CHAPTER NINE

I tell myself over and over that this is a bad idea. I decide over and over to just turn around and head home. I can text Vivian an apology and say that I'll make it up to her another night. Then I can just arrange to always be busy until she gets the hint and stops pursuing me.

But all that waits for me at home is a drunk mother, a slate of fresh nightmares and the temptation of a chemical escape from those nightmares. So when I finish work, I drive straight to Vivian's house.

I'll have to go home eventually. Despite my melodrama earlier, Mom isn't so far gone that she won't notice if I don't come home tonight.

But maybe I can return home with a better comfort than the needle.

I knock on the door and try to think about what to say. For some reason, I feel like I should have some sort of greeting prepared, some sort of witty banter that will impress Vivian.

I'm not usually nervous around girls. Marco's teasing earlier about me looking like Thor and girls lining up to get with me, but it's true that I've never had trouble with them.

The thing is, Vivian isn't a girl. She's a woman. She's been with men. What can I possibly—

She opens the door and that thought—and all others—vanish.

She wears a shimmering black evening gown with a deep V-neck and a slit on the left side that goes all the way up to her hip. She wears it above black heels and below a generous amount of red lipstick that somehow manages to make her look ten years younger without taking anything away from the bearing and poise of an experienced older woman. Strictly speaking, she's covering more of her body than she does yesterday in her swimsuit, but the way she wears it makes it look even sexier than the two-piece.

I am keenly aware of the fact that I'm in a sweat-stained work uniform and that I've been working in the hot sun all day. I wonder if she really meant for me not to worry about changing or if I should have at least rinsed off and put on clean clothes before coming here.

She smiles at me, and I instantly want her. Hell, I instantly need her. Maybe when I've lived a little more life, I'll understand what it is about a woman's smile that makes a man so immediately desperate for her. Right now, all I know is that I can't wait to get through dinner, a shower, whatever I need to do to get to the part of the evening where I can take this dress off of her.

"Nate. I'm so glad you're here. Would you like to come inside?"

She shifts her hips slightly as she says this, revealing nearly all of her long, perfectly toned left leg. I swallow and say, a little hoarsely, "I would love to."

Her smile widens, and she steps aside, gesturing for me to pass. When I do, I catch a whiff of rose and lavender, and my knees grow weak.

She closes the door behind us and walks past me, affording me a perfect view of the most perfect rear end I've ever seen. "I made lobster. I hope you're not allergic to shellfish. I forgot to ask."

"No, uh… no, not allergic."

"Wonderful. I have a delicious Chardonnay I've paired with it. I have no idea if Chardonnay is supposed to go with lobster, but I like it, so that's what we're drinking."

"Oh, um…" I feel a flush climb my cheeks again.

She smiles at me and says, "Tonight, Nate, you are old enough to do whatever you want."

The promise in that sentence is clear. I swallow and say, "Um, thank you. Just one glass, though. I do have to get home eventually. My mom will be waiting for me."

"How soon do you have to be home?"

I think about that for a moment. Mom will wonder if I don't come home tonight, but she won't start wondering until the morning. For her, the morning never begins before nine a.m.

"Um… actually, I can leave whenever. I mean, I can stay whenever. I mean…" God, I am absolutely blowing this.

She laughs, and even though she's laughing at me, there's no taunt. I end up chuckling too, and she says, "Then you have time to drink as much as you want."

She leads me to the kitchen, and I see she's already set the table, wine included. I'm not really much of a wine guy, but at this point, I'd happily drink transmission fluid if Vivian poured it for me.

I start to sit, then something clicks in my head. I rush to the head of the table and pull out Vivian's chair. She laughs again and says, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I reply like a five-year-old, because I've apparently forgotten how to talk to humans.

I take a bite of the lobster to hide my embarrassment. I'm not really a seafood guy either, but the lobster is absolutely delicious. Or maybe it's just that I know what dessert is going to be.

"How do you like it?"

"It's delicious," I say. I remember to swallow my food before I talk, at least.

"Good," she says, "I'm glad." Her smile softens a little. "I want you to have a good night."

I seriously don't understand how I could possibly have a bad night, but I say, "Thank you. That means a lot."

Her smile widens again, but it's the compassionate one from earlier today, not the come-hither smirk of a moment ago. "I'm truly sorry you had to see what happened earlier." The angels singing in my mind quiet, and it must show on my face, because she follows that up with, "I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but I think you should. I think we should."

I"m not sure why it"s so important for her to talk about it, but I say, "No, it"s okay. Yeah, I, uh… I"m sorry, too. She seemed like a sweet girl."

"She was," Vivian replies. "She was a very sweet girl, and she didn't deserve what happened to her."

I detect something in Vivian's tone, a slight anger that makes me wonder if she suspects more than she's letting on. I decide to probe a little. "So you don"t think it was an accident or suicide or something?"

She chuckles with more than a touch of bitterness. "No, it was definitely not suicide. I don't know if it was murder, but it definitely wasn't suicide."

"Are you saying it was maybe an accident?"

She meets my eyes, and now her smile is hard. Not like Marco"s face is hard, but not entirely different. "Nate, you"re adorable, but you"re a lot less adorable when you pretend to be stupid."

"Right. So… are you saying that even if she killed herself, someone else is responsible?"

She looks at me for a moment without saying anything. This time, she reminds me of the detective, Ramirez, like she"s trying to figure out if I"m hiding something. Finally, she says, "Remember when I told you that the deception here is refreshingly honest?"

"Yes."

"Well, that wasn't entirely true. What I meant when I said that was that everyone here wears a mask, but because everyone wears a mask, everyone knows that everyone else is wearing a mask. Do you know what I mean?"

Everyone spies on everyone here. "Yeah. I think I do."

She took a bite of her lobster. I tried not to focus on her lips parting and her tongue wrapping around the bite, but I failed badly at that.

When she swallowed, she said, "That means that when other people talk to you, you can be reasonably sure that they're being dishonest towards you. You know that the way they act toward you isn't real, and with enough time, you can start to figure out what their intentions toward you are. Generally speaking, at least. For example, Mrs. Cho hates Mrs. Fletcher. She knows that Mr. Fletcher is attracted to her. So, whenever they see each other socially, Mrs. Cho will wear a conservative outfit if it's only Mrs. Fletcher attending the party or gala or get-together, or what have you. If Mr. Fletcher is there by himself, she'll also dress conservatively. It's only when both of the Fletchers are there that Mrs. Cho will spend hours making herself look as beautiful as possible and dress in an evening gown even more seductive than this one."

"So she doesn't actually want to seduce Mr. Fletcher, she just wants Mrs. Fletcher to think she is."

"Close. What she wants is for Mrs. Fletcher to know that her husband wishes she was more attractive."

I blink, a little—no, a lot taken aback. "What?"

"She doesn't want Mrs. Fletcher to think her husband will cheat. Men cheat on beautiful women all the time. Just ask my ex. Besides, Mr. Fletcher would never cheat on Mrs. Fletcher. He's far from a good person—no one here really is—but he's not a cheater. Mrs. Cho knows that, which is why she knows that the best way to hurt the woman she hates is to lay bare the fact that Mr. Fletcher wishes that his wife was as attractive as the other women he knows. So, when the couple is together, she dresses to kill and drinks in the looks on Janice's face every time she catches George staring at Yun Hee with that mixture of longing and despair that men wear when they look at something they want but know they can't have. She wants Janice to know that when her husband is with her, he wishes she were someone more beautiful."

"Jesus."

Vivian smiles again, and there's sadness mixed with the bitterness this time. "That's the lifestyle of the rich and famous. Stabbing each other in the back for the pettiest of reasons."

"Why does she hate her so much?"

Vivian shrugs. "I don"t think she even remembers. Could be a slight, she thought Janice cast her way. It could be that she caught her own husband looking at Janice once. Could be that she"s just a bitter person who thinks Janice is happy and envies that fact. That"s not the point anymore, if it ever was. She just hates her, and this is how she hurts her."

She sips her wine, and this time, it's the line from her throat to her sternum and the perfect twin orbs nestled on either side that captures my attention. I'm seriously beginning to wonder if I'll even make it through dinner without throwing myself at her.

"My point," Vivian says, as she sets her glass down. "Is that with enough time, you can tell who people truly are with each other. What you can never tell is who people truly are behind the closed doors of their own home. The man who looks like he's got it made and struts around like he's on cloud nine could be the man who shoots heroin at night just so he can get to sleep without nightmares. Nate? Are you okay?"

I cover my hand with a napkin and get my choking under control. "Yeah," I reply hoarsely. "Just swallowed the wine the wrong way."

She chuckles. "Don't be so eager. Good things come to those who wait." She sips her own wine—a lot more gracefully than I do, but then she hasn't just heard someone unwittingly expose their greatest shame—and says, "but sometimes, what's hidden underneath the surface comes out in the open, and when it does, it's always explosive and always devastating."

"And you think the stuff with the Kensington is coming out in the open?"

"I think… that we have talked enough about this." The compassionate side comes back out. "Are you okay, Nate? Really."

"Um…" the image of death flashes through my mind again, first Lila, then my sister. "No. No, I'm not."

Vivian doesn't say anything. She just reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. Warmth floods me from head to toe. I'd be lying if I said that a part of that warmth wasn't entirely focused on Vivian's body, but a big part of it has nothing to do with sex.

I can't remember the last time anyone's ever comforted me. My mother's never comforted me. Not when my sister died and definitely not after. Just knowing that someone cares how I feel means more than just about anything else right now.

We don't talk about anything important after that. She asks me about my home life, and I tell her as little as possible about that while not sounding like I'm hiding things. I ask her about her life, and I'm pretty sure she does the same.

When dinner is over, she smiles at me and says, "I promised you a shower."

My heart begins to pound again. "Yes," I say, "but I'll understand if—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," she says, still smiling. "Follow me."

If following her into the kitchen is beautiful torture, following her up the stairs is a thousand times worse. Or better. Both, really.

Her bathroom looks like the spa suite at a five-star hotel. She shows me where the towels are and how to work the settings in the shower. "You'll have to deal with smelling like me. I only have rose and lavender scented body wash."

"I would love to smell like you," I say because I'm an idiot.

She laughs and says, "Well, that's good. I'll be waiting for you when you're done."

She smiles at me when she says that, and the promise in that smile nearly brings me to my knees. Marco would appreciate the role reversal here.

And that is the last I will be thinking of Marco tonight.

I wait until Vivian leaves the room, then strip and get into the shower. It's a testament to how gross I feel that for a moment as I'm lathering my body, I forget about the fact that I'm about to have sex with the most attractive woman I've ever seen in my life.

I don't forget for long. Just as I finish rinsing myself, I feel two hands snake around me from behind. My senses instantly come alive, and with my senses, a certain part of my body that feels it's been waiting just about long enough for something good to come.

A soft yet taut body presses gently to my back, and I gasp, my heart pounding. One hand moves up to my chest. The other moves down and grips me gently, causing another gasp to escape my lips.

Warm breath cascades down my neck, and a soft voice whispers in my ear. "I couldn't wait."

I turn to her, and when our bodies meet, the rest of the world vanishes.