Aria (3 page)

W
HEN Cameron returned from the castle the next morning, Aiden had several suitcases spread around the bedroom and was packing his belongings. Aiden had tried to sleep but had given up in the end, deciding instead to get his things together. He couldn’t do this anymore. How could he have been so naïve? He had stupidly believed the man the first time. But the second….

God, his chest hurt. His eyes were red from lack of sleep and tears. Ironic that the biggest night of his career would be the worst night for his heart.

“Darling,” Cam said as he looked into the bedroom at the array of suitcases on the floor and on the bed, “don’t do this.”
“Do what, Cam? Because last time I checked,
I
wasn’t the one
doing
anything. It was you, doing it to
us.
”
“Darling, please!”
“Don’t you fucking call me that! You don’t
deserve
to call me that.”
“Dar—Aiden,” Cam began again, “let’s talk about this. We can straighten this out.”
“Sure. We can straighten it out. I’ll forgive you again and you’ll go on doing what you want, won’t you?”
“You’re jealous. You always were.”
“Cam, for God’s sake! Of course I’m jealous. We live together, and I just caught you fucking some—”
“Sweetheart. Aiden.” Cam walked over to Aiden and took him in his arms. “Don’t do this.”
Aiden did his utmost not to respond to that touch, to the touch that had once sustained him through the ups and downs of his career. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done, not to melt into Cam’s arms as he loved to do.
“It’s over, Cam. I can’t live like this. It’s not what I thought we were about.” Aiden’s voice cracked.
“I’ll never speak to Jarrod again.” Cam’s tone was reassuring. “I promise you.”
“It’s not him. Don’t you understand? You’ll just find someone else. I’m obviously not enough for you.”
There. He had said it. And it was true. Because no matter how much he told himself he deserved better, it all seemed to come down to his own failings. He, Aiden Reuben Lind, hadn’t been able to keep Cameron happy. It didn’t matter how he looked at it. He had failed. It was time to admit it. Time to leave. Time to move on.
“I want
you
.”
Aiden pulled out of Cam’s arms and walked silently to the bathroom, grabbed his toiletry bag, and tossed it into the suitcase he’d been working on. “It’s over, Cam,” he said as he latched the case and pulled it off the bed.
“What will you do without me?”
The question scared Aiden to death. “I’ll be fine,” he said under his breath. He hoped he sounded more convinced than he really was.
“You
need
me, Aiden. You need what I can give you. Money. Better name recognition. Work.”
Work.
Aiden hoped to God Cameron wouldn’t interfere with his work.
Would he do that?
“I’ll be fine,” he repeated.
“You’ll regret this, Aiden. I assure you.”
Was that a threat? He didn’t dare ask. “Good-bye, Cam,” he said. He picked up the suitcase and headed out the bedroom door. “I’ll send someone around to pick up the others.”
Cameron said nothing.

“
D
AVID,” Aiden said an hour later as he stood on the doorstep of David Somers’s London flat, “it’s good to see you. I hope I’m not coming at a bad time.”

David smiled and opened the door for Aiden, took the suitcase over Aiden’s protests, and led him inside. “The offer to stay here didn’t have an expiration date.” He gave Aiden’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You can stay as long as you like.”

A
IDEN rolled over to avoid the light filtering in from the window, pulling the sheet with him. The sun hurt his eyes and his head pounded. He vaguely remembered the closing night party at the opera house, but the raging hangover was enough to tell him he’d had too much to drink. It wasn’t as if he drank regularly—alcohol played hell on his vocal chords—but he had let himself indulge.

No one else to blame but me.
He had wanted to forget all the crap for a change. Not that the booze had helped him forget. He’d turned down several offers from attractive men and women at the party. He wondered now if he should have given in.
And let the fucking press have a field day with it? Right.
Naked, he slipped out from under the covers and plodded over to the bathroom. He stood over the toilet and yawned, finished with a tap, and walked to the sink. He splashed cold water on his face and looked into the mirror.
I look like hell.
Not that he didn’t usually look like shit in the mornings. Maybe it was the fluorescent lights, but there were more lines around his mouth and eyes than he remembered. Closing night parties were the worst. Or maybe the best, depending on your perspective.
As he headed back to the bed, there was a knock on the door. “Just a minute,” he said in German. “I’ll be right there.”
He pulled a bathrobe from the closet and tied it quickly, then went to open the door. A bellboy held a large vase filled with roses. Three dozen, plus one for good luck. Germans never sent an even number of flowers. Not that Aiden needed to count. He already knew who sent them. He motioned the kid to put the flowers on the table by the window, then handed him a ten-euro bill.
The young man’s face lit up at the generous tip, and he left the room with a smile. “Vielen Dank,” he said.
Aiden nodded and closed the door behind him.
For a full minute, he leaned on the door, looking at the roses. They were stunning. They always were.
Only the best.
He walked over to the table and pulled the card out of the flowers. He didn’t have to read it. He pretty much knew what it said. Still, he found he couldn’t help himself. He read it anyhow.
Aiden—
So sorry I couldn’t make the performance. I have no doubt you were amazing. I know you’re still angry. I hope you’ll forgive me. I miss you. Call me, sweetheart. Please. I’ll make it up to you. —Cam
He crumpled up the note in his fist and let it fall into the wastebasket. It was progress. At least he wasn’t tearing them up anymore.
His cell phone vibrated a few hours later. He tapped it. “Jaz Man, how the hell are you?”
“You tell me” came the rumbling voice through the speaker. “Jules says you’re in town next week. We’re having a little get-together on Saturday, and we hoped you’d join us.”
Aiden smiled. It had been nearly a year since he’d been back to Paris, and he was really looking forward to it after a gray and lonely four weeks in Germany.
“Little, my ass,” he shot back. “That guy can’t do anything little.”
“Nah,” Jason said with a laugh. “Not my Jules.”
“I’ll come by after the concert.” He wouldn’t miss a party at Jules and Jason’s. “What are we celebrating?”
“A good friend of mine is flying in for a few weeks. Thought we’d show him how much he’s been missing, living in the States. How long you going to be in town?”
“Four weeks. Concert on Saturday, then rehearsals for a new production of
The Pearl Fishers
.”
“Damn. If I’d known, I would’ve timed it differently. You could’ve stayed with us.”
“Don’t sweat it. It’s not like you haven’t let me crash at your place before. Besides, the hotel’s paid for and I’m only a few blocks away. Tell Jules if he feeds me, I’ll be over every night.”
“Hotels now? Pays to be a big star, huh?”
“Right.” Aiden would never have admitted it, but he’d have been far happier to stay on his friends’ couch—the three months he had spent at Jules and Jason’s when he’d first traveled to Europe had been some of the best of his life.
“So how are you doing?” Jason asked. “Really.”
“I’ve got a full schedule this season and my Met debut next year in New York. Couldn’t be better.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
Aiden said nothing.
“Cary told me you moved out of Cam’s almost six months ago. Why the hell didn’t you tell me? You didn’t even mention it last time you called.”
Aiden felt a pang of guilt. It wasn’t as if it were a secret. His moving out of Sherrington Place had been all over the European gossip rags. But then Jules and Jason wouldn’t have read about it, and Aiden was on the road so often these days that it wasn’t as though he had a real “home.”
“Long time coming.” Aiden pretended he didn’t care. Not that Jason would buy it. And Aiden knew he was rationalizing not telling anyone about Cam. He just didn’t want to talk about Lord Cameron Sherrington to anyone right now. Maybe ever.
“What happened, man?”
“It wasn’t meant to be. Nothing exciting.”
“Aiden, I—”
“Look, Jaz, I need to get going. My flight leaves at one, and I haven’t even showered yet. I’ll give you a call when I get settled in. I’ll come by Saturday after the concert. It’ll probably be around eleven. Okay?”
Jason hesitated for a moment, then said, “Sure. We’d like that.” “See you then. Tell Jules I can’t wait to see him.”
“Good-bye, Aiden.”
“‘Bye.”
Aiden tossed the phone onto the bed. He took one last look at the roses, then went to take a shower.

S
AM surveyed the apartment with a mixture of delight and envy. The lively party reminded him of what he’d read about Saturday night gatherings at Gertrude Stein’s Paris apartment on rue de Fleurus at the beginning of the twentieth century. A universe away from his Philadelphia high-rise, Jules and Jason’s large apartment was filled to capacity with American expats, European artists, musicians, and writers, all chattering away in a variety of languages.

The sound of jazz filled the room—Jules Bardon, violin tucked under his chin, while David Somers accompanied him on the piano. Jason mentioned David’s name in passing, and Sam struggled to place the man. From the whispers he had caught when the two began to play, Sam guessed he was a conductor, and a well-known one at that.

“Hey, Sam,” came a deep voice from behind him along with a clap on the back, “enjoying yourself?”
“God, Jaz, this is the most amazing party I’ve ever seen. And the food…. I can’t believe you did this for me.”
“Jules cooked all week,” Jason explained with a wry laugh. “He takes these parties pretty seriously. He also loves an excuse to throw a party, and I love to humor him.” Sam couldn’t help but notice how Jason’s green eyes seem to light up when he spoke about his partner.
Sam had arrived in Paris two days before for a three-week vacation. Although Sam and Jason Greene had met in court several times, they had only gotten to know each other two years before, in a Philadelphia bar. Jason had been raw, reeling from the pain of a broken relationship. They nearly ended up in bed but became friends instead— for which Sam was very thankful in retrospect. Jason had moved to Paris shortly after that, but the two men stayed in touch, and Jason had been trying to persuade Sam to come for a visit ever since.
“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you happy, Jaz.” Sam followed Jason into the living room.
“Do I really look happier?” Jason grinned.
“Yeah. It’s a little sappy the way you look at Jules, though.” Sam nodded toward the piano. Jules smiled at them both, and Sam swore he was positively glowing. Jules, for his part, ran a hand through his hair and shot Jason a slightly possessive look. This was the first time Sam had met Jules, and Sam knew Jules still wasn’t quite sure of Sam’s intentions.
As if he has anything to worry about!
Sam repressed a chuckle. Jason was obviously head over heels for Jules. Sam repressed a sigh.
It was like that with you and Nicky too.
“Glad you came?”
“I am. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Europe. It’s changed a little.”
Or maybe you’ve changed.
The guests gathered around the piano applauded, and Jason used the interruption to excuse himself to answer the door. A man and woman entered, he in a tuxedo, she in an obviously expensive cocktail dress—both far better attired than the rest of the crowd. Sam thought the man looked vaguely familiar, but when recognition didn’t come, he walked over to the drink table to refill his wine glass, then wandered out onto the large balcony.
The late spring evening was pleasant, with the sound of traffic from the boulevard two blocks over providing a low hum of urban music. From here Sam could see the Jardin du Luxembourg and the chateau at the edge of the park. He could smell the flowers on the breeze and hear the voices of people walking by on the street.
You should have come back sooner
. But he hadn’t been ready before now. He had come to know this city at Nick’s side, and even though the memories of their trip ten years before had dulled with time, Sam still saw Nick in so much of Paris.
It’s still beautiful, Nick.
“Sam!” Jason called over the din of the guests as Sam stepped back inside. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.” Sam turned to see Jason standing beside the man in the tux. “Sam Ryan, meet Aiden Lind. Aiden, this is—”
“We’ve met.” Aiden offered Sam his hand. His expression was cold.
“I… of course,” Sam said haltingly as he took Aiden’s hand and shook it. “It’s good to see you again, Aiden.”
Someone called for Jason and he was gone a moment later, leaving Sam and Aiden alone.
Aiden Lind.
The name jarred something in Sam’s brain. New York City. Five years before.
How old would he be now? Around thirty?
Aiden’s face was leaner, his shoulders a bit broader than Sam remembered, although perhaps that was the cut of the tux. At the edges of Aiden’s mouth and eyes, where the skin had been smooth years before, tiny lines now were visible. His wavy hair was smartly styled, short in the back, longer on top, covering just the tips of his ears. Everything about Aiden seemed to ooze sophistication.
He’s a big star
. Even Sam, with his limited knowledge of classical music and opera, had seen Aiden, dressed in a tux and hawking an expensive watch, peering up at him from the back page of
Newsweek.
“So you’re the friend from Philadelphia?” Aiden’s jaw tensed visibly.
“That’s me. Moved there about five years ago, a few months after you left for Europe. Got my dream job.” Sam took a quick sip of his drink. It did nothing for his dry mouth.
“Employment law.” Aiden smiled, but Sam saw none of the warmth he expected to see in the expression.
“You remembered.” Sam wasn’t sure why that pleased him.
“Yes.” The smile faded from Aiden’s face, and he seemed momentarily at a loss for words. Was that hurt Sam saw flash through his eyes?
“Listen, Aiden. I know I was an asshole back in New York. I… I’m really sorry. I had just—”
“
There
you are!” a woman interrupted as she put her arm around Aiden’s waist. Sam recognized her as the woman Aiden had come in with. “And you promised me you’d bring me a glass of Pouilly-Fumé. I’ve been waiting
forever
, Aiden.”
“Sorry, Alexandria.” Aiden reached past Sam to the drink table, then poured a glass of white wine and handed it to her. “I ran into an old acquaintance of mine. Sam Ryan, this is Alexandria Gilman.”
“Nice to meet you.” Sam offered her his hand.
She smiled back at him with blindingly white teeth. “A pleasure,” she purred in English with a hint of a French accent. The diamond choker at her neck caught the light overhead and glinted. She was beautiful in a cool, calculated way, her dark hair pulled into a tight chignon at the nape of her neck. Her dress followed the curve of her slim body. Sam couldn’t help but notice the large diamond ring on her left hand.
“Alexandria’s husband’s company is one of the benefactors of the Bizet series,” Aiden interjected, as if that explained everything about the woman. Sam wasn’t so sure he wanted to understand the situation beyond that. The way Alexandria hung on Aiden, she looked like far more than simply a benefactor.
“And what do you do for a living, Sam?” Alexandria took her appreciative measure of him. Something about the way she assessed him made Sam ill at ease.
“I’m an attorney.”
“Really? What kind of law?”
“Employment law.” Simple, to the point, and more information than he felt comfortable revealing at that moment.
“How fascinating.” Alexandria’s tone made it clear the topic bored her to no end.
Sam looked around for a way to extricate himself from the conversation. As if on cue, the guests gathered around the piano applauded once more. “Thanks,” Jules told the guests as a blush rose on his pale cheeks. “Maybe we’ll play some more later.”
“That’s my cue,” Sam said, improvising. “I promised Jules I’d help him with the desserts.”
“Sam, I—” Aiden began, but Alexandria interrupted again.
“I’m starving. Shall we get some food?”
Sam shot them both an awkward and apologetic smile. “I better go.” He made a beeline for the kitchen, past a group of guests.
Once safely inside the kitchen, he leaned against the counter and took a deep breath.
Oh, that went just swimmingly!
Nearly as well as how he’d handled things in New York five years before.