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Did she want me to see the little rise of her breasts? Was she trying to get me to look at her nipples pushing through the fabric?
No, I was the one being stupid. She just felt safe, she trusted me.
The next morning, it dawned on me that with the exception of a handful of older women, Clara was the only woman at the lodge. We had breakfast in the dining room and every eye fell on her as I walked her to the table. I wasn’t sure she noticed.
She was distracted by the view from the window and crepes stuffed with Nutella, strawberries, and whipped cream. I watched her as she ordered a latte with whipped cream and pink sprinkles and drank it with her pile of crepes.
There really couldn’t be a taste profile to that meal other than pure sugar.
Contented with being boring, I had my usual. An egg white omelette, one slice of whole wheat toast, a half of an avocado, and black coffee. I’d eaten the same breakfast for the last fifteen years and if it wasn’t broken, I wasn’t about to fix it.
Vincent and his wife, Adele, joined us halfway through. Adele was a refined woman, originally from a wealthy family in England. She was tall and beautiful, with black hair she kept in a demure bun and a lot of big, chunky diamonds on her hands and wrists.
She was one of those rich women who was always busy whenever I talked to her, but I was never actually sure what she did.
Clara must have realized at some point that she was surrounded by a sea of testosterone because she looked relieved when Adele sat down beside her. She offered her a shy smile and they began chatting.
“Is Clara the youngest woman here?” I asked quietly, turning to Vincent.
He nodded. “Gene Barrister is supposed to bring his daughter up at the end of the week. But for right now, yes.”
Adele turned to Clara. “Do you want to go to the spa after this? There’s enough testosterone in this lodge to fuel a rocket jet. I need some girl time.”
“I’d love to,” Clara said. She glanced up at me, waiting for my approval.
I gave a quick nod. “You may do as you please, Clara.”
Vincent and Adele exchanged a glance that annoyed me. Like they were silently judging the fact that Clara had asked my permission.
“Would you like me to have dinner with you tonight?” Clara pushed her chair back and stood, setting her napkin aside.
I nodded. “Yes, just be back at the room at five.”
She left with Adele and there was as short silence as Vincent and I finished breakfast. Then he stood and picked up his jacket, slinging it over his shoulder. I followed him out of dining room toward the meeting lounge.
“You should start seeing someone,” he said lightly.
“I know you’re trying to set me up with your niece.”
“No, it’s not that.”
“What is it then?”
Vincent paused, glancing down the hall. “You’re an important man who has a lot of meetings and dinners to attend. Most of those social events are set up for men with wives or partners.”
“What’s your point?” I asked. “I’ve always been single.”
“No,” Vincent said firmly. “Clara fills the social role of your partner.”
I opened my mouth to retort and stopped, unsure what to say.
He was right.
“In every wealthy family, there’s a woman the man can bring to parties and dinners,” he said. “Sometimes it’s the eldest daughter, but usually it’s the wife. But…Clara is neither of those things.”
“You’ve been listening to gossip,” I said.
Vincent’s jaw worked. “There’s definitely some talk.”
