Chapter 16

It occurred to Tess, around same the time the black town car pulled up outside the Time Warner Center, that she’d severely underestimated the depths of the Benoits’ pockets.

What exactly did their family do that they could afford to live in one of the most expensive condos in the country?

More than out of her element, Tess stiffly walked inside. She gave her name to the white-gloved concierge, half-afraid security would scent the lack of money emanating from her person and throw her out on the street. Once her credentials checked out, he scanned her thumbprint into the system and explained how it would give her temporary access to Lydia’s floor.

Tess managed to keep a straight face as he worked, as if having her digits biometrically enrolled and authenticated was an everyday occurrence. Trying her best not to look completely out of place, she hunted down the elevator. Tess pressed her thumb screen to the cool glass display. Without having to punch a single button, the platform began moving on its own.

Nervousness curdled in her stomach like spoiled milk as the numbers steadily crept toward the 70^th floor.

Here went nothing.

The doors slid open with nary a squeak. Tess stepped off and located her apartment. Tess sucked in a breath and rang the doorbell. Before she could change her mind, the door swung open. “Tess! Come in. Aren’t you glad you decided to come out?”

Tess presumed the question was largely rhetorical.

In a matter of minutes she was divested of her coat and passed a flute of Dom.

It seemed wrong to call her place an apartment. Even her stepfather’s penthouse paled in comparison. Sprawling extravagance was written into every detail, from its white marbled walls and onyx-lacquered doors to the panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows. The furniture was all geometric shapes and dramatic, standalone pieces that probably cost more than some people made in a year, if not a lifetime.

Unused to such grandeur, Tess drowned her uneasiness with champagne as Lydia prattled on about its previous owner.

“This is…impressive,” Tess said for lack of a better word.

“I know right. We were actually waitlisted for a while. Can you believe that most of the residents don’t even live here year round?” Lydia made a tsking sound. “What a waste. Let’s make the rounds.”

Faces and names funneled around her brain as Lydia towed her around like some new plaything. The only person who really stood out was her fiancé, Stan. Though physically unremarkable, his even-tempered personality served as an appropriate antithesis to his soon-to-be wife’s fire and dynamo.

Sadly he didn’t stick around for long. Giving her a commiserating look, he discreetly tucked out of sight.

Clever man.

She wished she could do the same.

Somewhere between the vortex of questions, answers, and casual commentary, her head began to hurt.

It was all too much. Normal people could not afford this. Why was she here? Who were these people? Who were the Benoits and why did they seem to have more money than God?

Tess drained the rest of her champagne and used it as an excuse to part from the dapperly dressed partygoers.

“I’ll show you where you can refill.”

Left with no other alternative, Tess trailed behind Lydia into the kitchen. Their old apartment in Brooklyn could occupy its dimension three times over. The inviting blend of rich wood and dark stone neutralized the slick, ultramodern conveniences and gleaming stainless steel. At least what it lacked in humility it made up with style.

“What’s with the look?”

“What?”

“Is it too much?” It took a moment for Tess to realize she meant the festive décor. “Stan says I have a tendency to go overboard sometimes.”

The apartment alone was overboard. In fact it was so far overboard, it had washed up on the shore of absurdity. “It’s fine, honestly. You did a great job.”

“All right. I’m trusting you.” Lydia confiscated her empty glass and gestured to the impressive line-up of booze that crowded her black-marbled countertops. “What’ll you have next?”

“I’ll stick with Dom, thanks.”

“Oh poo, you’re no fun.”

Tess waited a beat. “Why exactly did you invite me here?”

She popped the cork. “Because I want us to be friends.”

Tess smelled bullshit. “Really? And it has nothing to do with you wanting me to get together with Adonis?”

Giggling, Lydia flapped a hand as if to physically ward off the suggestion. “Please, give me some credit. I like you for you not for what you can do for my brother.” The champagne splashed, fizzed, and gurgled its way to the flute’s lip. “But since we’re on the subject, would you mind doing me a favor?”

Tess instantly went on guard. “And what would that be?” she asked with no small degree of prudence.

“He’s been in bed sick with the flu. I made soup and have some cough syrup for him. I just need you to carry it up to his floor.”

And there would be the reason behind her invitation. “You two live in the same building?”

“My father bought me this condo so I can keep tabs on him,” Lydia said, the admission flaking with bitter acrimony. “His way of managing Adonis.” She swapped out the sour expression for a broad, sweeping grin. “But it wasn’t like I was going to turn this place down.”

Tess wasn’t amused. “Don’t you have porters or room service to do your bidding?”

“I’m just worried about him,” she said grimly. “Please, could you just check in on him for me? His housekeeper told me he looks on the verge of death and hasn’t eaten anything or been out of his room in days.”

“Why can’t you do it yourself?”

“I would but I have to babysit my wasted guests and keep them from puking and dry-humping my furniture.”

Tess very much doubted any of that would come to pass. This wasn’t exactly a frat party. But there was no mistaking the sisterly worry in her eyes. She blew out an inaudible breath, annoyed that she was, yet again, being roped into doing something that did not involve her. “I’m the last person he wants to talk to.”

“Please, Tess.” She grabbed her hand, her gaze developing a watery sheen.

“After I do this, please chill with the meddling. I don’t like being manipulated, especially by someone who claims they want to be friends. I have enough fake people in my life.”

Her elegant brow rose as the beseeching, soon-to-be tears evaporated. “There’s no fooling you, is there? I respect that. I can be a little aggressive and I apologize for that. You’re cool people, Tess. And I do want us to be friends, even if you and my brother don’t get together.”

God, she was like a dog with a bone. “What number is he?”

Beaming, Lydia shoveled a card key and a bag of goodies into her arms before spouting off directions. “I’ll call down to the front desk to give you access. When you get back your coat and purse will be in my room.”

Tess drained the champagne, glared at her, and left without as much as an adieu.

Lydia’s mouth quirked behind her martini glass.

This was really too easy.

___________________

Tess loitered outside of his door. What possessed her to agree to this? Adonis had made himself perfectly clear she meant nothing to him.

Switching the bag to her opposite hand, she swiped into the condo.

Her entrance cued the automatic, overhead fixtures. Soft, mustard yellow light washed the interior in gradual increments. Unlike his sister’s determinedly chic patina, his place boasted a clean, streamlined look. Rich, reddish-brown sucupira hardwood shone lustily underfoot. A sprawling, black leather couch arched around a dark, matte-finished coffee table. A sleek entertainment unit dominated the furthermost wall. Housed within was a ridiculous-inch flat screen television that ran the length of the unit.

The faint burn of Marlboros scratched the back of her throat and recalled her focus.

The smell led her to an open balcony door. Through the pane she spotted a chaise and a crystal ashtray teeming with filters. Solid, blackout curtains obscured the rest of the terrace.

Well, fuck that. Tess had an average tolerance for heights. She drew the line at a sliver of concrete suspended seventy something floors above the ground.

Her heart rocketed out of her chest as a rough hand dragged her backwards. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Adonis snarled, face flushed and eyes unnaturally bright.

She’d come here in an act of goodwill and this was what he had to show for it?

Enough was enough.

“That’s a good question, seeing as how you fucked me to prove a point. What could I possibly want from you?”

Her barefaced candor stole his momentum.

“It must be the fact that I can’t get enough of you.” Feigning scandal, she covered her mouth. “Because I’m a whore who’s only concerned about hurting Cam. Or is it your money? No wait, it has to be your Houdini cock. What girl in their right mind would give it up?”

He recovered quickly. “Look at that. Finally showing your true colors,” Adonis scoffed. “It’s about time.”

Fury lashed her chest like a razor-studded bullwhip. She tamped it down and redirected its flow. “You’re right. It’s about time I started embracing my true nature.” Tess allowed the bag to slide to the floor and poured herself against him.

He stiffened as her fingers skated his sides. Tess glimpsed the pulse jabbing frantically at his jugular and concealed a vengeful smile. “So how about it? Let’s have one more go round, just for the hell of it.” Tess skimmed his jaw line with the tip of her nose and almost recoiled. His skin was abnormally hot. She frowned at the slight rattle and wheeze of his breaths.

“What makes you think the offer still stands?” His voice cracked with a combination of tapered anger, waxing frustration, and something more potent.

Arousal.

“I think it still does. You can’t deny what we have,” she murmured, rubbing against him and wasn’t disappointed when she felt his body’s enthusiastic response. “And I doubt Cameron has a tenth of your stamina. We should keep something going on the side. You can be my dirty little secret. After all, it’s all you’re good for.”

The slight snapped him out his stupor. He jerked back, stumbling into an innocent end table. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“Lydia.” She nodded to the discarded goods rolling out of the neglected sack. “She seems to be the only one who still cares about your wellbeing.”

Something about the statement lit a fire beneath him. “I don’t give a shit about her! Or you! Or anyone!” His rage exploded fast and furious, but a trace of desperation tinged the emotions. “Get the hell out of my apart-!” A paroxysm of wet, hacking coughs sidelined his outburst.

Thirty seconds ago Tess would’ve responded with a prim ‘gladly.’ However, Lydia had been right. He was sick. Face flushed an unhealthy red, she watched as he struggled overcome the coughing fit.

Tess lost steam. He looked ready to crumple. “Maybe you should sit down.”

“I’m fine,” he said hoarsely, using his knuckles to knead his sternum.

Bullshit he was.

Apparently deeming her unworthy of any further conversation, Adonis ditched her for the balcony.

She should’ve taken that as a hint to leave. He didn’t want her here and she didn’t want to be here.

Cursing her wretched conscience, she scooped up his care package.

The first step onto the terrace was the hardest. A bout of vertigo side winded her. With measured breaths, she trained her gaze skyward and eased out the door. By the time she inched to Adonis’s post against the railing he was almost finished with his cigarette.

At some point during her stay, dark clouds had overtaken the sky. They squatted low in disgruntled formation. Cold droplets of rain began to tap shyly against glass and steel.

Mustering courage, she coaxed her gaze downward. Anxiety did little to soften the blow of the commanding cityscape. From this height, Manhattan was nothing more than a gilded playground, the Hudson River an accidental spill of obsidian.

They stood at the edge of heaven, untouchable, so close to the sky she could reach out and spool a wisp of cloud around her finger.

As beautiful as the scene was, she felt disconnected. Distance dampened the city’s symphony, muted the pounding of quick time strides striking pavement and the cascade of voices, sirens, and car horns.

She couldn’t feel the city’s rhythm, its heart.

There was something infinitely lonesome about the stratification. Tess offered him the satchel. “Your sister made you soup. And bought you medicine.”

He blew out a ring of smoke. “You never give up, do you?” His voice was raspy, fatigued.

Saying nothing, she nimbly plucked the cigarette from his hand. He didn’t attempt to retaliate as she stubbed it out in the ashtray. “Here.” She planted the bag firmly in his grip. “Eat the soup. Take the medicine. Take care of yourself.”

“You still didn’t answer me. Why are you doing this?”

The comment made her hackles rise. “Because I try to be a good person. I try to do what’s right, even when people I trust—trusted treat me like shit for no other reason than it was Tuesday. Or whatever day.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s not what you think.”

“You know what, I don’t even care. I’m done caring. I’m here as a favor to your sister. That’s all.”

Adonis coughed. “Fine. But take her shit back. She acts like having something of hers in my apartment means she can barge in here at any time.”

That sounded about right. He led her into the kitchen, its setup paralleling his sister’s save for a few inconsistencies. Like everything else in his apartment, the meticulous immaculacy hinted that it was either rarely used or that their turndown service was second to none.

She was liable to believe both.

“You want something to drink?” He mumbled, rummaging through the cabinets.

“I’m good.” The mention of drinks reminded her of how long she’d went with Lydia’s champagne swashing in her bladder. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Down the hall. Second door on the right.”

Not knowing if she should thank him for the courtesy, Tess opted for not. She found the bathroom with little difficulty. After relieving herself, she cut the lights and closed the door behind her. Tess made to return, but the room directly across the hall caught her attention.

Propped half open, white sheets draped pieces of furniture. How utterly random. What didn’t he want displayed?

Curiosity chipping away at her moral sensibilities, Tess glanced down the corridor. The banging and clattering of pans indicated he was still vested in his pursuit of Tupperware.

One peek wouldn’t hurt. She poked her head inside.

The city’s nightly glow poured through the wide panes. It lent the white sheets draped across not pieces of furniture, but decorative easels an eerie, ghost-like radiance. Other than their presence, the room was barren. Despite the noticeable absence of dust and vestiges of pine oil, it looked barely used.

A chill twined through her.

What was all this?

She lifted back the sheet of the nearest canvas.

It was a portrait of the Benoit family.

Adonis was the most recognizable. Even at the tender age four or five she could tell from his mischievous expression he was a little hellion.

Her eyes swept to the stunning woman whose lap he sat atop. Adonis was the spitting image of her. Whereas he emanated diabolical arrogance and general roguery, his mother epitomized warmth, compassion. Framed by waves of dark, glossy hair, her face was an open book, her whiskey colored eyes laughing.

A vague memory skimmed her mind. There was something familiar about her.

Tess moved on. The man had to be the father. Other than his nose, Adonis bore little resemblance to him. His chestnut brown hair, shot with silver, was cropped at a respectable length. Intelligent blue eyes offset the severity of his features.

The older boy in the portrait had to be the brother, Nikolai. Unlike Adonis, his features heavily favored his father. For someone who couldn’t be more than eleven years of age, he looked as if the weight of the world had been placed on his shoulders.

Tess read the gold plated inscription on the bottom of the frame. Lionel, Nikolai, Adonis, and Selene...Selene. She stared harder at the woman.

“Can’t you go ten fucking seconds without sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong!”

Tess started as he snatched the sheet off the floor. “Sorry. I thought I saw something moving in here,” she finished lamely.

The flimsy excuse didn’t register. His gaze was fixated on the painting. For an instant, pain and longing rippled across his expression. But it disappeared as swiftly as it appeared. “Get your shit. You’re leaving. Now.”

He spun around and instead of storming off in surly pomposity, he swayed to the right. Tess caught him before he staggered into the easel. Ignoring his objections, she flattened her hand to his forehead. Just as she suspected, his skin was on fire. “You’re burning up. You need to lay down.”

“I’m fi-”

“Bullshit you are. Show me where your room is.”

The muscles of his jaw flexed, as if overcoming a physical urge to tell her off. Eventually he caved and directed her to the master bedroom. A fire blazed in the hearth adjacent to his California king size bed.

He crashed facedown like a pallet of bricks. Fine her ass. “Do you want me to call a doctor?”

Adonis flipped himself over and coughed. “No. No doctors.”

“I’ll be right back.” Tess backtracked and retrieved Lydia’s medicine. When she returned, she unscrewed the cap and poured the viscous syrup into the plastic dispenser. “Here. Drink some of this.”

He lethargically brought it to his lips. After draining its contents, Adonis shoved the cup back at her and fell against the mountain of throw pillows.

Tess studied him. Breathing had become an exertion. Panting slightly, he fought a losing battle against the sickness claiming its foothold. The fire-play danced over him, throwing the shadowed angles of his features into sharp relief.

A memory suddenly clicked.

“Selene Argyros, she was your mother, wasn’t she?” The stiffening of his shoulders confirmed her suspicions.

“There’s no keeping anything from you, is there?” he replied, his mouth twisting into something faintly sardonic.

“I’m sure you’ll agree that it comes in handy every now and then.” There was no need to elaborate.

Adonis glared at her. “Yeah, she was my mother.” His features hardened. “And I hate her.”

Tess wanted to accredit his despise to some petty, juvenile grievance. But the cool, cerebral certainty of his tone staked her spine with shards of ice. She rested her weight against his nightstand, jouncing the pills in several orange prescription bottles. “You’re just saying that because she left you,” she said, tearing her gaze from the medicine.

His gaze was penetrating, inescapable. Tess would’ve fidgeted had it not been for her death hold on the door handle. “Don’t tell me how to feel,” he said in that same, unnerving tone.

There was really only one question she could ask. “Why?”

His eyes closed. “My mother didn’t know how to balance the things or people she loved.”

“What do you mean?”

“She spent most of my childhood in a continuous state of flux,” he said coldly without inflection. “If she wasn’t locked up in her studio painting, she was throwing parties or flying around the world on tour. My brother and I grew up on scraps of her attention. Eventually my father got her see a shrink. She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.”

“What happened after?” she asked gently.

“For a while she balanced out. And then one day she just stopped taking her meds. Said they interfered with her creative process.” A bout of coughs disrupted the narrative. “The night it happened,” he began again hoarsely, “my father had just left on a business trip. She flipped out. Claimed he was having an affair and wanted to catch him in the act. She ran out of the house and got into her car.” He swallowed thickly.

“My brother, Nikolai, ran after her to see if he could talk sense into her. I tried to follow, but one of the maids held me back,” he croaked, voice ebbing. “She hit a curve too sharp, lost control of thecar, and they veered into a gully. My brother went through the windshield. He was killed on impact. She sustained severe trauma to the head. Somehow in her delusional state, she managed to remember to put on a seatbelt.” He closed his eyes. “My brother didn’t.”

Tess remembered his obstinacy about the seatbelt issue a few weeks ago and felt like an asshole. “Oh, Adonis,” she whispered, aching to console him. “I’m so sorry.”

He coughed into his arm. “Whatever. I’m over it.”

It was painfully obvious that he was far from over it. Tess couldn’t bring herself to contradict him. “Speaking of art, I loved your model ships,” she said delicately negotiating clear of the subject matter.

He relaxed minutely. “My grandfather got me into it. He was in the shipping business, like any good Greek. Built an empire from the ground up.”

“That’s not a bad legacy to inherit.”

“It’s not mine yet.” He broke off into another spasm of sharp, lung-convulsing coughs. “Everything is hers.”

She frowned. “But since she passed…”

He cracked an eye. “Whoever said she was dead?”

Time ground to a screeching halt. Her head whipped up, eyes wide.

He didn’t elaborate.

Tess glanced at her cell. It was nearing one in the morning. She needed to hurry back to Lydia’s for her things. No doubt the girl probably spent the majority of the party rolling on the floor, cackling gleefully at her prolonged absence.

“I should head out.” She shoved off the nightstand. “ Don’t forget Lydia made soup when you’re ready to eat it. I’ll put in your fridge.”

His hand shot out and caught her wrist. He mumbled something unintelligible.

“What?”

His chest heaved, as if his next words caused him as much pain as the fever. “I said stay.”

Sympathy and frustration whittled down what little remained of her energy. “I wish you the best, I really do. But I can’t keep doing this Adonis. Be your confidante one day and on your shit list the next.”

“It wasn’t my decision,” he gritted, clinging to lucidity.

“What do you mean it wasn’t your decision?” she asked even as the pieces began assembling. “Cameron. He put you up to this, didn’t he?”

He neither confirmed nor denied the accusation.

Anger whisked through her. She couldn’t believe him! Why did he have to be so insecure?

She dove for her cell, intent on giving her boyfriend a piece of mind. Tess was beginning to think that after four years of friendship, she really didn’t know Cameron.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Tell him how shallow and vindictive it is to threaten to cut off one of his friends?”

“Just don’t.” He coughed again.

Shelving resentment at her soon-to-be dead boyfriend, she rubbed his back. Tess scowled at the searing warmth trapped beneath his shirt. He was hemorrhaging heat.

She deserted his side for the adjoining bathroom. Tess submerged the washcloth hanging conveniently from the faucet’s neck in cold water.

Adonis had curled into the fetal position in her absence. She inveigled him into lying on his back and draped the washcloth across his forehead.

Worry marked her brow as he began shivering.

Cameron would have to be dealt with later.

Right now, Tess had to focus on getting Adonis better. She’d more than had her fill of ER trips.

Дата добавления: 2015-10-16