My interest is piqued. “You knew Landon’s father?”
“Yes I did,” he says. “Preston and Alicia were close friends of mine, and they were spectacular, I tell you. Alicia was the pride of the New York Ballet Company, and Preston, well he was Preston. I remember when Alicia danced Odette in Swan Lake. It was phenomenal. I believe Gilt Style did a feature on her, called her the ‘Swan of New York.’”
Landon is still holding my hand, and I feel his fingers stiffen. Then he releases my hand and places his on the table, turning his gaze towards the exhibition of pictures on the large screen. His face is suddenly blank, his expression inscrutable. I remember the nightmare he had last night. All Nelson’s talk about his parents can only be awakening the painful memories from the day he lost his mother.
Feeling sad for him, I manage to change the subject, steering Nelson to conversations about his company. Food is served by solicitous waiters while the sponsors and chairs give their speeches. Later, we all move to the opera house across the street where the opening night performances will take place.
From the moment the curtain rises the first time, to the end of the last performance, the audience is transfixed. I enjoy the performances, thinking how Laurie would have loved to see them. I’m also worried about Landon, seeing how he might be reminded of his mother.
After the last performances, we have to go back across the street for the after party. Landon leads me to the dance floor, his hand at my waist molding my body to his as he moves in time to the slow ballad a popular singer is belting out from the stage.
I rest my head on his chest, breathing in the seductive scent of his cologne, the expertise with which he moves his body making me think of how well he uses it to give pleasure.
“Enjoying yourself?” He whispers the question into my ear.
I look up at him. “I am.”
He nods and continues to lead me in the dance.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” I ask, still looking at his face.
His smile is sensual. “I have a lot to look forward to.”
The words make me shiver in anticipation, because I know exactly what he’s talking about, a
nd I feel the same way.
I take a breath, knowing I should change the subject before the lust that’s suddenly growing in my body takes over me completely.
“When Nelson was talking about your parents earlier…,” I start, almost faltering when a frown creases his brow, but I soldier on. “I just…I read about you on the internet, so obviously I found some news stories. I noticed that you were upset. I don’t know how it feels to lose someone, but I’m sorry.”
He sighs. “I wasn’t upset. I would just rather not think about it.”
I nod. “I can imagine.”
He shakes his head. “You can’t. Not really.” He’s looking straight ahead. “They were all in love with her, you know. Every single man in their circle, including Nelson Bledsoe. But she was crazy about my father. The rumors made her crazy. No matter how often he told her that they were lies. If he wasn’t right in front of her, she drove herself to jealousy imagining that he was with someone else.”
I’d read the tabloid rumors about Preston Court’s affairs. It would have been so easy for someone to believe them, especially someone who loved him.
“The day we had the accident, some busy body called her about yet another rumor. My father had recently decided to expand the hotels. He was trying to acquire property in L.A. She didn’t wait to hear his side. She took off her ring and left a note, then she bundled us in the car with all our favorite books and toys. So I knew that wherever we were going, we wouldn’t be back for a long time.” He takes a deep breath. “We never found out where she meant to take us. Car crashed. She died. End of Story.”
I stare at him, unable to process how painful it must have been. “Landon…”
“Aidan didn’t utter a word for the next five years,” he continues without emotion. “My father was never the same. People like to say he became a recluse, but the truth is, he abandoned me and Aidan in the hotel under the care of the staff and locked himself up in the house in Sand’s Point, trying to drink himself to death. One winter, he left the house in the middle of the night and went out into the water. By the time they found him in the morning, it was too late. He died of hypothermia, at forty-nine, a few feet away from a warm house.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him, feeling the inadequacy of the words even as I say them. For one person to have so much pain, so many wounds… I can’t even begin to comprehend. An overwhelming instinct to comfort him takes over me, and I tighten my arms around him, holding him close as we dance. He doesn’t pull away, so I lay my head on his shoulder, feeling the reassuring thump of his heartbeat, so close to me.
“I don’t know why I told you all that,” I hear him say, “You shouldn’t think too much about it. It’s all ancient history.”
I look up at him. “But you dream about it,”
He stiffens. “What?”
I take a breath, wondering how he’ll take the knowledge that I witnessed his pain. “Last night, you were dreaming, and you said a few things. I didn’t want to wake you, because I was afraid you wouldn’t go back to sleep.” I pause, “It’s why you hardly sleep isn’t it, because you still dream about it.”
He doesn’t answer, but he moves back a little, putting some distance between us.
“Have you talked to anyone about it?” I ask, unwilling to leave the issue.