n o t e
hey, loves. just want to give you a heads up that this chapter will be longer than usual. pretty long that some original scenes would be in the next chapter, next update.
hope you enjoy, & please don't forget to comment and vote. it really means a lot to me x
sky
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—twentyone—
the deluxe dinner
THE DRESS HUGGED Paige's svelte frame like a glove.
In front of the mirror she stood, her features staring back at her in the mirror fragmentally wincing at the pain in her midsection. Aoife finally fastened the zipper up before she sidestepped behind her with a face swelling with pride.
"Your grandma will keep schtum this time and just give you an affirmative stare once she sees you," said Aoife, as Paige pored at her eyes in the mirror. "You look lovely as ever."
Paige lit up a subdued smile at her. Silently, she dragged her attention down her dress. It was an a-line designed silk in wine red, with an off-shoulder style that complimented her clavicle and the balls of her shoulders. Her hair was coiffed into a classic chignon as wisps of brown curls strayed down at the sides of her face; and while she'd wear a simple leather-strapped watch on most occasions, now she had teardrop earrings, a dainty necklace with a tiny circle pendant sat below her collarbone, her watch now long gone in favor of her golden Cartier love bangle. Down below, a classic pair of Saint Laurent's black ankle-strap sandals graced her feet.
"Thank you, Aoife," said Paige, at last, after having immersed herself with how she looked. Not only was she keen on having Isolde's approval, but she also wanted to doll up for Arthur Huxley−whom she'd particularly figured as someone spruce, although not to the point of being a fop. In some way, her reflection assuaged the anxiety bursting forth from the ends of her nerves. "What time is it?"
"We still have thirty minutes before seven. D'you wanna come down now?" she asked in concern.
Aoife had gotten very busy with juggling her tasks as a servant and as her watcher. And although Isolde instructed her to keep tabs on Paige for the mean time, she didn't like to leave the others setting up by themselves−even though they'd just arrived from the hospital not even two hours earlier, making them both preoccupied with the aftereffects of being in one. It was like the place had made them weak somehow, leaving them as two bags of stress thrown into a flustered place upon stepping back into the mansion.
But she wanted to wait and welcome Arthur herself. This would be more like his official entry into the mansion, even though he'd been here for a few times before. After deciding to step out of the room, they both found themselves descending one of the double staircases before reaching the foyer.
She located the front room left side of the antechamber and took a load off on one of the cream-colored sofas, while Aoife settled in going to the kitchen to help the other servants. Feeling like she'd been sitting there for too long, she picked up her phone to check if Arthur had replied to one of her messages.
Letting out a queasy sigh, she placed it down next to her when Arthur remained silent. What if he doesn't come?
But, as if to invalidate the idea, the loud creaking of the main doors made her look up, just as she heard muffled voices echoing across the hall. She quickly made her way to the antechamber, only to see their butler standing right by the entrance, doing a slight bow even before the guest walked in.
An involuntary frisson shot through the length of her spine when in came a dapper young man, looming tall with semi-formality and surefooted strides. He hadn't noticed Paige yet as the butler occupied him in assisting him from removing his gray overcoat which seemed to be designed with faded plaid patterns.
Once fully peeled, it revealed his black sweater which he wore over a light-blue button down, only its collar peeking through the sweater's neckline. Both were tucked beneath his dark chocolate pants, before the latter ended towards his brown leather shoes.
He looked up, his eyes quickly locating her dumbfounded state in the middle of the foyer, before his mouth parted just a little bit. Paige held her breath as she slowly met him halfway, even as her knees turned flimsy. It was only she could do not to crumble in front of him.
"Hi," she said with a little more courage when they closed their gaps together. She stopped her hands from reaching up to his brushed-up dark blonds, styled into a neat heap of debonairness that revealed his smooth forehead.
He blinked when he seemed to realize that she was speaking in English. "Wow," he mumbled, almost like a wispy breath, with Paige swearing that her cheeks flamed with redness. Arthur quickly shook his head. "I'm sorry, I−" he dragged his tongue across his lip, "it's just..."
Paige bit her lip in uncertainty, glimpsing at him with a lopsided smile. "It doesn't really suits me, does it? It's the best I can manage. I mean, I−I can change if it seems too−"
"What?" He widened his eyes before clasping his fingers around his wrist. "No! You must be joking. You look...amazing."
Her lips twitched, then gave off a timid smile. "You don't look so bad yourself."
Arthur slipped his fingers through hers, only to lift it up and press a kiss against her knuckles before a smirk made its way onto his face. "Thank you. You'd best believe that I had a hard time choosing what to wear, knowing your grandma..."
She rolled her eyes in amusement. "That's impossible. You always look well-dressed and you handle yourself pretty good. Don't worry, it's just dinner, really."
He arched his eyebrow. "For a very shy girl, you sound quite generous with complimenting me. Real smooth right there, milady." Paige flushed, and he looked at her through heavy lashes, his smirk now only a faint trace at the corners of his lips.
She shrugged. "There's no use in lying, really." Arthur seemed to stiffen under her touch, but it was barely noticeable because she soon realized how cold he must had felt from the weather outside. "Right, I almost forgot. I know you can handle a good conversation but I just want to remind you that they don't like to talk about business and politics over dinner−unless necessary. They think it's rude when all they want to do is enjoy the food and share casual chats with each other."
"Noted."
Paige let out a long breath. "The Callaghans are quite a difficult bunch to deal with but, for as much as you can, ignore them codding on the table. Especially Owen and Senator. It's a norm for them to engage into a thoughtless tiff."
He shrugged casually, his face not betraying any emotion but his usual indifference. "Unless the food's awful, I'd hardly care at all." Paige chuckled, especially when he simply frowned. "That's high unlikely, though."
"Good evening, Senator," the butler's voice chimed in, and they both turned to the entree. Behind him, his wife and son filed in, "Miss Claire, Mister Owen. How have you been?"
Senator Mike, a regal man of deep frowns and gruff, clamant laughter, turned to him. "Ah, Luis. You've served The Cadwyns for long enough. How you wish to hear my day is beyond me. Except when you've grown such liking towards politics, gladly I'd express my deepest frustrations about the ceaseless inflow of troubles from the constituents I've represented. Would you like me to proceed?"
As Luis politely humored him, Paige turned to Arthur with an eye roll, just then her mouth tugged down when he said, "He seems subtle. It'd be nice to have a chat with him."
"You're being sarcastic," Paige said in a comatosed voice.
He reared his head back, his eyes gleaming with faint humor. "Am I?"
She shook her head and ignored his remark, riveting on the newcomers. Senator Mike soon schlepped across the hall before giving them a short, concise greeting, barely interested in talking to them. Then he was followed by Owen's mother, Claire, who was just as the manifestation of high-level sophistication like Isolde, but far more open like Paige's mother.
"Why are you a dainty stunner," Claire said with a beam, leaning so that they could exchange the ever-socially-present cheek-kiss. "And who is this fine young man?"
"Arthur Huxley, Ma'am," he said, shooting one hand to initiate a handshake, smiling softly when she took his hand. "Paige's boyfriend."
Her eyes widened both in surprise and mirthfulness. "Oh, that's good to hear, Paige! It is about time that you've finally picked the right one as I've heard from Isolde and Isobel you weren't very lucky with men. Although Owen and you were quite a good match−"
"Mom."
Paige could feel the tension in between the four of them. Her cheeks had grown considerably hot at this, unable to look at the two guys involved. But Claire was barely unfazed and simply excused herself, greeting her parents who had just reached the ground floor by the stairs.
"Sorry about that," Owen said, staring at Paige half the time.
She cleared her throat and spared a brief glance at his outfit just to occupy herself out of the awkwardness. He wasn't in his usual suit and tie. Tonight he'd worn a cream-colored turtleneck sweater which kept in place by his casual plaid trousers, and was donning a black leather shoes; and a leather-strap watch in the same color−peeking from the end of his sleeve−was his only accessory.
Paige looked away.
"...to a minimum," Arthur had said, and Paige realized both men were talking about the former's brother, Archer, and he'd answered that they didn't talk that much any longer.
Owen frowned. "Why hasn't he mentioned about you to us, his friends? It's just odd because I've known Archer for a long time, so you could guess that this got my wires crossed."
Arthur shrugged, arching his eyebrow at his tone. Whether it was because of Owen's genuine curiosity or for another reason, she wasn't too sure.
"There're things not need to be answered."
Paige's fingers were wrapped around her boyfriend's elbow so she felt his taut muscles shifting when Owen's smirk turned wider, subtle enough not to show signs of his typical arrogance.
"What? Scared because you're hiding something?"
Paige instantly scowled. "Owen, don't make my guest think we have no spark of decency here." When she looked back at Arthur, a bone ticked along his jaw, but she swooped her fingers to his and his breathing became neutral almost immediately.
Owen shrugged, leveling his gaze to Arthur's unnecessarily long and hard. "Just interested, that's all. I just wish other people wouldn't try to put the wool over your eyes. You've been through so much already," then he looked at her intently, his eyes softening into an emotion she didn't really want to decipher, "I just don't want to see you get hurt. Again."
Her breathing hitched in her throat at the wake of his words, then she nodded. "I understand. But I'm sure Arthur means well. He just value his privacy."
Now, his expression went carefully blank. But he'd tipped his head back in what seemed like a realization. For a second there, he looked like he'd wished to add something. But instead, he said, "Of course."
The silence that heavily sunk between them was cut off when Aoife called them, indicating that dinner was ready. Paige ushered Arthur first and, just as she was about to leap onto a step next to Arthur, Owen discreetly brushed his knuckles against hers.
Surprised at the fleeting yet dangerously intimate contact, she snapped her attention behind her and to him.
"Are you okay?" he mouthed, gesturing his palm on his stomach in a circular motion.
She didn't understand why he was so concerned about her stomach−about her in general. Maybe he'd always been. But she didn't like to see it now, especially because she had Arthur who'd all but took his place. But she gave him a subtle nod all the same. Before she could so much as take two steps forward, though, he seized her wrist to turn her back and she shot him an annoyed look.
"What?"
He was silent for three long seconds, and she'd wondered if Arthur had seen this. But Owen was unmistakably keen, so she took hold of her patience.
"It wouldn't be fair of me to say you look nice tonight," he paused, eyes turning several shades darker while his jaw clenched as if he was going to say something he'd regret forever. Paige frowned, "Because I know you've always been beautiful."
Her heart plummeted.
Paige quickly snatched her arm away from him. And as she walked next to Arthur, making her distance from Owen farther, farther, and farther, it took every fiber of her being not to turn back to him, bang her fists against his chest and ask him why.
Why now?
But, as always, the world kept spinning.
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It was no surprise that Isolde came in last. It was as if her presence wasn't dramatic enough, making her entrance a little more foreboding than it had usually been. Even Senator Mike, one whom Paige found autocratic and prominent, had chosen to keep his silence. But it was different from theirs by a long shot. His eyes wrinkled at the corners as if holding back his amusement; it was like he was close to laughing.
Thankfully enough, the dinner took place in an easy manner. The older ones engaged in a conversation about Paige's fast approaching birthday on the sixth of December. So they only had more or less three weeks to finalize some loose details about the ball.
Occasionally, she'd pass a platter of oyster to Arthur, before he then casually nicked at the caviar near Owen, who had shot him an almost appalled look when Arthur had it first. In between, Arthur had−without a surprise−actually and finally immersed into a conversation with Senator, who was sitting next to him but positioned opposite Isolde's front end of the long dining table. It was as if she was the lead of a powerhouse.
The table talk was safe, to say the least. Because as expected, no one brought up the dreaded topics of politics and business, so Arthur hadn't been obliged to impart his own take of such complex, insipid matters.
Senator was abundantly bright about the wagyu beef their chef had prepared in front of them. It was particularly a Kobe and, to his utter amusement, Arthur shared the same enthusiasm about such high-quality meat.
"Holy−woah..." Arthur mumbled as a sample slice of Kobe beef soon sat in front of him, personally handed by their chef. He quickly picked up his dinner knife and fork so he could cut it in half as Paige watched him in amusement. Arthur always had this closed-off look, but gazing at him now, he was like a completely different person. "The taste," he nodded conversationally as he chewed, "the marbling, the texture−it's otherworldly. You can't just buy this anywhere, it's insane."
"Undoubtedly," Senator agreed, his eyes lighting up like he was a son of his own. "If you expect nothing but superb, authentic quality, you must ensure that the cattle has been exported from Japan, at Hyogi prefecture in particular. The region has regulations that the cattle must meet the standards to be approved as Kobe, and not even higher than three to four thousand can adopt to its desired quality."
Arthur nodded after chewing. "I wouldn't wonder why some restaurants suggest Wagyu beefs to their guests, even if they're not authentic. The price is sky-high, and they're primarily concerned with increasing their sales and not at the experience the customers paid for."
If Senator was positively bright before, now he was visibly adored with Arthur. Paige couldn't help but peer at Owen, who was casually drinking his wine. And when his lashes flickered, only to land to hers, he remained his attention on Paige, before he pursed his lips as he clenched his jaw, practically knocking his wine glass down.
Arthur didn't seem to notice this. But Paige knew any better. Owen had always craved for his father's attention, even so much as getting into trouble because he knew that was his only way, although desperate, to make him being seen.
It was sad, really. That was why, one way or another, Paige couldn't fault him for being the way he was.
"I didn't know that conversing with you about something as trivial like some meat from Japan would be the best way to chat you up," Owen started in a tongue-in-cheek fashion, with tone and expression so innocent and lightheaded that Paige doubted his wit for a moment. "If I knew, I would've talked to you about how I take my shit."
Paige widened her eyes in panic, instinctively clutching Arthur's knee under the table. He can't be serious, she thought, before casting a glance at her boyfriend. He kept a stiff upper lip, effectively betraying nothing of his thoughts. The table was long enough for the others not to hear Owen's caustic remark, and he was decent enough not to demand more attention.
Senator Mike's lips twitched, eyes darting to his unfavorable son. "Enough with that tomfoolery, you numskull."
Owen rolled his eyes, tipping his glass up so that the sommelier could decant him another shot of wine. Once satisfied with the amount, he held up his other hand. "I could defend in court of law that I was left unattended," Owen shrugged, chugging one sip before adding, "Guess we could all agree why I am, in your own words, a numskull. You have a way with parenting, you deserve to be called my father."
"Owen."
It was Claire, who'd apparently heard few of his last words since she was sitting not merely inches off from him. Paige swallowed the lump in her throat. She'd concluded that this was going to be easy as a breeze tonight. Clearly, she had done it so soon.
"Get out of my sight," Senator Mike hissed.
Owen snorted, curling up the most insolent smirk he could muster. "With pleasure," he said, excusing himself at others. He then stole the bottle of wine from the sommelier, who'd stumbled back a little in surprise. Owen grinned at him, clapping his shoulder. "The bad boy would be far impressed if you could hand him a whiskey or bourbon."
The sommelier bowed.
After the drama, all of them gathered by the poolside. While the ladies chose to flock together to the gazebo, the men trudged towards the round sunken seating right by the pool, save for Owen−who was currently missing. Before that, though, Paige shot Arthur a reassuring smile and he returned a swift clasp around her hand.
The night didn't allow them much to talk alone but it was understandable on Paige's part. It was more like a family gathering rather than Arthur being properly introduced to others in the household anyway. However, it was enough to them for her family and friends to be acquainted to Arthur, now that he was her first official boyfriend.
"Paige."
She tore her eyes from Arthur, who was casually chuckling with her dad and Senator Mike over glasses of champagne in each hand, then reeled her focus to Isolde. "Yes, grandma."
"Owen is going to be your escort at the ball," she said, making Paige blink. "From start to finish, he will be beside you."
She wouldn't normally speak up her mind when it came down to Isolde's orders. But this was completely absurd, she opined. She had a boyfriend, it was logical for her to dance with Arthur and spend the rest of the night with him.
"But what about Arthur?" she asked, trying not to speak in an accusing lilt.
"What about him?" asked Isolde casually, reaching for her glass of champagne on the small table between them.
"But−"
"Paige," Isobel cut her off, her eyes daring her not to talk any longer. "It's for the media. Owen would be a good choice and our family have already formed a good friendship ever since your grandpa and Senator Mike's father were still with us."
Claire cut in, who was sitting left side of her, and toppled her hand over hers. "I know well enough that their construction firm has made a considerable success for the previous year. But the Huxleys haven't built strong relationships yet, I assume, since I've heard they don't have much social tie-ups or financial backings from other well-established companies, considering that they're rookies in the game. It is important that you consider what options would be more beneficial for the business and its reputation."
"It's just for a show," her mother assured. "That's all you need to think for now."
Is it? Paige couldn't help but think. She dragged a long sigh. "Alright. I'll just fill him in about it. But he's invited, right?"
"Yes," Isolde answered, much to her surprise. "But you have to make sure you won't get caught together in public during and after your birthday. At least, for now."
She weaved her eyebrows, but settled on being silent. As the fact sunk in that they had to keep their relationship secret for the time being, she turned to the sunken sitting just adjacent to the gazebo several feet away and located Arthur. It was as though he felt her staring more than saw−because he snapped his head in her direction, then raised his glass with a soft smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Paige feigned a smile before looking away. Suddenly drained, she leaned back to the sofa and massaged the skin between her eyebrows. She heard Isolde excusing herself but she could barely focus and settled on closing her eyes instead.
"Where's Owen?" It was her mom, conversationally asking Claire.
"Just ignore him, Isobel," answered Claire, and Paige caught her flagging her hand off when she opened her eyes. "He's in one of his moods again."
She understood this. It was considered normal to them now and the more the Callaghans had grown accustomed to this, the less likely Owen would agitate. Assuming that Owen had realized that his ways were no longer affecting his parents, Paige concluded this was one of hundreds of his reasons that made him upright. Because there was no use anymore. That or perhaps he was in the midst of self-development. Which she thought was good, to say the least.
Out of instinct, she then glanced back at the men, only to realize Arthur wasn't there with them. Maybe he's in the toilet. She excused herself and quickly made her way out of the poolside and into the mansion.
"Aoife?" she called as she saw her passing by the foyer with few stacks of linens. She stopped and waited patiently as Paige neared in her direction. "Have you seen Arthur?"
Her blonde waves shifted side to side. "No, Paige. I haven't seen any of them so far since you guys left the dining hall. Why?"
"Never mind."
"You can try the side garden, though."
"Alright," she agreed. "Thanks." After Aoife nodded, she watched her turning somewhere down the hall, before Paige sighed when she disappeared.
But it wasn't Arthur whom she'd found, but a slightly intoxicated Owen, cutting a lonely, sorry figure in the dark. The garden had lampposts but the mansion loomed tall, shading off the area in dim contrast. He was sitting on one of the marble benches while staring at the small fountain in front of him.
November had just blossomed its first week, and so the temperature had turned considerably cold, especially for her who was wearing an off-shoulder dress. But it was bearable, for now, at the very least.
"Owen."
He lazily looked at her, tugging up a smile in the same manner. Long legs were sprawled before him, awkwardly straightened and motionless, while one arm of his was perching atop the edge of his seat. Slowly, she closed their distance and sat beside him, in spite of the possibility of him getting irate again.
She tried not to think too much of the words he'd said to her earlier. This was no romance, she decided. Paige was simply being there because they were friends, to begin with.
"What're you doing here? From what I can recall, you've favored your boyfriend over me," he said in a low, caddish tone. But as much as how he'd wanted to display his nonchalance, his ego, this Owen was more like the sad boy she'd always cheer up when they were just kids.
"That's not true," she said, capturing the bottle of his liquor out of his grasp when he started to tip it upwards. He seemed so defeated that he didn't even react when she put it away and placed it down at the side of her foot. "Arthur's my boyfriend, yes, but you're my friend, Owen."
"Ouch."
Paige pinched her eyebrows. If before she felt incompetent to even catch his attention in favor of those brunettes and blondes with curves in their rightful places, now it was tough for her not to interpret that Owen had grown a liking towards her. She didn't feel much, perhaps because she had a boyfriend and the butterflies could only be resurrected by Arthur alone. But the melting sensation was there, of course.
But then again, Owen never worded his words about how he felt about her whenever she was around. So she brushed his reaction off.
"It's cold out here. Let's head back inside."
The alcohol clouding his eyes completely faded when he realized what she was wearing. "Oh, shit. I don't have my overcoat here. I would've used my crafty ways to make you warm, whether romantically or sexually−"
"Shut up, Owen."
"−but that's clearly out of bounds. Let's go."
"Wait," she stopped him by his wrist and Owen frowned. He was standing up while she'd remained from her seat, but soon followed and added, "We can take the path less traveled."
Even in the dark, she could see the amused glint in his eyes and the trace of smirk across his lips. "You remember."
She smiled. "Of course, I do. Aside from grandpa, you're the only one who made me feel like I wasn't imprisoned in the mansion−so you came up with an idea to tour me around as if we're someplace else."
They started walking along the side of the mansion and on the garden that barely spared a space to cover. They were close, but far enough so that their shoulders wouldn't touch.
"I thought you forgot," he said, a short chuckle escaping his lips when Paige rolled her eyes. "We have had so many memories together and yet I threw it all away."
"We have a do-over, Owen," she said with a disapproving tone. "Forget about what happened and let's move on."
"But it's different now."
"It is. Because we're both grown up now. I'm turning twenty and you're twenty-three, of course it's different. That is to say we can make new memories. Far better than the last, don't you think?"
He nudged her elbow with his and she glanced up. "And I like your brain."
She squinted. "I'm not sure what you're going for. Trying to be sexy and flirt with me whatsoever. Whatever it is, it sounds weird."
He shot her a dark look. "Well now you're not so flirtable anymore."
She stopped, grinning at him in amusement, while Owen turned and attempted to walk backwards. "Oh, so you were flirting. I don't know how you were able to get the ladies' attention, but I didn't expect you to be such a horrible flirt. I like your brain? I mean, that's a nice compliment. But not as suave as I'd always imagined."
"Imagine me being smooth in another fashion altogether," Owen said, widening a shrewd smirk. "You wouldn't be able to say a word, let alone a compliment when you're already slumped on the bed, weak as shit."
"Gross. And please don't say things like that. You're planting inappropriate thoughts inside my head."
He arched his eyebrow. "Why else do I say things like that?"
"I hate you," she said darkly. "Really, stop, god forbid that would actually happen."
He let out a hearty laugh, stopping abruptly with a muffled oomph when he tripped and lost his balance. But quickly, Paige seized his hand before he mumbled a thank you. Out of habit, he crooked his arm around her neck in a playful manner, then planted a swift kiss on top of her head.
"Ow."
Owen chuckled again, only this time reducing into a faded laugh as he randomly leaped, jogged, leaped, jogged before stopping into a slow walk in the distance. Soon, when she reached him, he abruptly stopped that her nose almost bumped against his back. Frowning, she peered at him.
But before she could so much as ask what the matter was, he turned apace with eyes fractionally wide in surprise, clutching her arms before her fall.
"What?"
He shook his head. "Nothing. Let's just go. It used to be so calm here. Now it feels eerie."
Owen quickly tugged her hand, dragging her in a flurried, convoluted haze. But even as she let him pull her back to their path, she gazed back. She frowned, wondering what changed Owen's mind so hastily. But the skies were dark, the place was quiet, the night was cold.
She felt there was something more to this; Paige knew he was lying, because if there was one thing that feared him the most, it would be spiders.
Not ghosts.