attention?”
“I’m more interested in finding out why you ran.”
“Let it go, okay?”
“For now.” He nodded. “We have time for a light snack. Do you want to try the strawberries my way?”
“Sure.”
Putting a few of the plump strawberries in a bowl, I watched as he sprinkled them with brown sugar and plopped some sour cream over the lot. “Here you go.”
I took a bite and was pleasantly surprised. “This is really good.”
He smiled. “I would never steer you wrong.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Shortly after, we joined the rest of the group on the big red bus Max had rented to cart us back and forth each day. Everyone seemed in high spirits, infecting me with the enthusiasm of being in a new and exciting locale. Traveling was part and parcel of the job, and it had not lost its appeal. Discovering new cities and partaking of local cuisine were some of the perks I loved. I was determined to shake off the dark thoughts that had descended so suddenly. I had to keep reminding myself I was desirable and worthy of the title of one of America’s fifty most beautiful people. Preventing a spiral into the sick and familiar trap of feeling ugly, inconsequential, and generally unlovable was going to take some effort, but I was resolute in my quest to remain mentally stable.
Tin sat beside me on the bus and chattered away while Max and Trent argued over something toward the rear of the vehicle. I glanced at them briefly, wondering what it was about. Max had a scowl on his face, and Trent appeared a little agitated as well. They kept looking my way, and it occurred to me that I was the topic of discussion. Shit! I liked maintaining a low profile around my fellow models, always trying to keep my personal life separate. The last thing I wanted was to be the latest catastrophe in a world that routinely saw models crash and burn. As far as I knew, no one was aware of my breakup with Cole, unless Max had decided to get territorial about me and read Trent the riot act. I hoped he’d mind his own damn business and leave us alone. Trent and I had enough issues without adding him to the mix.
Tin held my hand and gave me a slight squeeze. “This is lovely, isn’t it?”
It was. London was a city in full bloom, shaking off the cold winter chill and slowly coming back to life. The streets were bustling with activity. We were going to stop at Harrods briefly, to pick up our wardrobe, and then proceed to the Kensington Roof Gardens to spend the entire day. Max had rented the place for eight hours, wanting to take advantage of the good weather, knowing it could change on a dime. We’d been told that May was usually a wetter month than April, and since the sun was shining, we’d spend it outdoors.
The roof gardens were located at 99 Kensington High Street in a department store one hundred feet above street level. It included a Spanish, Tudor, and English woodland garden complete with resident flamingos. It was the perfect solution to Max’s dilemma of wanting variety in locales without having to travel all over the English and Scottish countryside. The convenience of having everything in one location worked for me. The last thing I wanted was to spend hours in a bus thinking about Cole and wondering what he was doing.
It had been almost nine days that we’d been apart, if you counted the three days I’d spent in Montauk, and the pangs of separation continued to pull at me. Noriko was probably ripe for harvesting, what with the hormone shots she’d been receiving, which meant the impending marriage would soon be a reality. If Cole stuck to his original plan. The way things had been going, I doubted he’d take things slow. He seemed intent on moving forward quickly.
Once again I rehashed the entire chain of events since this nightmare began. The only piece to the puzzle I had yet to figure out was Hiro Fujiwara and the emergence of the geisha world. Cole had never mentioned any connection to that ancient tradition. If he had, I certainly would have remembered. And why did Ken never bring up this option in the past? Was it because he knew Cole was anti-abortion and would never subject a woman to that trauma, even if she were a paid surrogate? Did the new techniques in genetic testing give Ken the right to demand a grandchild? What the fuck was I missing?
I wasn’t buying into Cole’s statement that I’d leave him eventually. That was the dumbest reason in the world to end a relationship. It was like having my balls removed on the off chance that I’d get testicular cancer. I’d been shocked into leaving the apartment. My initial reaction of unworthiness had overshadowed my good sense, and instead of standing my ground and fighting, I’d retreated. If I could just prove to Cole that Ken was using him and that we’d weather this storm, we could probably go back to the way we were. Of course, I’d have to admit that Trent and I had an encounter, but considering everything else going on, Cole would probably give me a pass. After all, we didn’t fuck, and that’s what counted. I didn’t need to mention that the idea of fucking Trent was foremost on my mind lately. Being the object of Trent’s interest was making me a little crazy. I was torn between lust, guilt, and the inexplicable draw of his dominant personality.
We were shooting for the fall line, although it was spring, and we’d just put winter behind us. Fashion magazines were always two seasons ahead, and modeling swimsuits in the dead of winter or fur coats in blistering heat was not uncommon. Since we were featuring British designers, Aquascutum, Burberry, Paul Smith, Alexander McQueen, and Jaeger were the names bandied about this morning as the models put on and removed item after item until choices were made. It was tedious but part of the process. When everyone had their proper attire, we piled back into the bus and headed off to the gardens. By now it was closer to noon and I was starving.
Fortunately, there was a restaurant in the building that housed the rooftop garden. It was called Babylon and served standard British fare. Trent approached as soon as he saw me.
“Are you up for some lunch?”
“Yes.”
“Sit with me?”
“Sure.” We gravitated toward a small table for two, thus avoiding the chance of anyone honing in on
our impromptu date, especially Max.
“I’ll have a steak and Guinness,” Trent said, handing the menu back to the waiter. “What will you have, Sloan?”
“I’ll try the bangers.”
“Good,” Trent said, reaching for my hand. “You’ll need something substantial to hold you. We probably won’t get another chance to eat until late tonight if Max has his way with us.”
“He’s such a slave driver, isn’t he?”
“That’s why he’s one of the highest paid photographers in the world.”
“I suppose so. What were you arguing about in the bus?”
“You.”
“Why?”
“He told me to back off and leave you alone.”
“He’s jealous.”
“I know, but you’ve been in a relationship with someone else. Why is he getting so possessive?”
I shrugged. “He’d like more, and now that I’m not with Cole, he thinks he has a chance.”
“Does he?” Trent asked, pinning me down with the stare that made my dick react.
“Unfortunately not.”
“Why is it unfortunate?”
“It would be so much simpler to be with him. He cares for me and knows all my deep and dark secrets.”
“And yet?”
“I don’t love him that way.”
“Did you ever?”
“No.”
“That’s a relief.” Trent smiled. “I’m going to have enough problems getting you to forget Cole. I don’t need to add another challenge.”
“You think you can get me to forget five years of my life?”
“I’m certainly going to try.”
“Good luck with that,” I sneered.
“Why are you so negative?”
He caught me by surprise, and I opened my mouth to deny the charge, but his intense expression made me stop and rethink my response. He looked concerned, not derisive. “It’s years of conditioning,” I admitted. “I’m not very secure.”
“Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
I laughed, feeling the heat creep up to my cheeks. I was probably pink with embarrassment. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“The big deal is in your eyes. They are the most stunning shade of gray I’ve ever seen,” Trent said, “and when I look into their depths, I see the most beautiful combination of vulnerability and ferociousness. You bring out every dominant urge to drag you off to my room and ravage every part of you. Imagining your ultimate surrender is enough to keep me hard for hours.”
“Here we go again with the whole submittal thing. Why do you feel the need to overpower me?”
“Overpowering is the wrong word choice, Sloan. What I’m looking for is your trust. The day you can hand that over unquestioningly is what keeps me interested in this cat-and-mouse game. “
“Trust is earned, Trent, and I’m not into games. When I give my heart, it’s complete and unconditional.”
“Yet one more reason I’m intrigued. What happened this morning? Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You did everything right and I wanted more.”
“Then why did you run off?”
“Guilt.”
“I thought it was over between you and Cole?”
“Technically it is.”
“But?”
“I’m not convinced that it’s final. I need to know I’ve done everything possible to make our relationship work.”
“Does that mean you want me to back off?”
His stare was riveting, and I couldn’t help but give him an honest reply. “The truth is I want you as much as you want me. The only thing preventing this is my own conscience.”
“They say guilt is the most useless and counterproductive emotion.”
“Probably true, but how do you expunge it without undergoing a lobotomy?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer,” Trent said, smiling. He reached for my hand again and meshed his long fingers with mine. His touch was comfortable, and I felt safe, for some reason. I couldn’t explain the whys or the wherefores, considering he was a man with a sadistic quirk, but it was present nonetheless. His next words put the nail in the coffin. “I’d be more than happy to help you through the process.”
“I was afraid you’d say that,” I said, chuckling nervously.
“I’m a very patient man, Sloan, and when I see something I want, I’m willing to wait for it. ‘Haste makes waste,’ my mother always used to say.”
“Your mother was a wise woman.”
“Indeed.”
Chapter 22
TRENT AND I separated after lunch, each one of us assigned to a different garden. I drew the Spanish, and he, the Tudor. It would be hours until we saw each other again. By the time we dragged our tired selves onto the bus, we were beat. Don’t let anyone tell you modeling is a snap. It’s backbreaking hard work to maintain a pose for as long as necessary to achieve the perfect shot, smiling vacuously into a lens while trying to appear engaged and broodingly mysterious. Since we were modeling coats, they had the foggers going, simulating a common London winter scene. I was hot and sweaty from being overdressed and would have killed for a cool shower.
Apparently everyone else felt the same, as it was pretty quiet on the way back to the hotel. Some were even snoozing.
“I want everyone ready by eight tomorrow morning,” Max said when we got to the hotel lobby. “I don’t care what fuck-all you do tonight, so long as you’re nice and chipper at eight bells. Anyone with a hangover is docked, got it?”
There was a general murmuring of yeses, and soon we all dispersed.
“Bloody slave driver,” I mumbled, swiping my key card and pushing into my room. Tin was already in the shower. I could hear him singing some French ballad in his loud and off-key baritone. I toed off my shoes and threw myself on the bed, sighing in relief. My back was killing me, and I had the beginnings of a hunger headache. I hadn’t eaten in at least six hours. It was eight in the evening, and I calculated the time difference between London and New York. Cole might be home from school, it being three in the afternoon, so I took a chance and rang his number. He answered almost immediately.
“Sloan, are you alright?”
“I’m fine.” Hearing his voice made me wish I were there. I missed him terribly and couldn’t believe we’d let this conflict tear us apart. “How are you doing? Does Freddie miss me?”
“We’re both okay,” Cole said. “Why are you calling?”
“I wanted to hear your voice.”
There was an awkward pause until Cole said, “That’s nice.”
“How’s it going with the baby maker?”
“She goes in for harvesting tomorrow.”
“I thought it was about that time. When will you have any answers?”
“They’ll be removing cells from the developing embryos on the third day, and testing for the RP gene abnormality will proceed immediately after.”
“And then?”
“If they can get a pair of viable candidates, they’ll be implanted into Noriko’s uterus. Then we wait to see if she gets pregnant.”
“Cole, who is Hiro Fujiwara?”
“My grandfather.”
“How come we’ve never talked about him?”
“He died when I was a kid. Why the interest?
“Did you know he had a geisha?”
“I didn’t for a long time.”
“When did you find out?”
“Why are you asking?” Cole said, sounding irritated.
“I want to know.”
“It’s no longer relevant.”
“It is to me.”
“Forget about it, Sloan. The wheels are already in motion, and there’s no turning back.”
“It would help to give me some closure, Cole.”
“My father shared my grandfather’s history shortly after we learned about PGD.”
“Why?”
“He was bemoaning the fact t
hat finding a likely candidate to surrogate for me would be almost impossible.”
“When was this?”
Pause. The same awkward, guilty, motherfucking I’ve-known-about-this-forever pause! “Answer me, Cole.”
“Last year.”
“You piece of shit.”
“Sloan….”
“You and Ken talked about surrogates months before you presented me with the idea?” Silence―complete and devastating. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“You would have tried to prevent this from happening. This is Noriko’s chance to fulfill her obligation.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Nothing you would understand.”
“Try me, Cole. I’m really more than a pretty face.”
“Noriko is repaying her mother’s debt by helping me have a family.”
“Who’s getting the money?”
“Her grandmother.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Mieko, her biological grandmother, was a geisha in the same okiya as Reiko, my grandfather’s special friend.”
“You mean his whore.”
“Geishas are not whores, Sloan. They don’t sleep with all their clients.”
“Oh, right. They’re ‘entertainers,’” I said, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. “They only sleep with their patrons―the ones who’ve paid for their fucking mizuage!”
“What do you know about a mizuage?”
“I Googled it!”
“Don’t believe everything you read on the Internet.”
“Isn’t the mizuage a term used for the bidding rights to deflower the geisha-in-training?”
“Maybe a long time ago, but not in modern-day Japan. It’s simply a celebration marking the passing of a maiko, or geisha-in-training, to a full-fledged geisha. Her virginity is not for sale.”
“But Noriko herself said she was a virgin.”
“What of it? It has nothing to do with being a surrogate.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“I knew you wouldn’t understand,” Cole said, hissing angrily into the phone. “How could you? You’re not Japanese, and you know nothing about our tradition, honor, and commitment.”
Cutting Cords Page 35