Aria (5 page)

A
IDEN told Alexandria he’d walk back to the hotel from Jules and Jason’s, but she’d insisted on the limo instead. He guessed she’d want to spend the night at his hotel. He’d expected it. He downed a double scotch in the limo as it idled by the hotel entrance.

“I should get some sleep,” he told her after he finished his drink. It was true. He was exhausted, but not so exhausted that he’d make the mistake of taking her to bed. He hadn’t exactly been celibate since he’d left Cam, but he wasn’t so desperate as to think that sleeping with the wife of a major donor was a good idea. “Why don’t I call—”

“Sorry, Alexandria.” He pushed her hand away and opened the limo door.
He didn’t look back. He knew she’d been expecting sex; he just hadn’t figured out how to escape her grasp after the concert. He also knew there’d probably be hell to pay for turning her down.

An hour later, he was wide-awake in bed. Unsatisfied and thinking of Sam, even though he’d tried to think of anything but. It was bad enough with people like Alexandria, who wanted him because of his voice. He didn’t need the drama of a “real” relationship, not after what he’d gone through with Cam. He’d learned his lesson. Hell, he’d learned his lesson with Sam too, hadn’t he?

A
IDEN woke up with a headache and a sore throat.
Fuck.
He almost never got sick. Not that it helped that he’d spent the entire night worrying about Sam’s reaction to news of the possible scholarship. Aiden had gotten a grand total of about three hours of sleep. Maybe.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from Sam. He knew what he’d hoped for. He’d wanted Sam to tell him not to go. Or at least tell him they could still try to see each other. But what had he expected after only two weeks?

They’d been getting along so well since they’d met at the bar. Aiden couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so hopeful about a relationship. And then he’d gone and screwed it up by mentioning the scholarship. Sam was the first man he’d spent time with in New York who hadn’t left him feeling insecure about where he’d come from and who he was. Sam was like him in so many ways. No, Sam wasn’t from a backwater town like Fenton, but he was still a Southern boy in the big city.

And if he didn’t even get the scholarship? Aiden knew the answer. Then he’d be able to stay in New York. Get to know Sam better, if Sam wanted that.

Aiden dragged himself out of bed and wandered out to the kitchen. Mark was asleep on the couch, and Aiden did his best not to wake him up. He clicked on the kettle for tea and shoved a handful of Vitamin C into his mouth, then gagged on the horse pills. A few minutes later, armed with a mug of tea laden with honey and lemon, he retreated to his bedroom.

There was a muffled knock on the door a few minutes later. “It’s open.”
“Thought you might have company,” Mark said with a yawn.
“Oh, shit, did I wake you up?”
“You mean with all the coughing?” Mark laughed and sat down on the edge of Aiden’s bed. “Nah. Damn garbage trucks woke me up. I should have worn my earplugs.”
“Late night?”
“Not too bad. Closed the restaurant at two. Looks like I got more sleep than you, though.”
Aiden shrugged and sipped his tea.
“Sam didn’t come back with you, then?”
“No.”
“No smartass comebacks this morning? Where’s my big-mouth roommate and who is this pathetic slob?”
“Love you too, Mark.”
Mark lay back on the bed and snorted.
“Sorry. I’ve got a cold.” As if that would convince Mark. Aiden half wanted him to ask what was bothering him. He needed someone to talk to.
“Right. And?”
“And I’m so fucking confused.”
“About Sam? I thought you two were golden. I was thinking a few more weeks and I’d tell Rose she could move in when you move in with him, and I get your room.”
“You still might be able to.” Aiden tried to sound nonchalant, but he knew he wasn’t fooling anyone.
“How’s that?”
“I’m a finalist for the scholarship I told you about.”
Mark sat up abruptly and put up his hand. “That’s great news!” Aiden gave Mark a high five. “If I didn’t have Rose,” he said, “I’d be jealous. Hell, I
am
jealous of you. That’s such a great gig. So where’s the problem?”
“I’ll probably get it.”
“Still not seeing the problem here. This could make your career, right?” Mark paused for a moment, then eyed Aiden warily. “This is about Sam, then.”
Aiden nodded and set his mug on the nightstand. “I don’t know what to do. I mean, if I get the scholarship, I’m out of here for at least a year. But Sam and I have only been together a few weeks. Shit! I’m not making any sense, am I?”
“Perfect sense.” Mark lay back down again. “So have you asked him what he thinks about it?”
“Sam?”
Mark rolled his eyes. “Damn, Aiden. And Rose says gay men understand relationship shit better. Who else would I be talking about?”
Aiden ignored the jibe. “I told him about it and he said he was happy for me.”
“You didn’t ask him if he wanted you to stay, did you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t want him to think I expected it.” Aiden faltered, then added, “I mean, we’ve only been going out a few weeks, and…. Fuck, Mark, what do you want from me?”
“You didn’t want him to think you care about him?”
Was that it? Aiden wasn’t sure. Maybe.
Or maybe you’re worried he’ll say, “It’s been fun, but….”
“It’s only been two weeks. He’d probably think I was insane if I asked him if he wanted me to stay.”
“You like this guy a lot, don’t you?”
Aiden did. “Yeah. But this is such a great opportunity.”
Mark laughed. “Sounds like you don’t know what
you
want.”
He’s right
.
I have no clue what I want.
He’d never been so torn in his life. Sure, leaving home to take the full ride Indiana University had offered him had been difficult. But he hadn’t hesitated and he hadn’t looked back. This time was different. He wanted Sam and he wanted his career.
“Why don’t you ask him how he feels?” When Aiden stared at him in openmouthed shock, Mark added, “I know, I know! Rose’s been training me. I’m supposed to ‘express my feelings’.” He imitated Rose’s high soprano voice. “But seriously, man, how can you decide what to do if you don’t know how he feels?”
“Yeah.” Mark was right and Aiden knew it.
“Hey, Sam,” Aiden told Sam’s voice mail a few hours later. He had called the office, but Sam’s assistant told him he was tied up in a meeting. “I was hoping we could talk. I’m around this weekend. Give me a call, okay?”
M
ONDAY morning came far too quickly and without any call from Sam. When Aiden’s phone rang after lunch, right after he’d settled down to practicing, it was not Sam but the woman from the scholarship committee calling to congratulate him.
Aiden left Sam another message. “Sam, hi, it’s Aiden. I’m sure you were probably busy this past weekend. I… I just wanted you to know I got that scholarship I told you about. I’ll be leaving in a week, and I was thinking that I’d really like to see you… ah… you know, before I leave. If you have a chance, please call me.”
Another week went by with no answer. Aiden found himself in a JFK waiting room with a one-way ticket to Frankfurt, Germany. But he had his answer, didn’t he? Sam wasn’t interested. And who could blame Sam? Aiden was a nobody, a Mississippi redneck who’d barely managed to finish high school and who had only graduated from college because he could sing.

A
IDEN headed out of the hotel before eight o’clock for a run. He hadn’t slept much, but the morning was bright and clear and the Luxembourg gardens were already filled with people. He often ran here when he was in Paris, usually with Jason. Today, however, Jason had decided to sleep in since he’d been up so late cleaning up after the party.

The long gravel paths felt good under Aiden’s feet, and the smell of cut grass went a long way toward improving his mood. He headed past the enormous fountain with its bronze horses, catching the faint scent of roses on the air as he began to pick up his pace. It had been too cold to run in Germany, and he was a little stiff. Still, it felt good to get out and stretch his legs.

On his second lap around the park, he heard someone call his name. A reporter, he guessed. Ever since Jarrod Jameson had spilled his guts to a London rag, the continental press had followed Aiden with something approaching religious zeal. Aiden was the wronged man, the golden boy of the opera scene, the man Cameron Sherrington had told the press was “the love of his life.”

Aiden had tried to stay out of the love triangle the press sought to create, but he was smart enough to know that the sympathy generated as a result of his very public breakup had helped his career. Not that he wasn’t a good singer. He was, and he knew it. But when his agent called to tell him Rolex wanted to feature him in an ad, he knew it wasn’t only because of his singing. He also knew better than to turn the offer down.
“Aiden! Aiden Lind!”
Aiden kept running. A moment later, he felt someone tap him on

the shoulder, and he spun around, ready to tell the reporter to go to hell. But it wasn’t a reporter. Sam Ryan was bent over, gasping for air, hands on his knees.

“Damn,” he said between wheezes, “are you trying to kill me?” “What?” Aiden stared at Sam, too surprised to think clearly. Sam laughed. “I thought maybe you’d like a running partner.” “I was just heading back to the hotel.” It was a lie, the words

Sam looked sheepish. “No problem,” he said as though he had expected Aiden’s response. “I shouldn’t have interrupted your run. I thought I—”

“Look, Sam, I accept your apology. Really I do. New York was a lifetime ago. We’ve both moved on.”
“Sure.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck and looked very uncomfortable. “I understand completely. No worries. It was good seeing you again. I’m sure I’ll see you around.” He ran a hand through his hair, managed an awkward smile, then took off down the gravel path toward the park entrance.
Back in his hotel room an hour later, Aiden stared out the window at the busy street below. Why the hell had he acted that way with Sam in the park? He was angry, and he couldn’t explain it. They had dated for a whopping two weeks, after all.
Five years ago. What the fuck is my problem?
There was a knock on the door. More flowers.
Call me
, read the note.
I really need to speak with you.
He tore the paper into tiny pieces.
So much for progress.

A
FTER Sam left Aiden in the park, he kept running until he reached the banks of the Seine, less than an hour later. He didn’t remember getting there. Across the bridge was Île de la Cité and Notre Dame. For nearly an hour, he stood there, leaning on the stone wall above the river, deep in thought.

He hadn’t expected a warm reception from Aiden. Not after the way Aiden had acted at the party. So why was he even trying to talk to the guy? He had no one to blame but himself for Aiden’s reaction, anyhow. God, he wanted so much to go back, to start over again!

Approaching Aiden today hadn’t been easy. In fact, even deciding to take Jason and Jules up on the offer of a visit had been supremely difficult for Sam. Everything about Paris reminded him of Nick. He and Nick had saved up for their trip for nearly two years. They’d come to celebrate Sam’s passing the bar and Nick’s first gallery show.

Sam stared up at Notre Dame and closed his eyes. He could almost hear the echo of Nick’s voice as Nick reached the top of the tower ahead of him.

“Hey, Sammy, check this out!” Breathless, he gazed out at the city below as Sam finally caught up. “Look at the pattern of the rooftops and the way the sunlight reflects off the tiles.”

Sam put his arm around Nick’s shoulder, taking a quick glance outside before he brought his gaze to rest on Nick’s curly hair and admired the corner of his jaw. The word “beautiful” that escaped his lips had nothing to do with the Parisian skyline.

Sam had been to Europe before with his family, but nothing could compare to seeing Europe through Nick’s eyes. Sam often forgot Nick was two years older; Nick approached the world in an almost childlike manner. Where Sam looked out over Paris and saw only a mass of buildings, Nick appreciated the innate beauty there—colors, textures, sounds, and smells.