I’m so stupid.
It was just a fling on a business trip, and all Aaron wanted from me was anonymous sex. The fact that he ended up getting to know me a little doesn’t mean anything. I remind myself that I wasn’t looking for anything more than a chance to act without caution for once in my life. Jealous feelings have no place in a situation like this, especially now that I’m never going to see Aaron again.
I wish it weren’t so late so I could call Maya and offload my angst. I know what she’d say: take it as an experience that was fun while it lasted and move on. Maybe learn something in the process. It’s hard to admit that, while the sex had been amazing, the whole meaningless fuck thing isn’t for me. I just don’t have the kind of heart that can be intimate with someone without it affecting me. I feel loss, even though I have no right to. There is a sense that I have given Aaron something of myself that I won’t be able to get back.
When I finish my tea, I pull a blanket over myself and lie down, thinking I’ll watch to the end of the program, but I must fall asleep because, when I open my eyes, there is sunlight streaming through the gaps in the blinds and someone is knocking on my front door.18
AARONI’ve been round and round on the sanity of what I’m doing. Transatlantic travel is nothing to me from an expense point of view. It has been a long flight, although I have no right to complain because my plane is very comfortable. I even managed to sleep a little on the journey.
I’m a busy man with a lot of responsibilities, and I know Sandrine will be taking flack for my absence. My email has been buzzing, and I’ve replied to what I can on the ride over. My chauffeur is an exceptionally quiet man, so I have space to concentrate. When we get closer to Nicole’s home, I start to take notice of my surroundings. England is a funny place with terrible civic planning. The roads are so narrow that it’s a miracle that traffic flows at all.
Nicole’s road is charming, with a mix of houses and small blocks of apartments. When we pull up outside the address my chief of security found for Nicole, I take in the concrete yard and peeling paint on the front door. It appears neglected, as many rentals do.
My driver opens the door for me and then removes my small suitcase from the trunk. I suddenly regret coming straight from the airport. Stopping by my house to drop off my things would have made my arrival look less dramatic. With the suitcase, she’s going to think that I’ve come to stay. But I don’t want to risk missing Nicole, and in a couple of hours, she’ll be at work. I don’t have a lot of time and want to make the most of it. Rationalizing that my arrival is enough of a surprise, I lift my luggage, open the rusty gate and walk slowly up the cracked pathway. There isn’t a doorbell, so I knock, hard enough to be heard.
Do I feel nervous standing on Nicole’s doorstep at 7.30 am? I hate to admit it, but yes.
Eventually, I hear shuffling inside, and the door opens a crack with the safety chain on. Good girl. Safety first. “Hello?” Nicole’s voice is sleepy, and I smile.
“You left without saying goodbye, Nicole. That wasn’t very polite.” I’m trying to sound stern but failing because of the grin on my face.
“What the fuck?” she mumbles from behind the door, and then her face peeks around to look at me. “Oh, no!” Nicole says her voice loud and screechy. “What the hell are you doing here, Aaron?”
“You know, I’ve been asking myself the same question.”
The door closes, and for a second, I believe she’s slamming the door in my face, then the chain jangles, and Nicole yanks it open, looking delightfully mussed from sleep. She stands silent with glaring eyes and hands on her hips, eventually shaking her head, as if she’s resigned herself to letting me in, and stands aside so I can pass. It’s a frosty greeting, but one I’ve been expecting.
“I see you got my offerings,” I say, turning to watch her shut the door. She grabs the whiskey bottle by the neck and strides past me, disappearing through a door I assume to be the kitchen. Leaving my suitcase in the hallway, I follow her and watch as she digs around in the freezer for a bag of ice. Her kitchen is tiny – only just big enough for two people to stand in and smaller than my closet – but it’s clean and quirky, with bold pictures and tins for tea and coffee in primary colors. She has made the best of the space in a way that reflects her character; bright, feminine, and full of spark.