The Sweetest Charade

by Jadesola James

  “It’s on loan from the Met,” Delysia said.

  “What is?” Alexander said, confused.

  “Her tiara. See that guy over there?” She gestured at a large man, soberly dressed in a black turtleneck and charcoal slacks, arms crossed. “That’s the visible bodyguard. There have to be at least three more, hidden in the crowd and flagging the exits. Eden took photographs with them earlier—do you follow her account? You should, it’ll help you keep up with the party.”

  Alexander just stared at her; really, there were no words. Delysia laughed out loud, the gesture quite transforming her face. Then she set her jaw and liberated a second flaming blue ball from a passing server.

  “I’m going to need this if we’re going to get through tonight,” she said grimly, and downed it. Alexander stared at her. Then, he reached over her shoulder, plucked his own, blew, and downed the shot.

  It was his turn to laugh at Delysia’s shocked face. He could not laugh too hard, though—he was already trying to keep from choking to death on his flaming blue ball.

  * * *

  Delysia felt just a bit more relaxed after Alexander downed that ridiculous drink in the most awkward way possible; it dissolved some unnamed thing, an uncomfortable tension that had hovered between them since their meeting at the SoHo Lounge. He had a sense of humor, however small it was, and it allowed her to meet his eyes for the first time since they’d left SoHo.

  “Will you talk me through it, then?” he asked, after placing his shot glass down carefully on one of the trays he’d examined earlier and mouthing a thank you to the server. They’d fallen almost into a rhythmic way of moving, his hand resting on her lower back, steering her through the crowd with surprising skill. He’d stopped gawping within moments of their arrival—she suspected he was too well-mannered for that—and had graduated to nodding politely and offering a hand whenever she stopped to speak to somebody.

  Now, determined to reach Eden and Nicky so she could exchange cheek kisses, make some small talk, and take a photo with them so she could go home, Delysia lifted her elbows and began power-walking through the crowd in earnest. They were so well fed, liquored up, and mellowed out from the smoke and strobe lights that they parted for her rather amicably.

  When they reached the front of the little group of people surrounding Eden Kim, Delysia leaned on the bar, took a breath, and ordered a gin and tonic. She really didn’t like the taste of gin, so she was counting on that to slow her down—the two blue balls she’d had in quick succession along with the wine she’d had at dinner weren’t likely to make for the best life choices. She felt Alexander at her side, a quiet presence that she found oddly reassuring beside herself. She had her little entourage of fellow influencers and wannabes that she usually paired with for nights out like this one, but she hadn’t called any of them for this...test drive of sorts with Alexander Abbott-Hill.

  She took a tiny glance at him. Even in profile he looked calm, at peace, though completely out of place. She felt a sudden flash of envy at the ease with which he moved through her spaces. He probably had no idea how special that quiet self-assurance was in a world that was desperate to please, to maintain an aesthetic on which their livelihood depended.

  “Can I get you anything?” she asked. He shook his dark head and placed a card on the counter; she reached out and handed it back. “No paying for drinks. I told you, business expense.”

  “Are you having fun?” he asked after a moment.

  Delysia did look at him then. She could see a great deal of the top of his head from where she was perched on her high bar stool, and wondered in a wild, irrational moment what his hair must be like when it was unbridled, free, not-so-carefully brushed into place. Her fingers actually drifted down toward it, to her horror. She dropped them to her neck instead, fingering the pendant that nestled in the middle of her clavicle.

  “I’m at work,” she said finally, not sure how else to answer the question. She should be having a good time, but she wasn’t, was she?

  At that moment her drink arrived; she took a grateful sip and peered ahead of them. Only two other people stood in the makeshift line and they’d be able to greet Eden and she could go home, shower this bizarre evening off her...

  “You came, Del?”

  At the sound of a male voice that wasn’t Alexander’s, Delysia nearly stumbled off of her perch. She could feel her face contort in horror, and she very deliberately did not look in the direction the greeting was coming from before she spoke. “Hello, Nicky.”

  She could feel rather than see Alexander look first at her, and then at their new companion, Nicholas James Kim. Twin brother and second half of Eden’s influencer empire—and in Delysia’s case, virginity-taker and smasher of hearts.

  It was impossible to see Nicky, to hear his voice, and not instantly become awash with a bombardment of images that came one after the other, rapid-fire, as if a film director of stupid mistakes had chosen to collate them in a movie trailer of the worst decisions she’d made romantically so far.

  There was the party where she’d met him four years ago, when she was just starting out: he’d gotten her over the one-thousand-followers mark by leaving a comment on one of her blog posts. Fans of his assumed they were together, and like this ruse with Alexander, they’d done nothing to correct it—except in their case, Delysia had fallen for him, and she’d fallen fast.

  There were months of lots of flirting and semi-dirty texting; a hand job in the back of a Hummer after a drunken night at a casino in Jersey; and finally, her sleeping with him for the first time and waking up, sore and uncomfortable, to him taking soft-filter selfies of them in bed.

  There had been six more months of dating and the triumphant win of a joint endorsement with Supreme and Tony Hawk before it had all culminated in a tearful, ugly, humiliating meltdown at JFK when she’d accused him of harboring a girl in his apartment in Seoul. A fan had DM’d her an anonymous tip.

  The truth had been worse than if he’d cheated on her. He had actually been in the process of hiring the K-pop star Kay Jay to take her place, cutting her out of the deal.

  Words had been exchanged, nasty words. He’d changed his status to single, and posted a live video of himself at a Knicks game two hours later. They had finally agreed to somewhat of a truce a couple of years later after Kay Jay had gone to rehab, and repeated meetings at Instagrammable events in the city made it better for their brands to make up rather than remain archenemies. Nicky now treated her with the absentminded sort of kindness that enraged Delysia as much as it wounded her.

  Other than that stupid, staged picture that had started this whole thing with Alexander in the first place, she hadn’t had any male contact since then, and hadn’t wanted it either.

  Delysia usually managed a chilly cordiality, but tonight she was altogether too flustered to sound angry. Nicky capitalized on this and leaned in, pecking her softly on the mouth rather than the cheek-kisses that were more common for their set.

  She could feel Alexander stiffen behind her, and she pulled back, cheeks hot.

  “You’ve obviously already been at the Grey Goose,” she said tartly. “Nicholas Kim, meet Alexander Abbott-Hill. He’s my—”

  “Badly dressed escort,” Alexander said with the sort of dry humor that usually only worked in books, or in British theater. He extended a hand; Delysia watched as the two men shook, feeling rather as if she was in some sort of a terrible dream where time was slowing down. Nicky was tall, and bulky thanks to hours of CrossFit and a diet of Red Bull and protein shakes. She’d spent hours in the past tracing that muscle with her fingers and tongue; now she shrank from it.

  Nicky looked at Delysia, then at Alexander, then back at Delysia, as if they were two halves of a particularly tricky equation he was keen to solve. “You’re not—” he began, then stopped, probably because there was no way to say “an influencer” without sounding like a total id
iot. “Haven’t seen you before,” he finally settled on.

  “I would think not,” Alexander agreed. “I teach history at Southampton.”

  “Ah!” Nicky raised his brows. “How did you two meet?”

  Alexander opened his mouth to answer but Delysia cut in. “He’s a member at the SoHo Lounge.” They would have to make up a cover story later, but this would do for now.

  She saw an interested gleam in Nicky’s eye at the mention of the club; even he hadn’t managed to nab a membership yet. “SoHo Lounge, huh? Abbott-Hill, did you say? You wouldn’t happen to be related to—”

  “Nicky is Eden’s twin and they work at content creation together, Alexander,” Delysia cut in, loudly. She slid off her barstool. If she was going to face Nicky Kim, she’d rather do it standing up.

  “Happy birthday,” Alexander said. “No tiara for you?”

  Nicky’s dark brown eyes narrowed as if he suspected he was being insulted. Then he smiled. “I leave the tiara-wearing to my sister. Eden!” he called over the heads of the people standing next to them. “Del’s here, with her new boyfriend Alex—”

  “Alexander,” he corrected politely.

  Nicky ignored him. Eden’s eyes widened, and she waved them over.

  “Oh, you sneaky girl—I didn’t know you were coming until I saw your story post,” she gushed effusively, scanning Alexander all the while and gauging his age, his status, and the net worth of his outfit. Her eyes fell on the frayed cuffs peeping out from his sleeves and they widened again. To distract her Delysia began a little gushing of her own.

  “The tiara—which one was it, again? I cannot believe you managed to land this. Can I touch it, or will Kevin Costner over there tase me?”

  “You’d better believe he will. I’m wearing a tracker, if you can believe it,” Eden said, and held out her wrist. Among the usual assortment of bangles and tennis bracelets was a slim black band with a tiny red light. “They know what a desperate person I am, I guess. Not to be trusted.”

  The girls laughed insincerely; an awkward silence fell. Delysia cleared her throat and picked up her glass. “What kind of tiara is it? Are those pearls?”

  “Conch shells,” said Alexander and Eden at the same time, and all of them looked at Alexander, surprised.

  He looked embarrassed for a moment, then cleared his throat. “I thought they were pearls at first.” He had to yell to be heard over the music. “But they aren’t.”

  “How the hell did you know that?” Eden demanded.

  “Last year I wrote a paper on the history of luxury for the Business Historians Quarterly and focused on the Met’s collection of jewelry,” he said. “I got to know a few of the pieces very intimately. This one is actually on loan from the British Museum, so you’ve performed quite a coup. It’s rumored to have belonged to Maria Carolina, Queen of Naples...” He trailed off as they continued to stare. “How in heaven’s name did you manage to pull this off?” It was the first time that evening Alexander had shown any real enthusiasm. Delysia could see the awkwardness wearing off, see his eyes brightening.

  “I’m working in collaboration with their education program. I chose it because I figured conch shells would be a good tie-in to my charity this evening,” Eden said a little faintly.

  “What charity is that?”

  “Save the Whales. I just loved SeaWorld as a child.”

  “Did you?”

  Was that sarcasm? Delysia would not, could not look at Alexander at that moment. She also didn’t know whether to laugh or run screaming from the room.

  “I see you’ve got the necklace too, and the earrings,” Alexander said after a slight pause, and leaned in dangerously close to Eden’s cleavage to examine the piece without touching it. “Seahorses, dolphins, mermaids, and scallop shells, all carved in. Master artist, really, and surprisingly clean provenance...” He stepped back. “Well done. Happy birthday. Delysia, have you got anything else to do, or are you ready to go?” He rounded up, turning away from Eden. Nicky’s eyebrows had risen till they nearly disappeared into the coif at the front of his hair.

  “No,” Delysia gasped out, feeling a little short of air, stifling a wild desire to laugh. “Maybe we could take a turn around the floor? Get some food?”

  “Yes, you can’t leave yet!” Eden found her voice in time to rally. “The show will start in ten minutes.”

  “Okay. Well, we’ll better get to where we can see—” Delysia gabbled. She gripped Alexander’s hand in hers, tugged hard, and bolted without looking back. She didn’t stop until they were ensconced in the middle of the throbbing dance floor, where strobe lights were collecting in one blinding spotlight above their heads, where the trapeze artists would begin the show.

  “Are you all right, Delysia?” came Alexander’s voice out of the darkness.

  “I’m fine,” she said in a strangled voice that wasn’t quite hers. She wasn’t fine, of course; this was terrible, and she had to do something to calm herself down. Her arms, of their own volition, crept up around his neck. “Eden’s watching. I’m going to kiss you,” she announced, because she supposed he deserved some warning. The oddest look crossed his face, but he didn’t protest. And she didn’t even care to see if Eden was still watching, or if Nicky had followed them, before she stood on her toes and slanted her mouth against the soft, warm skin of his cheek. She could have kissed him on the mouth, as he had with her not two hours before, but she, quite frankly, chickened out.

  You have officially lost your mind.

  Chapter Four

  Delysia woke the next morning with a stomachache and a pounding head brought on by too much wine, sushi, and the internal conviction that yes, she had been a very silly girl the night before. She’d finally shut her phone off at three AM to get some peace. When had her followers become so nosy? One hint, one whisper of her involvement with someone, and they’d all gone wild.

  She sat up, caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror on the wall opposite her bed, and cringed. She was completely naked—her clothes lay in a heap at the foot of her bed—and she hadn’t braided and wrapped her hair as usual the night before. It spurted in wild corkscrew curls in every direction. Mascara, lip gloss, and eyeliner were smeared all over her bone-white pillowcases and sheets; her linen duvet hadn’t escaped the makeup assault either.

  Delysia closed her eyes tight against a wave of regret-tinged nausea and tried to concentrate on the smell of the lavender that lingered in her linens. All she could see was the mental replay of a very tipsy evening.

  She’d gone to Eden’s party, all right. Alexander had gone with her, a bit of a misfit at her elbow, with his spurts of odd conversation, the opposite of a person that was in the know. No one knew who he was, but everyone knew who his family was. Eden had been no exception, and her attempts at flirting with Alexander—as well as the presence of Nicky, which had shaken her more than she thought possible—had brought out the worst in Delysia.

  She’d kissed Alexander twice—oh Jesus, they’d kissed twice. Once on the cheek in a dark, secluded corner of the party, and that first time, of course, in the doorway of the SoHo Lounge, with an intensity that still made her tingle. All for show, she told herself. But in her horny, wine-addled state she’d been disappointed when his hands didn’t wander...

  Yes, she’d been very silly. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, remembering the look on his face when she’d planted the kiss on his cheek. Had he been expecting her to kiss him on the mouth, the way she’d dared him to earlier? Why, if this was strictly for business, had shyness paralyzed her, in front of the two people who would have been best at spreading the word?

  The shrill, invasive sound of her landline ringing jolted her out of her trance. When she jumped she managed to tangle herself into her sheets, and fell completely on the floor with a thud.

  Cursing, she managed to wriggle free from her blanket prison and hea
ded over to the phone. “Hello?” she said.

  “Good morning, is this Delysia?” The voice was familiar, male. Delysia was discomfited to feel her heartbeat increase, and her free hand crept down to cover her breasts (as much as possible, anyway). She didn’t care how silly it was.

  “Yes, it’s me.”

  “I just wanted to check and see if you were all right,” said Alexander mildly. “I’ve been outside for about forty-five minutes and Faye was kind enough to give me your landline. Perhaps your battery has died?”

  Delysia swore, and loudly. She looked at the digital clock on the wall and swore again.

  “Oh, dear,” Alexander said. He sounded a little amused. “Do you need a little time?”

  Shit, shit, shit, shit. Delysia vaguely remembered agreeing to meet with Alexander that morning to go over the details of the trip they were to plan, and hash out a rollout strategy for social media. However, that had been before most of the drinking, dancing, and snuggling that had taken place at Eden’s party.

  Alexander sounded as if they’d agreed to meet for bagels. She couldn’t believe how blasé he was, to be honest.

  “Alexander, I’m so sorry,” Delysia said. “I’m afraid I overslept. Can you give me fifteen minutes?” It was on the tip of her tongue to invite him to come up, but she held back. She wasn’t quite ready for that yet, and probably never would be.

  “Of course,” Alexander said. His voice held no traces of animosity. Delysia hung up the phone without saying anything more and scurried for the shower. It had been a long time since she had met someone that polite, male or female.

  Delysia showered in record time, going over the details for the day in her head. She and Alexander were set to drive out to Long Island, at his suggestion: “...you can take a look at the Pullman cars I’m restoring, and then have lunch at mine. We will really be able to hash out some details in peace without dealing with the Starbucks crowd.”