Page 32 of Pretender

“I’m over here,” he says, his voice a low rumble in the quiet space. There’s a door at the end of the hall. How many women have walked down here? Did they experience the same tense ride up in the lift, or did they drape themselves all over him? Not that I care. Because I don’t.

We enter his flat and I’m struck by the sheer size of it. You could put all my floors combined in here.

The living room and kitchen are combined into one massive space with balconies on both sides. Sunlight reflects off an orange glass ornament by the south-facing windows, casting a fun, sparkling light across the white, abstract-art-covered wall on the side.

It’s all cohesive. Perfectly in harmony. More like a show flat than a home.

After hearing all his ideas and his appreciation for my maximalist design style, I’m surprised.

“I’m not here often, so I’ve not done much with it.”

“It works,” I say, taking it all in.

“I feel more at home at The Orion, actually.”

There’s a flash of something very unlike the Aiden I’m used to on his face right now. He’s staring at nothing in particular, his jaw tight, working hard.

“What’s your favourite room at The Orion?”

His eyes meet mine, and a smile forms, his eyes warming again. “The Diamond Lounge.”

One of my more personally styled rooms. Not too unlike my own living room, except mine has a brighter palette.

“I can make this look like that, if you want.”

“You’ll be busy with Lady Beauchamp soon enough,” he says. “Come, let’s eat. I’m famished.”

Aiden’s kitchen is also white, with touches of brass and black and a few well-placed lush herbs.

“So, fake date,” he says, opening a large cabinet that turns out to be an integrated fridge. “We’ll need to agree on the rules.”

He places the carton of eggs on the kitchen island and gestures for me to sit on one of the barstools.

“Rules?” I ask.

He moves deftly around the kitchen, finding the tools he needs.

“Yes. Like PDA, what’s allowed and not. Not seeing anyone else. Agreeing on how we met and so on.”

“You’ve done this before, have you?” I ask, tongue-in-cheek.

“Hah. No, my mum and I watch rom-coms together,” he says while cracking eggs into a bowl. “It’s been our thing since I was little.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, and he glances up at me through his thick eyelashes, flashing me a knowing grin that he quickly suppresses. He rolls his lips, dimple appearing, before he allows his face to relax again.

“Always that reaction,” he mutters, whisking the eggs now.

“Okay, I’ll put my stereotypes away. Do you have a favourite rom-com?”

“Not just one. I prefer the 90s ones. Pretty Woman, You’ve Got Mail, Sleepless in Seattle.”

“I’ve seen Pretty Woman.” There’s only one rule I remember from that, and my ears burn at the thought of broaching that subject.

Aiden pours the eggs into a pan. Who knew I’d see the day a man like him cooks for me. Even if it’s a simple meal. And a business arrangement.

“So, what are the rules? Not seeing anyone else, you mentioned. Will that be okay for you?” I ask.

“Yes, it’s really the whole point.”