Page 22 of A Hidden Past

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.

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