The sound of his voice in her ear made the woman pause, the intimate gesture catching her off guard. She turned to face him, placing a hand to caress his face as she dismissed the invitation. “What’s the matter my dear? We can discuss it later when you take me home,” she assured him in an equally low tone.
Sophia’s action was flirtatious as she tackled her new role. He was her lover for that evening, the professor having thrown himself in the middle of things and for her to deny and make an excuse would just make the others more curious. The show of affection was welcomed and Mrs. Williams eagerly tried to include him in their circle by asking Nathaniel if he were to join them for a more private gathering a couple of days from now.
The magpie knew what Mrs. Williams was doing, the old hag hoped that by engaging the professor in conversation, that her lover would be welcomed too. But the boy was an idiot, as beautiful as he was, and their age gap proved too vast that she was often asked if the boy was her son. Sophia looked at her as though she was an insect, though she continued to jealously eye the blue diamond on the old woman’s finger. Was this her future? Living alone and taking in boys more than half her age as lovers, hoping that by some miracle it’ll push back the dread and pain of old age? She thought of the Martell boys and how much more salacious it would appear had they caught her with the young Catalan shapeshifters; she was in a precarious situation and Sophia needed to balance everything.
“His work doesn’t afford him the luxury we have of lounging around in our designer gowns,” she began, “He simply can’t attend every party he’s been invited to,“ she reminded the group. He was, after all, a professor, a man of intellect who poured hours upon hours on textbooks, “but, if Mr. Venderetti could honor us with his presence, it would be most appreciated.” She didn’t know much about him, most of the stories shared were of his professional career and so she was at a disadvantage for the moment.
The symphony played a lively concerto that perfectly described the madness that was currently happening as their eagerness to know more about the male, his pedigree, the money he had and everything else came piling up. Who were his parents, what business did they have, was he married and how come they’ve never seen him in the other galas, did he play any sports and where did he spend his summers, was it the Hamptons or did he have a house in Tuscany like Sophia and why history and not art or music or philosophy.
Her closeness made Nate’s throat tight in an old, familiar way. In the glow of the evening, he’d become too preoccupied with the way the light made the loose strands of her hair glow golden to realize that he had been reeled into something of which he’d rather stay separate. Calling him her ‘dear’ only made the illusion seem stronger, but he didn’t really mind. He blinked confusedly at her insistence that he would be taking her home later, but he didn’t argue. Why would he? He liked looking down at her; he liked the gentle touch of her fingers along his arm; he liked it all a little too much. He even smiled at her when she said it, blissfully unaware.
His beautiful illusion was broken when the older woman, who he believed she’d introduced as Mrs. Williams, stepped forward to invite him to some social event or other. For a moment, he saw a flash of sourness behind Sophia’s eyes, but she replaced it with mirth just as quickly. Before Nate could even open his mouth, she had replied for him, assuring them that he was far too busy to engage in their type of lounging.
In truth, she wasn’t lying. The semester was approaching, and he only had one syllabus completed. The lazy summer days were getting the best of him. His therapist had told him this was a good thing, however. He wondered how that could be, as lethargy often accompanied depression, but according to the older man, his own brand of depression came with hyperactivity. He shut himself off and went into autopilot, not thinking or feeling beyond what he needed to do for his day to day tasks. His longing to let the summer linger a little longer meant he was feeling something after all.
His presence, though, had prompted a thousand questions. Where was he from? “Ohio, actually. Just outside of Columbus. Taught at Ohio State right after I graduated.” They asked about his parents, but nothing of note could be reported there. No, he wasn’t married - divorced, actually. That seemed to spark their interest like moths and flames but he had no desire to talk about that, especially in front of Sophia, especially if he was to be taking her home later. He fielded the rest of the questions as best he could, smiling surprisedly when they asked why he’d chosen history. “History is the story of all of us,” he replied simply. “There’s no subject more important.”
The barrage of questions had tired him unexpectedly. He turned to Sophia. “You look tired, dear,” he said, making sure it was loud enough for the others to hear. “Why don’t I grab your coat and take you home?”
