Bitter Spirits Part 17

They headed out of the lobby and walked into the Palm Court, a large, bustling room that was part.i.tioned into a lounge with a piano at the front, and a restaurant at the back. The host at the podium took one look at Winter and snapped his finger at a waiter several steps before they arrived. "Mr. Magnusson, always a pleasure. We have your table ready."

Well-dressed patrons lounged and dined around cl.u.s.ters of lazy palms under a domed iridescent gla.s.s ceiling. Aida watched diners' reactions as she and Winter wended their way through the tables: first Winter's size caught their eyes, then they recognized him, and finally they looked at her in curiosity. Table by table, this was how it went, until they were seated off to one side beneath a balcony, where potted palms and a marble column gave them some privacy from the rest of the floor.

"Is this always how it is for you?" she asked after the waiter brought menus, stripping off her long gloves and tucking them in the handle of her handbag. He watched her actions over the top of his menu, staring at her hands with great interest. What on earth was so interesting? She looked down, wondering if her fingers were covered in ink from a leaky pen. They weren't. His mind seemed to be elsewhere. She dipped her head to catch his eye. "Does everyone recognize you, I meant."

He blinked and shook away his daze. "Depending on where I go, yes. It will stop in a minute, once they realize I'm not doing anything interesting. Surely you must be used to some of this yourself."

"I never stay anywhere long enough to garner a following. People recognize me now and then at the Automat across the street from Gris-Gris. I can barely read this menu, it's so dark back here. Tell me what's good."

With a hand under her seat, he scooted her closer, chair and all, oblivious to the whispering at neighboring tables. Now that their arms were practically touching, he browsed the entrees with her, talking up the merits of his beloved chop, which sounded as if he liked it so much, they should probably consider adding his name next to it on the menu. She ended up ordering what the waiter recommended, including a French wine that Winter c.o.c.kily a.s.sured her was some of the best in the city; the very best, he h.o.a.rded in his own cellar.

Winter was served the thickest chop she'd ever seen in her life-certainly not the size that was listed on the menu-while she had prime rib and salad with dressing the Palace had made famous, or so they claimed: something called green G.o.ddess. They talked as they ate. Conversation was so effortless and easy, it was almost as if the visit to Ju's had never happened. She watched him in surrept.i.tious s.n.a.t.c.hes while he chatted: his animated mouth with its deep indentations at the corners, made deeper by the flickering candle at their table; the sleek wave of his brilliantined hair, so dark it was almost black; and those bewitching mismatched eyes, which now looked so merry.

He used to be happy and fun to be around, Aida thought, remembering Astrid's words. This was what she meant. This was the real Winter. She understood Astrid mourning him, if this was something she didn't see much anymore, because Aida could think of no recent company she'd enjoyed half as much.

The only pause in their conversation came after the waiter cleared their plates away and promised to return with something for dessert. After a few moments of silence, Winter surprised her by saying, "I didn't love her."

She glanced up at his face. "Sook-Yin?"

"No, my wife."

"Oh."

"You told me I shouldn't feel guilty about the accident, and I try not to. But that's what still bothers me. I didn't love Paulina when I married her, and she definitely didn't love me."

Was he really talking about this? She couldn't believe it. She was scared to say anything for fear he'd stop, but he seemed to need some encouragement, so she gave in. "Why did you marry her, then?"

"I married her to please my mother, and I suppose I thought my feelings would deepen after the wedding. But we couldn't even manage small talk, much less love. The more we grew apart, the more I helped my father out with the bootlegging, which only made things worse. She detested the bootlegging. Her family is Pentecostal-are you familiar?"

"The religious people who speak in tongues."

"Holy Rollers," he confirmed. "Paulina wasn't active in the church when we met, but I suppose that I was so inherently evil, I made her long for fellows.h.i.+p. She tolerated my father's bootlegging, but knowing I was out making deals after dark became a sin too big for her to ignore. She once told me she didn't know which was worse-staying awake at night worrying I'd be killed, or finding out that I hadn't been."

"What an awful thing to say."

"It made me never want to come home. I stayed out just to avoid her. She accused me of being unfaithful, which I never was, Aida-not once."

"You don't have to convince me."

He scratched his neck and remained silent for a time, staring at the flickering candlelight on the table. "It's not just that we made each other miserable, because we did. The worst part was that we wasted each other's time. Several months of courting and a wedding that cost my family enough to shame William Randolph Hearst, only to find that we were complete opposites. She didn't like rich food, s.e.x, foul language, drinking . . . or jokes. I swear to G.o.d, I never once heard her laugh. Not once. I don't think she even knew how."

"She sounds delightful, Winter."

"I-" He looked down at her in wonder, then laughed. "Yes, I suppose so. Those were all my favorite things, so she pretty much ripped the joy out of my life. Especially when she made the decision to go back to her church and started attending services every weekend. I thought it would make her happier, but the congregation just encouraged her to divorce me, because I was a known criminal."

She waved around the luxurious dining room. "All of us are criminals. There's not a dry table here. You're Robin Hood, taking back what the government took away-not Jack the Ripper."

He crossed his arms and rested them on the edge of the table. "Regardless, I should've just let her go. I'm not sure why I didn't. I think maybe I saw it as a failure, and that was unacceptable. So we had a bad fight, and I told her divorce was impossible, that I'd never let it happen."

"What did she do?"

"Nothing. That was two weeks before the accident."

"Oh."

"If I would've just let her leave, she wouldn't have been invited to her aunt's dinner, and her family wouldn't have tried to tell us that we were going to h.e.l.l, which was the thing that spurred my father's last fit. So that's why I feel guilty-because even though I didn't love her, I refused to let her go. If I had, everyone would still be alive."

The waiter returned with some sort of sponge cake and more wine. She waited until the man left, then said, "I can understand why you'd feel that way. I probably would, too, if I were in your shoes. But you can't continue to pummel yourself. You can't let one moment in time define you for the rest of your life."

"Easy to say, harder to do."

"Paulina made the decision to marry you. You didn't hold a gun to her head."

Winter toyed with the stem of his winegla.s.s. "No, but I might as well have done that when I didn't let her leave."

"She had two feet and a mind of her own. If she wanted to leave, she could've walked out the door."

"Not every woman thinks like you."

"Which is a d.a.m.n shame, to be sure, but you can't be held responsible for her character defects. Nor can you spend the rest of your life allowing human mistakes to mold your future."

"Yes, well-"

"Nothing is more important than right now. This moment." She tapped the table with her fingernail. "Not what happened yesterday. Not what will happen tomorrow. You once asked me how I could be happy moving from place to place, and that is the answer. I live for the moment. I enjoy what I have, not what I've lost. Not what I don't have yet."

Upon finis.h.i.+ng her pa.s.sionate speech, she found him staring at her intently with the strangest look on his face. Something about that look made her chest warm.

"Let's have an affair."

"What?"

"An affair," he repeated. "A temporary relations.h.i.+p. Companions.h.i.+p. s.e.x."

The heat in Aida's chest climbed to her cheeks. "Ah . . ."

"We like each other," he said in a very businesslike manner. "Might even be crazy about each other, like you said. We're both single. I pa.s.sed your kissing test."

She snorted. "Confident about that, are you?"

One brow lifted.

"You invented the kissing test," Aida argued. "All I said was that my previous lovers were terrible kissers."

"Which brings me to my next point. Wouldn't you like to be with someone who knows what he's doing in bed? I'm very good."

"Gee, don't sell yourself short or anything," she said, looking around to make sure no one nearby was listening as her cheeks flamed higher.

"Just being honest."

"I don't think this sort of thing is something people plan and negotiate."

He ran his hand over the back of his neck. "Maybe they should. You're only in town for how much longer? A month?"

"About that, yes."

"Not much time, but you've made it clear you're not interested in long-term relations.h.i.+ps because of your traveling, and G.o.d knows I'll never be interested in anything permanent again after my failed experiment with marriage."

A cynical voice whispered inside her head. "You want me to be your new Sook-Yin."

"That's the last thing I want. That was a pretend relations.h.i.+p." He sipped wine. "Though, I'm not really sure what I had with Paulina was much different. She wanted my money, too."

"Money is nice. I'm not above its allure. I love that you brought me here," she said, looking up at the dazzling chandeliers. "I love that d.a.m.n coat."

He chuckled, then gestured with his gla.s.s. "But pride is more important to you, and that's the difference."

"Perhaps."

"I don't want to talk about the past anymore. You just told me to live in the present."

"You're right. I did."

"And what I want right now, in the present, is you in my bed. Do you want me?"

She licked dry lips. No one had ever spoken to her like this. She wasn't sure if it was crude or refres.h.i.+ngly honest.

Winter looked down at the table and brushed his thumb along the curve of her wrist. "I lay awake at night thinking of you. I have since we met. Do you ever think of me?"

Her heart flamed up like a pyre. And he was looking at her with such intensity, it made lights twinkle in her brain. If he didn't stop telling her all these things, it would get so bright up there, she'd go blind and start shouting Yes! at the top of her lungs.

As it was, she managed to say it in a normal voice, after downing the remainder of her wine in two gulps. "Yes."

"You don't have to answer now. You can-" His hand stilled on hers. "Did you mean 'yes' you think of me, or 'yes,' you want to have an affair?"

"Yes to all your questions."

He smiled oh-so-slowly, like a dockyard cat eyeing a fish flailing on dry ground, and she knew right then she was a goner.

SIXTEEN.

THEY LEFT THE PALM COURT WITHOUT EATING DESSERT. WINTER'S body was flying, but his brain was stuttering along, half a step behind, still in disbelief. They stopped in the main hall that led to the lobby, allowing a bellboy to pa.s.s with two luggage carts.

"How do we do this?" Aida said, almost whispering. "We can't go to my place. Mrs. Lin doesn't allow men in the apartments."

Winter pulled her off to the side. "We could go to mine, but it's still early. Might have to sneak you past Greta and Astrid, otherwise I'll never hear the end of it. Everyone's still ribbing me about you calling on me in my study that afternoon."

"Your car?"

He stared down at her. No way in h.e.l.l was he taking her in the car. "Jonte would certainly get a thrill straining his gnarled old ears trying to hear us, but no."

Aida glanced around. "Well, we are in a hotel."

No need to tell him twice. "Stay here. Do not move. Do not talk to anyone. I'll be right back."

He rushed off to the registration desk, rushed back with a golden key to a suite and their coats. Part of him expected her to be gone when he got back, but she was still there, looking like an exotic G.o.ddess, freckled and golden and sparkling. Not a dream. Not a figment of his overactive imagination. Not a ghost. He touched her bare shoulder, just to make sure, and the heat from her soft skin nearly made him drop to his knees in prayer.

"Elevators are this way," he said, gripping her hand as if she might blow away.

As they ascended to the top floor, he watched her laugh at the elevator operator's jokes. On the surface, she was open and carefree, as she often was. But the way she clutched her handbag made him realize how anxious she was. He was anxious, too.

The room was on the top floor, at the end of the hall. No one occupied the neighboring suite. His hand shook as he unlocked the door.

"Oh, good," she said, noticing. "It's not just me."

Once he got his hands on her, he'd calm down. He was too keyed up. He felt like a boy, overexcited and bouncing with energy. Practically ramming the door open, he hurried her inside, hung the DO NOT DISTURB sign, and locked the door behind him.

She switched on a lamp and set her handbag and coat down. He watched her inspect their surroundings. The suite was big. Clean, but not properly prepared for guests: no fresh flowers, no turned-down linens. He was in too much of a hurry to wait for niceties.

Strolling to the window, she looked out over downtown. Hazy fog clung to the rooftop. "I'll never get over the views here," she said. "Everywhere you go, there's something to see. I think some of these views must be stuck inside my head from childhood, because nothing out East compares. Everything seems so flat and claustrophobic out there."

She turned to face him. He saw her throat working as she swallowed hard. Noticed the way she tightly held one arm beneath her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, gripping her opposite elbow, as if she was trying to s.h.i.+eld herself. He hated that. She glanced at the bed. "Oh, Winter, I'm so nervous."

Her voice was small. She was small. How had he not noticed how small and fragile she was? That bl.u.s.tery att.i.tude of hers was deceptive. And now that it was gone, and she was unable to meet his eyes, he was reminded of Paulina, timid and guarded-worse, he was reminded of how he used to feel around her. Like a monster and a bully. Like the bad guy.

Her fingers touched her breastbone as if she were searching for something, and then glanced down in panic when she didn't find it. She s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand away and exhaled heavily.

A pang of worry went through him. This was not at all how he'd imagined this going, and he'd imagined it plenty of times, plenty of ways. It definitely wasn't what he had in mind when he proposed this harebrained idea in the restaurant. Maybe she'd been right. This wasn't how it was supposed to be done. He should've been patient and let things happen naturally.

But G.o.d, how he wanted her.

It's just that he wanted free-spirited Aida, not this tense, nervous rabbit version.

He approached her and held out a hand. "Let's just sit here on the sofa." It faced the window. Maybe the view would be soothing. He removed his tuxedo jacket and laid it on the back of the sofa, unstrapped his leather shoulder holster and gun, then sat down next to her. "Deep breath, cheetah. It's just me."

She exhaled and anxiously laughed at herself, smoothing her dress down her legs.

He made a quick decision.

"I changed my mind. We're not going to have s.e.x tonight."

She looked up, eyes big and brown. "Why?"