Sapphire Beautiful (8 page)

It’s about twenty minutes until four. For once I’m actually not running late.

Me: I’m ready.

I wait for another text, but I hear knocking on the front door instead.

I hurry downstairs and open the door. I can’t help but smile when I see that he’s actually wearing something from the twenty-first century. Jeans and a white Polo shirt. Exactly what I suggested. And they look brand new. Like he just purchased them and put them on right before he came over.

Even the sneakers he’s wearing don’t have a single scuff on them. They look like they just came out of the box. 

“You look good,” I tell him.

He grins. “Thanks. So do you. Pink is a great color on you.”

We stare at each other for a few moments. Then he says, “Since we have some extra time maybe we can take a scenic route. The weather is beautiful today and I’ve got the top down.”

“You have a convertible?” I can’t help the surprise in my voice. Dante doesn’t seem like the convertible type. He seems like someone who would drive a more practical car, like a Toyota Prius.

He nods.

“Let me get my purse.”

He follows me as I hurry into the kitchen to retrieve my bag from the counter. When I turn back around he’s practically standing on top of me.

He pulls me into his arms and kisses me. “I had to do that,” he whispers. “I couldn’t resist.”

I look him up and down, taking him in. He really does look good dressed in clothes that someone in their twenties might wear. With a proper haircut, he might even be somewhat hot.

“We’d better go,” he suggests. “If I kiss you again I’ll want to take you upstairs and I don’t want to be late.”

There’s no parking allowed on the street directly outside my house. There are small lots on both ends of the block where the residents park. Because I don’t own a car I’ve never given the concept much thought, but now I’m curious as to where Dante parked.

“Where’s your car?” I ask.

He points to south end of the block. “I parked in the lot down there. It’s a little strange that you don’t have parking anywhere near your house.”

“Most of my neighbors use public transportation like I do.” I almost slip and tell him that many of us walk to work because we’re employed by the university.

When he grabs my hand I flinch. We’re out in public and there’s now no way to hide that we’re together. If I run into anyone I know this will definitely take some explaining.

And I have absolutely no idea what I would say.

Being paid to be someone’s mistress behind closed doors is one thing. Being paid to be someone’s girlfriend in public is something entirely different. I thought our arrangement would consist only of the former. It’s becoming increasingly more obvious that Dante wants both.

The parking area is nearly empty except for an old pick-up truck and an extremely flashy silver sports car that looks like it cost a fortune.

“I’m guessing you don’t drive a pick-up,” I tease.

He’s actually turning a little red with embarrassment as we approach his convertible.  “Ridiculous, isn’t it?” He opens the passenger side door for me. “My dad’s idea. He gets a discount when he buys in bulk. So all of us drive Aston Martin DB9 Volante convertibles.”

“Us?” The question slips out before I have a chance to filter myself. “Sorry.”

As I climb into the passenger side of the car he lets himself into the driver’s side.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I wasn’t sure it was okay to ask you questions.”

He frowns. “Why would you think that?”

I don’t want to hurt his feelings so I respond as delicately as I can. “You’re a little reserved. You don’t say very much. I wasn’t sure how much you wanted to share with me. This is kind of an unusual situation.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Then he starts the car and we take off. 

I guess I didn’t succeed in not making him feel bad. You could cut the tension in the air between us with a knife. I don’t want to dig myself into a deeper hole so I just keep my trap shut.

“I wasn’t sure you wanted to hear anything about me,” he says when we’re stopped at a traffic light. “Most people don’t. I’ve learned to just keep things to myself.”

His confession tugs at my heartstrings. As Dante lets his armor down, and I get to know him a little better, I feel a profound sadness deep inside of him. I get the sense that he’s pretty lonely. “I want to hear about you,” I tell him.

“Really?” he sounds genuinely surprised and this makes me sad for him.

“I do,” I assure him. “Really.”

“You can ask me anything.”

When I notice a few passing pedestrians point at the car it makes me wonder exactly how expensive it is. “How many of these cars did your dad buy?”

“Five. One for each person in our family. Him, my mom, my older brother, my older sister and me.”

“How much was that?”

“He got each one for two hundred.”

“Two hundred thousand dollars?” I croak. It never occurred to me that a car could cost that much. And his dad purchased five of them?

“Like I said. Ridiculous. But it does have a nice ride.”

The car is absolutely gorgeous, but now that he’s told me how much it’s worth I’m actually afraid to accidently scratch the interior.

“So where are we going? Where does your sister live?”

I give him quick directions and he heads toward the northwest suburbs.

“Honestly I thought maybe you’d be driving a Prius.”

He actually laughs. “Why would you say that?”

“You just seem practical. Like material things don’t matter all that much to you.”

“It’s true, but I’m curious to hear what led you to that conclusion.”

I swallow. Once again I find myself in the position where I don’t want to lie, but I also don’t want to hurt his feelings. So I try to be as tactful as I can. “You don’t seem to spend a lot of money on the latest fashions. Your clothes are a bit dated, and I don’t get the impression you’re trying to be some kind of ironic hipster.”

He shakes his head. “Definitely not. I have no hipster inside of me whatsoever.” When he gives me a quick glance he looks anxious. “Do you like the jeans and Polo shirt?”

“Yes, you look great. But this is the first time I’ve seen you wear something that’s—um—stylish.”

“I don’t enjoy shopping,” he admits. “Especially for clothes. I’m never sure what to buy and I can’t really tell what goes together. You told me what I should wear today so I bought it.”

“That’s a sweet gesture.”

“You know when I told you to ask me anything my clothing wasn’t even in the top hundred questions I thought you might ask.”

“It’s a little unusual for a twenty-two-year old to dress like he’s sixty-two.”

“Is it really that bad?” The sincerity in his question is heartbreaking.

“Kind of,” I reply, trying desperately not to hurt his feelings any more than I already have.

After another long and awkward silence he says, “My clothes were all given to me by my maternal grandfather. He actually gave me everything he owned when he died. I was the only person named in his will. And that was pretty significant. My siblings wouldn’t speak to me for almost a year. Not that they have ever really spoken to me about anything of any significance, but they gave me the silent treatment. In a way, it was nice. It took the pressure off. We didn’t have to pretend to have things to say to each other.”

“You don’t get along with them?” My sister and I are so close I can’t image what it would be like not to be close to your siblings.

He shakes his head. “I’m the black sheep of the family. Literally and figuratively. Everyone else in my family is blond. And very wealthy.”

“You’re wealthy,” I remind him.

“I have money. A lot of money. I was born into money. I inherited money. But I’m not like the rest of my family. Wealthy isn’t just what they are; it’s who they are. Everything in their world revolves around money. Everyone and everything is a means to an end: getting more money. And everyone is judged by how many digits are in their bank account.” He looks into my eyes. “I’m definitely the outcast. You’ll see what I mean when you meet them.”

“You really want me to meet your family?” I ask uncomfortably.

“Of course,” he replies as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“What are you going to tell them about me?” There’s a note of panic in my voice. “What are you going to say if they ask how we met?”

“We can tell my family whatever we want to tell them. But honestly they care so little about me and my life they probably won’t even bother to ask.”

That feels like a punch in the gut. When my parents were alive they wanted to know everything. Sometimes I thought they cared about me too much. “How could your parents not care about you?”

“Because I’m not like them. Have you ever seen those television shows where babies were accidently switched at birth? Two kids born the same day were mixed up in the hospital and the families ended up taking home the wrong babies? That’s how I’ve felt my entire life. Like I was somehow switched at birth and ended up with the wrong family. The only person who I ever resembled in any way was my maternal grandfather. He was a bit eccentric. An inventor. Apparently he held thousands of patents for his inventions and manufactured toys. He loved history. Many of his toys and games were historical in nature.”

“Is that where your passion for history came from?” I ask.

“Maybe. And I guess I also inherited my bad taste in clothes.”

“It’s not bad taste,” I tell him trying to redeem myself. “The only reason I even asked was because I wondered if you’d mind me buying you some new clothes.”

He shakes his head rather vehemently. “No.”

“No you don’t mind or no you don’t want me to buy you new clothes.”

“I don’t want you spending any of your money on me.
Ever.
That money is for you.”

“You’ve given me so much. I really don’t mind...”

“No.”

There’s an awkward tension in the air between us. I’m not sure what to say to make things right again.

Dante has his eyes firmly planted on the road. He hasn’t even glanced over at me, which is unusual. Most of the time he can’t take his eyes off of me.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I didn’t mean...”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I didn’t mean to be an asshole about the clothes. It’s just—I have more money than I could ever spend in ten lifetimes. I don’t want you to spend money on me. It doesn’t make sense.”

His face is filled with so much pain and fear it makes my heart ache. “Are we okay?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you glad you decided to ask me a question?”

“I guess I just felt like I wanted to get to know you a little better.”

That actually brings a smile to his face. A slight ghost of a smile, but still a smile. “Maybe someday we can go clothes shopping together? I’ll pay for some new clothes, but you can pick them out. How does that sound?”

“I’d like that.”

I enjoy the cool evening breeze in my face. “This is my first time in a convertible,” I admit.

“Do you like it?”

“It doesn’t hurt that this is a fantastic car.”

“I agree with what you said earlier. It doesn’t truly suit me.”

We’re both lost in our own thoughts for a few moments until he says, “I’d like to take you someplace special for dinner tomorrow.”

“Okay.” I try to sound as enthusiastic about the plans as he does, but I feel like things are going too far too fast. He’s definitely treating me more like his girlfriend than a mistress, and that’s not really what I signed up for.

I signed up for the once a week sex with the old, horny guy that my student talked about. I didn’t know I was going to be some kind of pseudo girlfriend of a somewhat socially awkward twenty-two-year-old.

“Now where?” Dante asks as he pulls off the highway.

I give him brief instructions to get to my sister’s house: two rights and a left, until we’re in her very middle class neighborhood. My sister’s house is nice, but quite modest. When she and her husband bought the place ten years ago it didn’t cost that much more than Dante’s car.

It makes me wonder what kind of place Dante’s parents live in. Anyone who can afford to buy five cars, each worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, probably lives in a place worth millions.

My sister and her husband both own junkers that often have to be jumpstarted to get them running, but at least they’re paid for. Both of their cars take up the small driveway, so Dante parks on the street in front of their house.

Before he unlocks the car doors Dante turns to face me. “Thanks for inviting me along tonight. It means a lot to me.”

“I know.”

He reaches over and caresses my cheek. Then he gives me a quick kiss.

“Ready to spend the evening with three extremely energetic kids?”

He smiles. “I can’t wait.”

I barely have a chance to knock on the door before my sister answers it. Something tells me she heard us pull up and has been peeking out at us through her window.

Virginia is two years younger than I am. She just turned thirty, but she’s been married for ten years. She chose not to go to college and married her high school sweetheart. She worked for a few years as a receptionist at her husband’s building company, but has been a stay-at-home mom since her first child, Ruby, was born.

Virginia gained weight with each successive pregnancy and never seemed to be able to take it off. Even though we’re the same height my little sister outweighs me by about forty pounds.

Her shoulder length dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail and she wearing jeans and a t-shirt. She’s definitely dressed for a ballgame.

The smile on her normally bubbly face completely fades when her eyes land on Dante. Her big, brown eyes grow even wider and her jaw drops before she realizes it and then quickly bites her lip.

“This is Dante,” I tell her. “Dante, this is my sister, Virginia.”

She gulps before she says, “Nice to meet you,” but her voice still cracks.

Dante gives her a barely-there half-smile in return. “Thank you for inviting me to dinner.”

This is even more awkward than I anticipated.