“Jade, could you bring me some of those? I’m starving,” Shane calls, and I turn in surprise to find he’d been watching me. Caught red-handed. It causes me to gulp the whole thing down in one go like a bird of prey swallowing a live robin.
I purse my lips at him and suppress a smirk of my own, while putting a couple of the tiny sandwiches on a paper plate and carrying them over to him. The stylist lets out a sigh as I approach; I’m obviously making her job harder here, but Shane did ask for something to eat.
Feeling playful, I lift a sandwich to his mouth for him to take a bite. His eyes stay on mine the entire time as his mouth closes over it. Okay, perhaps that was a questionable move.
I didn’t anticipate how hard it would be to stay platonic with a man I’m this strongly attracted to. There’s an underlying note of sex in everything we do. I can barely look at him without remembering what it felt like to have him fill me up, for him to effortlessly hold me and fuck me against a brick wall.
I hand him the plate then, deciding that feeding him was a little too…sensual for my liking. A couple of minutes later, the photographer, a dark-haired man in his mid-thirties, strolls into the room and starts giving Shane directions as to where he wants him. I sit back and watch as he removes his violin from its case and goes to sit on a chair by the window.
The photographer tells Shane to look out the window and try to affect a thoughtful expression. He flattens out his mouth and narrows his eyes, giving a faraway look. I can’t help smiling, because he’s clearly not enjoying this at all. His posture is all ramrod straight.
The photographer tries to give him more directions, but he’s sort of useless at taking them. I butt in, saying, “Hey, why don’t you try squinching?”
The photographer turns to me, shakes his head, and laughs.
“Do I even want to know what that is?” Shane asks, hesitant but amused.
“It’s all the rage right now,” I explain. “You just sort of squint your eyelids and it’s supposed to make you look better in pictures, you know, like, all moody and smouldering. Ben and Clark both swear by it.”
I internally chuckle, remembering Ben showing me his holiday pictures from Spain last summer, and in every one it’s pretty obvious that he and Clark were trying to out-squinch each other, which just ends up looking ridiculous. So yeah, a rule of thumb, if you’re going to squinch, make sure there isn’t anybody else in the photo doing it as well.
“If I squint I’m going to look constipated, Jade,” Shane replies, deadpan, and I let out a bark of laughter.
The photographer puts his hand on his hip, looking back and forth between the two of us. “Is she your girlfriend?” he asks while snapping a couple of shots. Shane is still looking at me and smiling.
“Nah, just a friend,” he answers as he regards me warmly.
“Mm-hmm,” the photographer responds in a very sure she’s just a friend sort of way.
“Ugh, I’m so bad at this,” says Shane dejectedly, rubbing at his forehead for a second.
“Honey, nobody with a face and body like yours is bad at getting pictured,” the redheaded assistant butts in, all sass and flirtation. I automatically give her an evil look without realising I’m doing it. Shane is the only one who catches me, and he seems pleased as punch about it. Great, now he thinks I’m jealous.
“Hey, I know. You should play something and not think about trying to pose,” I say. “Forget anybody else is in the room, and just pretend you’re practicing. I bet you’ll look really natural in the shots if you do that.”
The photographer clicks his fingers at me. “That’s a fabulous idea.” Turning his attention to Shane, he says, “I like your friend — she’s good.”
“All right, I’ll give it a try,” says Shane, lifting his bow and setting the violin under his chin. He starts to play a really lovely, almost dreamy song, and the photographer is like a bat out of hell snapping pictures. I smile, satisfied that my idea is working. Sitting back on my stool, I watch the images float out of the camera and sail through the window like bubbles floating on air, capturing a moment of musical brilliance. The melody sparks off the images and makes them shine, makes them that much more vital.
A picture is just a picture, but add music and there’s emotion. There’s a story.
Shane plays for about five minutes, and I’m sure at least a hundred or more shots have been taken within that short space of time. In a voice that is unexpectedly quiet and entranced, I ask him the name of the song he just played.
“Méditation de Thaïs,” he answers, setting his violin down on his lap, gaze on me.
“It’s beautiful,” I reply, mentally repeating the name over and over in my head so that I’ll remember to download it onto my iTunes later on. I’m too embarrassed to try to write it down, because then he’ll know how affected I am.
A moment later the stylist abruptly calls for a wardrobe change, and my special moment is broken. This time she puts Shane in an all-black ensemble. Her phone starts ringing just as she’s about to put on his tie, so she hands it to me instead while she goes to answer the call.
Walking up to him tie in hand, I feel my throat go decidedly dry. Since he’s a bit taller than I am, I have to reach up to wrap the fabric around his neck. My fingers slide over his smooth skin, and I notice his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows.
“You always dress well, but I have to admit right now you’re looking pretty dapper, Mr Arthur,” I say softly, and his head dips down a little while he watches the movement of my hands intently. He’s not speaking, and for some reason that makes me extra nervous. Our breaths mingle. We’re so close, and my stupid girl brain makes me go slowly with the tie, wrapping it once in a loop, pulling it up and over, and then slotting it through the loop. I tighten it a little, and several seconds tick by before I cough and step back.
“There you go. Perfect,” I whisper.
We lock gazes for a long moment, and then the door to the suite opens and shuts. When the sound of heels clicking on wood rings out, a posh female voice declares, “Oh, don’t you just look marvellous!”
I turn to see a tall, slim brunette lady wearing a tailored business suit standing a couple of feet away from us. Looking back to Shane, I’m not sure if I’m mistaken when I see him grimace.
“Hi, Mum,” he says. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
Nine
A moment later Shane’s mother notices me standing there, and her brow furrows for a split second.
“Hello. I’m Mirin Arthur. I don’t believe we’ve met,” she says, holding out her hand to me.
“Hi, Mirin. I’m Jade, a friend of Shane’s.”
She moves her lips in a weird way when she hears my accent and then says, “How nice, and where did you two meet?”
“Jade works at the concert hall, Mum,” Shane interrupts. Is it just me, or does he seem annoyed?
Her gaze darts to him and then back to me. “Oh, really, are you in management there?”
“Uh, no, I’m just floor staff.”
Usually I like to think I’m a decently confident person, but there’s something about this woman that makes me feel inferior. I’ve always been pretty proud of my job; I get to work in a wonderful place, but Mirin Arthur stares at me like I just told her I clean rat-infested sewers for a living.
“Right, well, it’s lovely to meet you,” she says with a fake smile, and then she turns her attention to the photographer. Striding toward him, she requests to have a look at the pictures taken so far, before proceeding to ooh and aah at how well they turned out.
Shane and I remain silent. I never considered the fact that his parents might not approve of our friendship, and let’s face it, I’m sure I’m aeons away from the women he usually sees. Not that we’re seeing each other. I’m definitely nothing like Mona Campbell, anyway. I bet she and Mirin got along like a house on fire.
While his mother talks on and on in the background, Shane takes a few steps towards me and discreetly laces his fingers
through mine. He gives my hand a tight squeeze and whispers in my ear, “Don’t let her get to you.”
I pretend not to know what he’s talking about. “What do you mean?”
“I know how she is. My mother has this knack for sucking the life out of people. I have first-hand experience.”
My eyes are drawn to the woman as he tells me this. Now she’s arranging a vase of flowers on top of a chest of drawers. They’re bright and purple, but they wither away when she touches them, until they’re all black detritus.
“She does have a certain…way about her,” I finally agree.
Shane huffs a breath, like I’m putting it way too mildly, and let’s face it, I am.
“My mother is a fucking snob, Jade. I promised myself I’d stop caring about her opinion a long time ago, and I have. Do you know when I discovered Mona had cheated on me, I was more anxious about what my mother would think than anything else? How fucked up is that?”
I stare at him, my mouth open. “Jesus.”
“Yeah. I knew that she’d blame me for it, and of course she did. She thought the sun shone out of Mona’s too shiny and perfect-to-be-true arse. In fact, she still does. She thinks it was somehow my fault our engagement didn’t pan out.”
God, this poor man. He says he’s stopped caring, but the way he’s talking right now tells me he’s far from over the hold his mother seems to have on him. Perhaps that’s what his whole “teach me how to live” thing is about. He wants me to teach him how to get free from the emotional bondage.
Our hushed conversation is interrupted when Mirin calls, “Oh, Shane, come over here and stand by the door. I think it will make for a good background.”
I smirk when I notice the photographer giving the stylist an eye roll. Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’s not thrilled about Mommy Dearest coming in and taking over. Shane kisses me lightly on the cheek, sighs heavily, and goes to his mother. When I see Mirin looking at me in a puzzled way, I realise she saw the kiss and is none too happy about it.
My phone rings in my pocket, a welcome distraction. I pull it out to find Pete’s number flashing on the screen. I can only imagine what this is going to be about. I always make sure to call both April and Pete at least once or twice a day if I’m not in the house to make sure they’re okay. When Pete’s the one calling me it’s usually because he’s in trouble or needs money. He hasn’t called for money in a while, though, which is worrying, since he’s a fifteen-year-old boy with no form of income. It begs the question, where is he getting his cash from?
“Hey, Petey, what’s up?” I answer, walking into the next room of the suite to take the call.
There’s an audible sigh, then, “You need to go to my parent teacher evening.”
Jeez, is it that time of year again already? “Oh, yeah. When is it?”
“Uh, tonight.”
“Okay, you could have given me a few days warning.”
“This is me giving you warning, Jade. It’s two-thirty — the whole thing starts at seven.”
“Yes, but I would have liked some time to organise a decent outfit and all.”
“Fuck, are you going or not?” he grits out.
“Don’t swear at me. I’m not one of your pals on the street. And yes, of course I’m going. I’m your guardian, after all.”
“Good. Hanging up now.”
“I’ll be home to make dinner. I love you.”
All I get is an embarrassed, “Jesus Christ,” before he makes good on his promise and hangs up. I don’t care how much it annoys him — I’m going to keep telling him I love him until it finally sinks in.
A word to the wise, fifteen-year-old boys are perhaps the most emotionally stunted individuals on God’s green earth. And, I’ll add, they do not do well with compliments, affection, or any form of kindness, especially when given by older sisters.
Walking back into the room where Shane is being pictured, I mentally calculate how much time I’ll need to go to the shop for groceries, get home, cook dinner, find something to wear, and be at Pete’s school by seven. Yeah, I should probably get going soon. I hate to leave Shane since I said I’d stay with him for this, but his mum’s here now, so he won’t be entirely alone.
Though from our brief conversation earlier, I’m guessing he’d probably prefer to be alone than to have his mother here.
The photographer is sorting through shots, so I walk up to Shane to tell him I’ve got to go.
“That was my brother Pete. He decided to spring it on me that his parent teacher evening is tonight. I hope you don’t mind if I leave early?”
Standing from his seat, Shane replies, “No, of course not.” He pauses and then randomly volunteers, “I could go with you if you like?”
Giving him a funny look, I respond, “To the parent teacher evening?”
“Yeah, why not?” He lowers his voice. “That way I can pay you back for the moral support.”
I rub my forehead. “These things can be pretty stressful, especially when you’re dealing with a kid like my brother.” I go quiet for a moment, considering it and thinking about how the snobbish teachers sometimes look down on me because of my age and the fact that I’m only Pete’s sister. Having someone like Shane by my side could definitely make me look more respectable…they might even think he’s my husband or something. Okay, so not going there.
“You can come, but are you even done here?”
He quirks an eyebrow. “They’ve taken enough photos of me to last a lifetime, Jade. Besides, I don’t think I can stand much more of this,” he says, casting his eyes in his mother’s direction as she continues to pester the photographer.
A small chuckle escapes me. “She likes to take the lead, I see.”
“A long career as the CEO of an international charity will do that,” Shane mutters under his breath.
“She runs a charity? That’s impressive,” I tell him, letting out a low whistle. Mirin Arthur might not have been particularly nice to me, but I can respect a woman with that kind of drive.
“Think of it more as a business than a charity, but yeah, ‘impressive’ is one way of putting it.”
The tone of Shane’s voice tells me he doesn’t exactly agree. Loosening his tie, he says he’s going to go change. As I wait, I shove another tiny sandwich down my gullet to see me through until dinnertime (and a few in my handbag for Specky), and then I play with my phone for a bit.
Somebody clears their throat, and I glance up to see Mirin standing in front of me.
“My son likes you,” she states, all matter of fact, and I don’t know how to reply or if she even expects me to. Instead I stay quiet and wait to see what she’ll say next. Her eyes trail over me intently. Jeez, what’s she doing, taking my measurements or something?
Unable to stand the silence, I blurt, “Yeah, me and Shane are tight.”
Oh, God, did I just say that to this woman? That was probably one of the most ridiculous sentences to have ever come out of my mouth. Mirin gives me an almost imperceptible smile.
“Have you known each other long?”
“Not long.”
“I see.” She presses her lips together before continuing in a voice that’s not quite threatening, but it’s not not threatening, either. “My son is a vulnerable man, Miss…”
“Lennon.”
“Miss Lennon. He’s been through a very rough year, and I wouldn’t like to see him being taken advantage of.”
Vulnerable. What exactly does she mean by that? I nod along to what she says before I realise what she’s getting at. She thinks I’m trying to take advantage of him? Fuck, if this is the way she talks to all the people who’ve ever been in his life, then I get why he doesn’t have any friends.
“I assure you, Mirin, that when it comes to your son, I have only the purest of intentions. You have nothing to worry about.” Okay, so maybe I didn’t mean for that to come out sounding so sarcastic, but I can’t help getting riled up by her. You’d think her son was the King of England and I’m some h
ussy trying to sleep her way to the throne.
“Listen to me, if you think you can wheedle your way into his affections with your obvious…attractions” —her gaze flicks briefly to my chest and then back up to my eyes before she continues— “you are sadly mistaken. I will not see you hurt him. He has already been hurt enough.”
“Maybe you should look in the mirror and you’ll see who’s really hurting him,” I whisper, unable to help myself.
“What did you just say?” she whisper-hisses back at me.
“Is everything all right?” Shane asks, just entering the room, his expression suspicious as he takes in his mother’s fuming face.
“Fine and dandy,” I reply. “Are we off?”
“Yes. I’ll talk to you later, Mum,” he says, stepping forward and giving Mirin what seems to be a very strained kiss on the cheek.
“You’re leaving? But I was hoping we could do dinner at Marco Pierre’s?” she replies, affecting a disappointed demeanour.
“Another time, Mum,” is all he says before he’s putting his hand to the small of my back and ushering me out the door.
All the way to the elevator I feel like I’m holding my breath. Once we step inside the car, I let it all out, slumping back against those aforementioned pesky mirrors.
“Your mother is a character,” I say as Shane eyes me with some sort of intensity. His hand is still on my back, right at the base of my spine, and he’s rubbing small circles into the fabric of my shirt.
“My mother is never happy, not with anything. She’s always striving for something better, and then when she gets it there’s something else she wants.”
Even though he’s right beside me, his eyes are faraway.
I turn to face him, feeling far too close in the small space, yet I don’t move to put any distance between us. “Don’t let her make you feel like you’re anything other than perfect, Shane,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.