Matthew takes my arm, steering me towards a table marked reserved. “You will remain quiet, civilised and by my side the entire night. Whatever I say, you simply nod and agree.”
“My dad is here. That’s why we’re here. You’re hoping to unsettle him by showing up with me.”
“You bet your ass I am.” He holds out a chair, and I take the hint. There’s water on the table, so I pour myself some, hoping to shift the headache that’s brewing. The ballroom was still festively decorated, lots of twinkly and sparkly lights draped around the walls. It was a beautiful space, and the chandeliers had been dimmed so that the candle-scaping in the middle of each table could add to the warmth. The table was only half full, and I watched as Matthew shook hands with a couple across from us. We’d also been seated near the giant Christmas tree which had a stunning array of pure white lights and matching baubles.
“And just who is your date?” The brunette asks.
“Georgia, you know that I don’t kiss and tell.” Matthew smiles.
“Well,” She accepts a drink from a passing waiter, taking a sip before speaking again. “I’m sure by the end of the night we will know!” The couple laugh, before their attention is taken by someone else showing up at the table.
“This is a bad idea.”
Fire filled eyes laser focus their gaze to mine. “What did I say?”
I sigh hotly. “Stay quiet.”
The festivities get under way and I’m grateful for the deliciously simple starter salad which I polish off with immediate effect. When I ask for a drink, the waiter allocated to our table brings me a selection of wines.
“Oh,” I say. “I’m sorry, I meant water, I don’t drink.” I can feel Matthew’s eyes upon me.
“I’m so sorry Ma’am.” The young waiter blushes.
“Not a problem.” I smile, knowing just how hard it is to wait on fancy tables filled with even fancier people. “How about a big bottle of water and I won’t bother you again?”
He smiles. “I’ll get that right away.” He turns to leave, but changes his mind. “The main has an alcohol based sauce; would you like me to see if we can substitute it for something else?”
“Yes.” I smile. “That would be great.”
Matthew keeps a smile to his face but I can see the anger in his eyes, especially when his palm squeezes my thigh under the table. I grab his hand, pushing it away. He seems to take the hint as when the lights dim and the auction begins, he doesn’t say or do anything else.
His attention is never on the auction but on table fourteen, where my dad is sitting, casually throwing up his paddle on numerous occasions to bid, then to be outbid, then bid again, before he finally loses out on a luxury holiday that he makes great fuss over missing out on. There’s a woman beside him, laughing and cheering him on. When he plants a kiss on her lips, I realise that it’s not the woman he was with at Christmas just a few short days ago and she looked around her late twenties, much like I was.
Something in the air charges and I focus in, watching as Matthew zones into the auction. I play catch up, watching the bidding start for what I can only assume is a painting of some countryside location. It’s not that big and it’s in an overly large frame. Before I can figure out what’s got him so tense, it’s up to ten grand in bids already. Rolling my eyes at the whole thing, I sit with my back straight in the chair, praying for the night to be over.
I watch as Matthew raises his paddle. “Fifty thousand.”
An audible gasp, followed by rapturous applause goes through the crowd. I spy through the sea of patrons...my dad...his colour lowering when he spots Matthew. Thankfully the giant arrangement in the middle of the table was shielding me from view. I watched my dad drain his glass of something amber before his paddle went up. “One hundred.”
“To confirm.” The auctioneer asks through the PA system. “Mr Garrington, you are bidding one hundred thousand dollars for lot three?”
He pressed his paddle to the sky. “You are correct!” The room laughs as wild applause breaks out and he gestures to the waiter to refill his drink.
“Mr Stone,” The auctioneer gestures a hand toward him, and that’s when the spotlight focuses on him. “The bid is with you sir.”
“Five hundred thousand.”
The room goes silent. I had leafed through the catalogue just moments ago, found the painting and it was nothing but an okay illustration of some coastal region by a semi famous painter from the seventies.
It wasn’t worth half a million dollars.
“Mr Garrington, it’s with you sir!” The room goes into a pin drop silence. I watch my father’s cheeks redden with embarrassment. After a long, tense moment he signals clearly that he will not counter. “Sold to Mr Stone for five hundred thousand dollars!”
The roar of applause, cheers and whistles is deafening. Before I even realise what is happening, Matthew is on his feet, taking me with him and in front of everyone in the room, including my father who was now agog at who was with him, Matthew Stone kisses me.
In the safety of the bathroom, I reapply my lipstick but my hands are shaking so badly that I quit when the lines just will not sit right. I grab a tissue, aiming to run it over the lines but all I get are searing hot memories of the most erotic kiss of my life. His lips,
