by Gun Brooke
If only he weren’t married.
“It’s him.” Aeron whispered the two words she never thought she’d have a reason to say. “Sylvie?”
“I’m here.” Sylvie’s voice sounded thick.
“She’s talking about ‘A.’ Aero. It’s him. It has to be, doesn’t it?” Aeron closed the diary. She couldn’t bear to see any more of the neatly written pages right now. Her stomach had rolled up in a tight knot.
“It’s a strong possibility. When is your birthday?”
“April twenty-fifth.”
“They must have escalated their relationship in July, at the latest.”
A spark of anger pierced Aeron. “She was seventeen and he was a grown man. I know. I’m grateful to be on this earth, but that doesn’t make it right.”
“She didn’t tell him her age.” Sylvie didn’t sound shocked at the age difference or the fact that it was also a question of statutory rape. This thought hadn’t struck Aeron before, and now she sat up straight and clutched the diary hard to her chest. “What if he’s in prison?”
“What? Why would he be in prison?”
“If someone reported they were having sex and…she was under the age of consent.”
“Oh, crap.” Sylvie sighed.
Aeron had never heard Sylvie curse or use harsh language before. “My thoughts exactly.”
“As you said, Maeve might have been deceiving him about her age, but he may also have disregarded it, and if that’s the case, he’s despicable.”
That didn’t sit right with Aeron. She wanted her father to be perfect. And here he was, starting to look way too flawed, too human.
Chapter Eleven
Sylvie gripped her cell phone tighter. Of course she’d had to be too blunt. Did she really have to remind herself why she had to keep the lines of communication open with Aeron? Yes, they had a contract, but it was still possible for their whole deal to go up in atoms.
“Aeron, listen. Your mother wasn’t always the most truthful person. With me, yes, while we were alone. But with a handsome guy when she’s just seventeen and used to the cliques and a tough climate at high school? I bet she told him she was over eighteen.”
“Yeah?” Her voice raspy, Aeron sounded as if she might have been wiping tears only seconds ago.
“Yes.”
“She wasn’t very truthful with me either. This pink book may be the only way to find out the truth about her, what made her tick and who my father was.”
“I’ll help you any way I can.” Sylvie meant it. Somehow, Aeron’s pain tied in with her own, and she didn’t want the next fifteen years of Aeron’s life, and after that, to be anything like some of the stuff she’d gone through.
“You’re far too kind to someone you never even heard about a few days ago.” Aeron chuckled, but the sound wasn’t entirely happy. “Then again, you have a vested interest in keeping me from going off the deep end, right?”
“There is that. I need you able to fly to Sweden, for one thing. My family alone can drive anyone crazy. Can’t have you in some sort of pre-crazy state when we go there.” Sylvie crossed her fingers that Aeron would get her warped sense of humor. Not all people did, and definitely not all Americans. To her relief Aeron gave a raucous laugh.
“Oh, God. I’d forgotten about that. Not completely, I mean, but right now. Go to Sweden. That sounds rather awesome. I’ve never been.”
“It’s great this time of year.” Sylvie didn’t intend to sound as if she were reading from a tourist pamphlet, but it felt good to move away from Aeron’s heartache for a bit. “I’m expected to take part in my family’s biggest holiday event, Midsummer Eve celebrations in the west-coast archipelago. It’s in three weeks. The whole Thorn clan will be there with their respective entourages, and I usually suffer through it alone. This time you get to suffer right along with me.”
What would her family make of Aeron’s presence? Hopefully it would take some of the pressure off her. She planned to get the ball rolling when it came to resigning from Thorn Industries USA. If her parents weren’t distracted enough, she wouldn’t have any chance of slipping away to do this. Her father had a way of monopolizing her every waking moment when she was in Gothenburg. This time Aeron would have to work as her shield.
“You have to explain what the Midsummer celebrations entail so I don’t make a complete fool of myself.” Aeron actually sounded worried.
“Trust me. It’s all about sweet pickled herring, schnapps, and mimicking frogs in a dance around the Maypole, which is an enormous phallic symbol, I might add.”
“You’re joking,” Aeron said weakly.
“No. This is the truth. You’ll also be able to stay up in daylight pretty much all night. The true midnight sun shines around the clock only up north, but even at our latitude, it’s daylight for the most part around Midsummer.” Like most Swedes, Sylvie grew nostalgic and proud of her native country when she talked about it to foreigners. She found herself wishing Aeron would really see the magic in Midsummer Sweden.
“Actually, I’m starting to look forward to this. I might have to take work, as I have a deadline just about then for some edits.”
“Your latest horror novel?”
“Yes. The first in a trilogy. My first trilogy. And my very first supernatural one.” If this made Aeron nervous, Sylvie couldn’t tell.
“I thought all horror stories were supernatural?” Sylvie tried to remember what little she knew about the genre. She actually loved genre fiction, though she had yet to read the type Aeron created. She had to admit she was curious.
“Not so. Horror can be very realistic. You know, being locked up in an asylum where a crazy staff is selling body parts—”
“Oh, goodness.” Swallowing hard at the description, Sylvie knew she wouldn’t want to read anything like that. “Please tell me you don’t write the gory type?”
“I can safely say that the gore has never interested me. I like psychological horror stories, which can be even more frightening, but with minimum gore,” Aeron said, sounding more enthusiastic now.
“Suspense I can deal with,” Sylvie said and hoped she wasn’t being overly confident. She was afraid of the dark, something she hadn’t admitted to a living soul since she went off to university in her youth. Her illogical fear could hit when she was among people or alone.
“I can promise you’ll be able to read my stories, unless you have a very strong imagination. I’ve heard from people who regretted starting to read after dark. So, on a sunny beach perhaps?”
Oh, God. Sylvie shook her head. “Sounds like a plan.”
“All right then, I—oh damn! Look at the time. I didn’t realize it was this late.” Aeron cleared her throat. “Thanks for listening to my ranting…and to Maeve, I suppose.”
“Hey, no problem,” Sylvie said and meant it. “Contract or no contract, I’m interested in what happened to her.” And to Aeron, she added to herself. She wanted to know what events in Aeron’s life had molded a young woman who could be utterly fearless one moment and then so vulnerable and uncertain the next.
“That’s…that’s actually reassuring to know.” Here was Aeron’s unsure tone again, as if she couldn’t fathom Sylvie could actually care on some level. Sylvie realized this had nothing, or very little, to do with her, but more to do with Aeron’s experiences to date. Had she grown up thinking Maeve didn’t care about her? So many variables were missing from this equation, and Sylvie ached to solve this puzzle.
Perhaps if she did, Aeron would find closure, which honestly was the most important aspect of their deal. Saving her own independence and finding her own type of closure from the father who towered over her, expecting her to fail and not wanting to miss a moment of finding he’d been right all along, was secondary.
“I’ll see you in two days,” Sylvie said, now eager to hang up as her emotions were about to get the better of her, something that rarely happened. That meant the floodgates might open, and nobody was allowed to witness that.
> “Your spa on Madison and East 122nd, right?”
“Yes. It was the first one to open, and Maeve actually cut the ribbon for it.”
Aeron remained quiet for a few moments, and Sylvie wondered if she was trying to compose herself. Then she heard the unmistakable sound of Aeron laughing. No. Giggling was a better word.
“She must’ve enjoyed that. That was so up her alley.” Aeron snorted, a thoroughly charming sound coming from her.
“She did.” Sylvie smiled as she recalled how Maeve had dressed as if it were a major Hollywood event and posed at any given opportunity. In retrospect, the way Maeve had kept referring to Classic Swedish Inc. as “our company,” and rightly so, had been endearing. Had that perhaps been a pivotal moment for Maeve that had sparked her desire to spend her time doing other things than party her life away? It was anybody’s guess, but Sylvie didn’t think she was being conceited that the company she’d started had something to do with it.
“Good night, Sylvie.” Aeron now sounded exhausted.
“Good night. Sleep well.”
Sylvie thought she heard Aeron mutter something like “I wish” before they ended the call, but she couldn’t swear to it. Carrying the now-empty brandy glass to the kitchen and placing it in the dishwasher, she remained motionless, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her loose lounge pants, her mind whirling. What was it about Aeron DeForest that kept her thoughts constantly returning to the few times they’d actually met?
Fourteen years her junior, Aeron was obviously of a different generation than Sylvie, who was only three years younger than Maeve. Still, she and Aeron had stumbled upon one thing after another where they connected in the most unlikely way, especially their respective issues with a parent. Dysfunctionality wasn’t the ideal thing to have in common, but there it was. Also, the gossip magazines had a vested interest in them. Granted, Aeron had been kept away from the press both by sheer luck and her own wish for privacy, but sooner or later someone would leak the fact that Maeve DeForest, scandal princess and heiress to one of America’s biggest fortunes, had a secret child.
Getting ready for bed, Sylvie pondered how many hands the DeForests, and later Maeve herself, had greased a palm to keep the press away from Aeron. The same went for hospital staff, school officials, and so on. Not that they couldn’t afford it, but it must have sent a clear signal to Maeve, and later Aeron, just how shameful her mere existence was.
When Sylvie climbed into her queen-size bed, she only had to close her eyes to replay their phone conversation. What was it about Aeron’s appearance that made Sylvie’s stomach tighten and her heart race? Aeron was no classic beauty or stunning in that exotic way Noelle was.
Instead, she was pale, with tiny freckles and glasses. Her hair was amazing though. That particular dark-blond hue with golden highlights looked like the hair of a sorceress. Sylvie couldn’t remember having reacted with such basic attraction to any woman before and certainly not to anyone that much younger. She hoped this infatuation that had taken hold of her would diminish with time. No doubt Aeron’s complete disinterest in her would do the trick. Sylvie wasn’t one to pine for anyone who seemed indifferent. Life was too short.
Sleep had begun to claim her when a thought struck that made her instantly wide-awake. What if this wasn’t just infatuation or simple attraction? What if the suddenness of it all meant it went deeper?
A cold sensation flooded her system, and she hugged one of her four pillows hard to her chest. No. That couldn’t be it. She simply wouldn’t let it be so. Sylvie could think of few faster routes to heartache than someone like her truly falling for a young woman like Aeron DeForest.
Chapter Twelve
Aeron watched as the cab pulled up and Sylvie stepped out. Today she wore black ankle boots, charcoal slacks, and a black, waist-long leather jacket over a white cotton shirt. A sparkling hairclip held her side ponytail in place.
“Am I late?” Sylvie frowned and checked her watch that was the same as Aeron’s.
“Not at all. I was early.” Aeron didn’t intend to mention she’d taken the subway. She wasn’t a fool. For now she could move in complete anonymity, but once she was outed as Maeve’s daughter, single and an heiress, life as she knew it would be over. The tabloid press would hunt her down. Perhaps that fact alone should encourage her to say good-bye to the DeForest empire?
Then she saw the cautious smile on Sylvie’s perfectly shaped, wine-red lips. She wasn’t sure what it was, but somehow the juxtaposition between the worldly, commanding CEO and this occasional shyness created a whirling sensation in her chest. Sylvie was stunning, obviously, but that wasn’t what pulled Aeron in. It was Sylvie’s contradictory nature, warm and cold, caring and distant, and yes, professional and uncertain.
“Let’s go inside. I’ll show you around and you can meet the staff.” Sylvie motioned with her head to the understated entrance with a simple white sign, its black letters stating Classic Swedish Spa—NYC.
“How will you introduce me?” They hadn’t discussed this point.
“As Aeron, a friend of mine. Is that okay?” Sylvie pulled the door open and let Aeron pass her.
“It is.” Aeron gazed around the first foyer that consisted of pine couches with white leather cushions and glass coffee tables. A marble floor helped sustain the luxurious feel. At the far end was yet another door, but this one was locked. “I did wonder how we could just walk right in.” The glass wall toward the inner area of the spa was milky white and not see-through.
“We don’t want our customers to stand outside in the rain and snow while we open the door for them. Also, when someone’s picking up their friend or spouse after a treatment, they can choose to sit out here if they don’t want to come inside for some reason.”
“Good thinking.”
Sylvie plucked a keycard from her purse and slid it through the code lock. The door not only unlocked but swung open automatically. In front of them stood a white and rose-gold counter. Two young women manned it, and when they saw their boss, they smiled widely.
“Sylvie! What a nice surprise. Welcome.” The Asian-American of the two rounded the counter and extended her hand. “I haven’t seen you in months.”
“You do such a good job here, I’m obsolete,” Sylvie said, then returned her attention to Aeron. “Michelle, this is my good friend Aeron. Aeron, this is Michelle, who manages the very first of the NYC spas. We have one on Canal Street as well, which is newer and larger, but as this is my first, it holds a special place in my heart.”
Aeron shook hands with Michelle. “Good to meet you.”
“I didn’t have Thomas call ahead,” Sylvie said, “because I wanted Aeron to see how professional and conscientious you all are whether you know I’m about to stop by or not.”
“We strive for perfection. You know that, Sylvie.” Michelle tucked her hand under Aeron’s arm and began walking. “Why don’t I show you the boring part first—the inner-office area?” She guided Aeron to a bright and airy room behind the counter. Aeron nodded politely toward the receptionist, who was busy assisting a customer. The office area was light gray and white, even the computer screens white, as were the desks and chairs. A standard gray rug kept the noise to a minimum as one man and one woman sat at opposite desks, answering the phones.
“We’re as paperless as possible,” Michelle said. “We scan all important documents and shred the originals when we’ve made certain we have at least five backup copies on different servers and in two clouds.”
“How’s that working?” Sylvie asked. “You were hesitant when I brought the idea up.”
“I thought it would never work. As computer savvy as I am, I still thought it was an accident waiting to happen. I’m glad you proved me wrong. We save a lot of time not having to run to find a certain binder. The only pen on paper we utilize is the customer book at the front. When a client calls to make an appointment, we send the name, time, and date to our receptionist, and she enters it in the client book by hand. She ha
s a code number for every returning customer and a temporary one for new customers and walk-ins.”
“You get a lot of walk-ins?” Aeron’s interest was stirred.
“We didn’t use to, but after Sylvie was on the Today show, we get quite a few. We can’t accommodate all of them, as we’re usually booked solid, but we’ve begun offering minor services, like thirty-minute classic Swedish massage, pedicures, manicures, mini-facials, that can be done in a smaller room.”
“Great idea.” Sylvie pulled up her phone and tapped something onto the screen. “Have you communicated this innovation to Canal Street?”
“Not yet,” Michelle said confidently. Her dark eyes sparkled. “We’re evaluating a two-month trial right now and will bring it to you when we’re done. No use for Canal Street to reinvent the wheel, as it were, when we’re doing the test run for all of us.”
“Excellent. I look forward to the report.”
Michelle didn’t exactly preen, she was far too poised for that, but her cheeks colored faintly as she smiled at Sylvie. Something in that smile hinted at adoration. Michelle looked like she was in her early thirties, and her body language as she guided them further suggested her interest in her boss wasn’t merely professional.
“Want to try our facility, Aeron?” Sylvie suddenly asked. “I’m not sure if a single room’s empty, but one of the couple’s massage rooms might be.”
“I’d love to, but I can’t in good conscience monopolize a room that caters to two individuals.” Aeron shook her head. “I might just make an appointment instead—”
“Why don’t we share the room?” Sylvie asked.
Aeron gawked at Sylvie. Where had that come from? “What? No. I mean. Are you sure?”