Page 95 of His Obsession
Alek sat straight in his chair and cleared his throat, adjusting the fork to a more symmetrical location. “There isn’t much to tell,” he started. His lack of eye contact gave me the impression he found this conversation uncomfortable and one he didn’t prefer to have.
Alek never wanted to talk about himself. It was why I considered him to be a bit of an enigma, a mystery I couldn’t figure out. “I grew up in Chicago, after my mother,” he choked, “I graduated high school and got a business degree.” Sadness welled in his eyes at the mention of his mother. Then, it flickered away as if it never happened. Listening to him talk about himself was like the first lick of your ice cream cone, delicious and satisfying. “I saved my money from other… things.” He left it at that for my interpretation. “Then, when I had enough, Tonk and I bought Adrestia. Jake, Tonk, and I went in on Blackstone Tech. He is the majority shareholder, seems only right since he is the tech guru,” he paused, allowing me to take in the information overload.
I ripped a piece of the fresh bread from the loaf and dipped it in the olive oil, popping it in my mouth and chewing. “So you got started with ‘that life’ early then?” I put my fingers up with air quotations. “Did it ever take you to any new countries?”
The waiter made his appearance with our food. Alek paused his response, waiting for the man to put our food on the table and leave.
“Would you care for some freshly grated Parmesan, ma’am?”
He held up a grater with a block of cheese, and I shook my head, letting him know I was okay. Giving a curt nod, he put the items on his tray and walked away, leaving us to our steaming plates of heaven. The aroma penetrated my nose, and I salivated with anticipation.
“This looks amazing.” I picked up my fork and stabbed at a noodle, bringing it to my lips and tasting it. The thick tubular pasta rolled on my tongue and melted under my teeth. The acidity from the tomato sauce had a hint of sweet and oregano blended together, creating a delectable dish worthy for a king. A quiet moan erupted, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the flavor. Alek cleared his throat, and I opened my eyes to find him staring at me.
“That good, huh?” He issued a lopsided smile and took a bite of his lasagna. The same pleasure rolled across his face as I imagined he saw on mine.
“Yes,” I said.
Alek finished chewing and swallowed, taking another sip of wine, and answered my question. “I mostly went to Africa when I started out and then some places in Europe. Now, I tend to stay in the states.”
I remembered the Van Gogh paintings sitting in his home. No doubt replicas but still beautiful all the same. “Is that where you found the love of Van Gogh?”
“I went to a museum while visiting Amsterdam one year. It was where I saw hisAlmond Blossompainting. I knew I had to have one, but obviously, I couldn’t have the original. I purchased a replica on my way home from the plane.The Starry Nightwas in New York, and well, history repeated itself.”
I thought back to the Almond Blossom painting, the swirls on the branches, and the creamed-color flowers covering the twigs. I tried to imagine what it smelled like when he was painting it. “Which one is your favorite?”
“If I had to choose, it wouldn’t be my Van Gogh’s. It would be theGathering Thoughtspainting by Steve Henderson. It invokes thoughts of what my mother would have been like had she not met my father. I think she would have been as carefree and wild as the woman in the painting. To dip her toes in the cold water, to feel the sun on her skin, to absolutely love life without the burden of an abusive man.” His face flushed with emotion for a woman I didn’t get the pleasure of knowing.
I finished my plate of pasta, cleaning the sauce up with a piece of bread. “That was delicious,” I said, wiping my mouth with the elegant cloth napkin.
“I’m glad you liked it. I have one more place I’d like to go.” He finished his second glass of wine, and I polished off my first. I tried not to waste it. I liked my wine sweet and fruity. Alek waved the waiter over and handled the bill. No dessert for us, I was stuffed. If I had any more food to eat, I would have a food baby showing in this dress, and it wouldn’t be flattering. Alek stood from his chair and held his hand out for me. I placed mine in his and stood.
Lacing my fingers through his, I kept my palm tight against him, feeling his pulse beating in my hand.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
We walked through a small hallway in the back of the restaurant to a door that held stairs going down. The smell of incense and perfume wafted up from the bottom level, reminding me of a candle boutique. I could hear soft music from down the stairs that sounded old and Italian.
“I thought maybe we could do some dancing,” he said and gave my hand a squeeze. We walked down the stairs to a closed door. Alek gave a knock, and a man stood on the other side, ushering us in.
The incredible music was lively and upbeat. It made you want to get on the dance floor and do the Tarantella dance. The tempo and beat hit your soul and just made you happy to be here to witness it. Alek led me over to a small sitting area in an intimate setting where we could watch the dancers move across the floor. Everyone was beaming at their partners as they moved in and out in a circle.
“This is awesome,” I said, not taking my eyes off the group.
Some clapped, and others hit tambourines to the beat. I couldn’t help but join in, clapping to the rhythm.
Alek stood and took my hand, pulling me from my seat and on to the dance floor. “No,no, no. What are we doing?” I stopped all movement, wanting him to release my hand. There was no way I was going to dance. I didn’t know the moves, it wasn’t my culture, and I certainly wasn’t drunk enough. Those were my reasons, and I was sticking to them. I hadn’t danced a day in my life where I didn’t have booze on-board, in public at least. My glass of wine did not count.
“We are going to dance,” he said. He was out of his mind if he thought I was doing this. It would be embarrassing.
“I can’t dance, I don’t know how.”
I knew how to dance, just not like this. My heart picked up speed and pounded against my chest.
“It’s okay, I’ll teach you.”
He grabbed my hand and finished pulling me onto the dance floor to mix in with the others. I covered my face with my other hand, and he pulled it away, taking hold and not letting go—please don’t let me go.
Alek moved carefully around, showing me the moves. I imitated him to the best of my ability until I moved in a smooth motion. When I thought I had it mastered, I moved in when I should have moved out and crashed into his chest—scuffing his shiny shoes and smashing his toes in the process.