Aria (7 page)
still
hurt. It felt like an enormous weight had lifted. He was looking forward to spending time with Sam.
He opened the door to the hotel and headed for the elevator. “You’ve been hiding from me,” he heard Alexandria say from behind him. Before he could respond, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, moving one arm up his shoulder to comb his hair with her fingers. She wore a short dress with silver sandals that accentuated her long legs.
“I told you I was having dinner with friends.” He pulled away from her and struggled to mask his irritation.
“Of course you did.” She imitated his serious expression. “But I thought you’d be back by now.” She pushed him into the elevator and pressed a button.
“Alexandria—” He forced the elevator door back open with his foot. “—this isn’t going to happen.”
She reached for him again and he pushed her away.
“Alexandria.” He tried to keep his voice down, but he was at the end of his patience. “I don’t
fuck
married women. Go home. Please.”
There was cold fury in her eyes, but Aiden didn’t flinch. He expected her to yell at him, but instead she simply laughed as if she didn’t care. She flicked her long hair with one hand and she strode out of the hotel without looking back.
Aiden released the elevator door and leaned against the wall of the cab. It would be another long night; he was sure of it.
God, but he’d made so many mistakes. He pulled on sweatpants and a T-shirt and headed out the door a few minutes later. It had all seemed so black and white back then. He’d either have Sam or his career. But it hadn’t been that simple, and it stung to realize it now. Who was to say they couldn’t have found a middle ground for their relationship to survive?
When Aiden returned to his room an hour later, breakfast was already on the table, along with the morning newspaper. He opened the window to the cool morning air and peeled his sweaty shirt off, then sat down to read. He’d never been a big fan of newspapers, but he made a point of reading them in French to improve his command of the language.
He sipped his coffee as he read through the arts section, smiling at the interview with David Somers on the front page, which discussed the opera Aiden would be performing in a few weeks. Not surprisingly, the reporter made it a point to compliment David on his impressive career successes. David, of course, was charmingly dismissive and steered the conversation back to Aiden and the other singers as well as the modern sets that had been painted by a popular French artist.
Aiden had just poured himself a second cup of coffee when he saw it. A photograph, toward the bottom of the society page. A photograph of him and Alexandria, locked in a passionate kiss. Well, at least it looked passionate. His face was mostly obscured by hers.
He stood up and gritted his teeth, stormed over to the window, and looked outside. The photo had been taken the night before, when he’d come back from dinner at Jules and Jason’s. He struggled to recall the hotel lobby. He hadn’t seen anyone when they’d walked in, but then again, he hadn’t been paying attention.
His cell phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pants. Alexandria.
Great.
She’d obviously seen the photograph too. He let the call go to voice mail.
Not like there’s anything I can do about it.
He’d just have to wait until it blew over. On the bright side, though, he was unlikely to be seeing much of Alexandria.
Silver lining.
His phone buzzed again. His agent this time, with a text.
Remember—any publicity is good publicity.
Aiden laughed and shook his head. Chuck Ritter was a great agent and pragmatist. Still, the fact that the photo had not only ended up in print, but had already hit the web, unsettled Aiden. How many other people would see it? He didn’t want Sam to see it. He tossed the phone onto the bed and headed for the shower.
His hand strayed to the touchpad on the laptop and moved the pointer up to the search box. He typed “Aiden Lind” and clicked Search. The Wikipedia entry read:
Aiden Lind. Opera singer. Born August 29th, Jackson, Mississippi. Baritone, known for roles such as Scarpia in Puccini’s
Tosca
, the title role in Mozart’s
Don Giovanni
, Renato in Verdi’s
Un Ballo in Maschera
, among others. Recent performances in London, Milan, Rome, San Francisco, and Chicago have been met with critical praise.
Impressive. All of it. But it said nothing about the man except that he was going to turn thirty this summer and was quite successful. Sam followed a link for an article from an American gossip magazine, entitled “Aiden Lind’s Silent Agony.”
Rising young opera star Aiden Lind, in Milan for rehearsals of a new production of Verdi’s
La Forza del Destino
at La Scala, has been seen on the arm of Italy’s favorite pop singer, Sylvia Trattorina. The two spent the evening at Disco 90, a new dance club. However, rumor has it that Mr. Lind left the club by himself. Since his much-publicized breakup from London billionaire Cameron Sherrington, Lind has rarely been spotted in public other than at the usual opera galas and fundraisers. Sources close to Mr. Lind say he is still heartbroken over the split. Says Luigi Ferri of
Eurostyle Celebrity Magazine
, “It’s a classic story of heartbreak. He’s single, gorgeous, and a paparazzo’s wet dream. It’s a terrible tragedy to see him suffer so.” Ferri went on to say….
Sam felt his jaw clench and he closed the window for the article. The man in the article was nothing like the Aiden Lind he had known in New York or, for that matter, the man he’d spoken to last night. Sam knew Aiden was bisexual, but he could hardly see him dating pop divas or crying his eyes out in an empty hotel room.
Friends
, he reminded himself. And if they ended up in bed together, would that be so terrible? He’d be heading home in a little over two weeks.
Home. Five years after he left New York, the fabulous apartment with the killer view of Philadelphia still didn’t feel much like home to Sam. Home for him was the Brooklyn loft, with the pipes running along the ceiling and the easel in the corner covered with blotches of paint, the futon bed, and the rice-paper light fixture. The only trace of Nick that inhabited the Philly apartment was in the paintings he had left behind.
Sam remembered the first time Nick had seen the loft and how he’d been fascinated by the slate roof on the old brick fire station across the street. Sam had gone apartment hunting without Nick and had hesitated to put a deposit down on the apartment without Nick’s approval.
“I trust you, Sam,” Nick had told him. “You know how hard it is to find a cheap place in Brooklyn Heights. Go for it.”
And when Nick gathered Sam into his arms, he told him, “It’s perfect.” Sam agreed.
They lived in that apartment together for more than five years. The loft was the first place Sam ever considered home, a place where he could be himself and where he was loved unconditionally.
Sam closed the computer and set it on the coffee table.
As they walked on through the park, the obelisk rose high above the trees and the gravel crackled beneath their feet. Aiden felt a bit giddy as he watched children on bicycles weave in and out of the paths, laughing. He loved Paris this time of year, with its flowering gardens and trees. The smell of freshly cut grass caught the breeze and reminded him of the first time he’d come here, not knowing what to expect and entirely overwhelmed by the beauty of the city.
“Last time I was here,” Sam said, “I spent two whole days at the Louvre. Nick brought his sketchbook, and I wandered from gallery to gallery, taking pictures. I’m pretty sure we closed the place both days.”
Aiden couldn’t help but notice how Sam’s demeanor changed when he spoke of Nick. Sam wore a wistful expression and his voice was warm. Aiden felt a pang of something himself to see the look on Sam’s face. Envy, perhaps? Not that Aiden didn’t still think of Cam sometimes, but then again when he
did
think of Cam, the memories weren’t always good ones.
Sam nodded. “A painter. Oils, mostly, although sometimes he worked in watercolor. Abstract modern paintings. Lots of color and texture.”
Sam laughed. “Spent an entire day there. Nicky was fascinated by the colors of Monet’s paintings. I think I fell asleep on one of the benches. Just about got kicked out by one of the museum guards.”
“Hardly. But I learned to appreciate modern art. I’m always amazed by people like you.”
“Like me?”
“Artists, I mean. Musicians. People with talent.”
Aiden’s face warmed. “We’re not so special, really.”
Aiden always felt he didn’t deserve the attention. When he graduated from Indiana University, his father refused to come see him receive his diploma. “It’s not like you did anything but open your mouth,” he’d told Aiden. It was true. He’d sung his way through school while so many of his friends had worked their asses off.
“It’s a gift, Aiden.”
The statement was unequivocal, and Aiden smiled in response.
“Do you enjoy singing?”
“I love it. But not the applause or the fans.” Realizing how this sounded, Aiden added quickly, “I mean, I appreciate all that. Don’t get me wrong. But what I love the most is the music.”
“Really?” Sam stopped walking and looked at Aiden with obvious surprise.
“The best part is the first time I get to sing through the opera with the orchestra.”
“You mean in costume?”
“No. Usually in a pair of jeans.” When Sam looked uncomprehendingly at him, Aiden explained, “It’s called a
Sitzprobe
. The singers all sit in chairs on stage and sing through the music with the orchestra. There aren’t any costumes or sets; you don’t have to worry about blocking—where to move and when—you just sing. It’s a little like being in the middle of a recording, where the sound seems to come from all around you and you feel like you’re part of something amazing.”
Aiden blushed at the realization that he’d gotten a bit carried away with his description. “Sorry. I sound like an idiot, don’t I?”
“Never. It makes me wish I could feel that. Not that I know anything about music, but the way you describe it, I can almost imagine what it would be like.”
They began to walk again, talking and stopping from time to time to look in various shops along the route. “What do you think of that?” Sam leaned over to point to a hand-loomed scarf in a store window, accidently brushing against Aiden’s shoulder. Aiden’s pulse quickened. He tried his best to focus on the scarf, but the scent of Sam’s crisp cologne had him remembering their first night together in New York, years before.
“For you?” It was a silly question. The scarf was obviously made for a woman.
Sam laughed. “For my mother. I need to pick up gifts for her and my sisters.”
“I like it. Why don’t we go inside?” Aiden clapped Sam’s shoulder. Aiden meant it as a friendly gesture, but Sam’s mouth parted with the touch. Aiden’s hand lingered for a moment longer than he’d intended. He didn’t want the contact to end.
“Sounds good.” Sam’s gaze met Aiden’s, and Sam, too, appeared to hesitate. Then a patron exited the store, and the moment was gone just as quickly.
By the time they left the store, Sam having purchased several scarves and a sweater for his youngest sister, it was now early evening, and the sky was overcast.
“Looks like rain.” Sam stared up at the sky.
“You’ve been lucky so far. Usually this time of year, it rains a lot more. Do you want to take the Métro the rest of the way?”
“Nah. I don’t mind getting a little wet.”
Neither of them had thought to bring an umbrella, so they picked up their pace. But as they neared the Seine, the intermittent drops of rain soon became a torrent.
“Follow me.” Aiden pointed down one of the narrow streets. He held his hand out to steady Sam over one of the small rivers that had formed on the cobblestones, and stepped into the water up to his shin. “Shit.” He brushed a soggy lock of hair from his eyes.
Sam jumped over another mini torrent, holding Aiden’s hand a bit tighter. A taxi snaked through the pedestrians running for cover, and Sam and Aiden stepped backward to avoid the ensuing splash of water. Sam lost his footing, managing to keep his balance only because Aiden grabbed him around the waist. Aiden laughed and looked down at his soggy shoes, socks, and pants.
“Sam,” Aiden called over a clap of thunder, “I know a nice café right down the block. Why don’t we duck inside and wait until this passes?”
“Sounds great,” Sam ran down the sidewalk after Aiden, still holding his hand.
They reached the café a few minutes later, but not before they were both soaked to the skin. Aiden took two napkins from a waitress and handed one to Sam. They wiped their faces and made their way over to a table by the window. Outside the storm had worsened.
They ordered a light meal and chatted comfortably for several more hours. They both took off their shoes to let them dry, and their stocking feet brushed beneath the tiny table. Rather than pulling his feet away, Aiden pressed them more deliberately against Sam’s. The hint of color in Sam’s cheeks was reassurance enough that it wasn’t just Aiden feeling the heat between them. If anything, their physical attraction had grown in the intervening years.
Aiden didn’t notice the rain had stopped falling until the sky grew dark and faint bands of color appeared on the horizon. Sam texted Jason to let him know he would be late returning to the apartment. Their clothing finally dry, they ventured back out onto the wet streets in search of Aiden’s favorite tea shop. “Best hot chocolate in Paris. And the pastries are incredible.”
“I’m going to need to run an extra mile tomorrow,” Sam said with a rumbled laugh.
“I promise I won’t chase you off.”
This time it was Sam’s hand on Aiden’s shoulder. “I’ll hold you to that.”
They turned a corner down rue du Fouarre. “This is the place.” Aiden’s excitement at finding the tiny shop was immediately replaced by disappointment. The shop was closed. “Sorry. I didn’t realize they closed early.”
“I’ll make sure to come back before I leave. Promise.” The edges of Sam’s mouth turned upward.
“My hotel’s about a block away…. Would you like to get something to drink in the bar before you head back to the apartment?” Aiden hadn’t meant for it to sound like a come-on, although he knew it was. He didn’t want the day to end.
“I’d like that.” Sam’s smile faded, his expression now intense, searching. He took Aiden’s hand, his thumb brushing Aiden’s palm. It was all Aiden could do not to lean in and kiss Sam. Then again, he’d never made any bones about his attraction to Sam. This time, though, he would let Sam take the lead.
It started to rain again. “We’d better get going,” Aiden said, “or we’re going to melt.”
Sam laughed and they took off down the street at a healthy run, still holding hands.