Vain (26 page)

My heart started pounding but this time in excitement.
“Oh my word, yes.”

He picked me up and swung me around in the water. “Good,” he simply stated.

“What do you think Simon wants?” I asked when he set me back down.

He shrugged his shoulders. “No earthly idea, but I’m glad you’ll be meeting my family.”

“You-you are?” I asked, stunned. No one had ever willingly wanted me to meet their parents before.

“Of course,” Ian explained, looking at me like I was making no sense. “Simon especially will adore you.”

“Is Simon older or younger?” I asked, curious.

“He’s older, twenty-five, the charming one. My parents adore him. He’s also the one who always gets the girls.”

I balked at that. “My God,
he’s
the one who gets the girls? What? Is he made of chocolate or something? I can’t imagine anyone would be interested in anyone else but you, no matter who you’re pitted against.”

Ian tugged me closer and kissed my neck. “No need to flatter me, Miss Price. I believe your bait worked. I’m hooked.
Line and sinker.”

I eyed him, one brow raised. “I keep reeling you in, Ian Aberdeen, but you’re proving a difficult catch.”

“Nonsense. Utter crap. You snap your finger and I jump from water to boat.”

“Is that so?”

He nodded. “I’m still flopping at your feet, like a pathetic fool, awaiting your next move and severely out of breath.”

I inched closer, resting my forehead against his. “How about I put you out of your misery then, hmm?”

Ian narrowed his eyes at me. “It’s such a delicious agony though.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY
 

Karina took us to the airport where we hopped on a plane for a short
twelve-hour
adventure from Uganda to Cape Town, South Africa, with layovers in Nairobi and Johannesburg. It hardly seemed worth the two-day stay, but I quickly reminded myself that it was totally worth seeing Ian outside our daily lives at Masego.
I was so relieved to touch down in Cape Town that I didn’t take in the startling differences between classes on the fifteen-minute drive into town right away. Five minutes in and my view on the right and left side of the highway was a stark contrast to say the least.

“My God, look at that
,” I sighed through the window.

“What?” Ian asked, scooting up in his seat next to me, leaning over m
e to see what I was looking at.

On our right were decent, clean homes, well maintained and obviously inhabited by more affluent owners. On our left was what I could only describe as a slum. Homes, if you could call them that, made of tin roofs, dirt floors,
a makeshift town really. It looked like a haven for disease and I was willing to bet lots of crime.

“This,” I said, gesturing to both si
des of the road with my hands.

“Ah, yes,” he acknowledged, sliding back into his seat, obvio
usly accustomed to the sights.

“It’s sad,” I admitted.

“Very sad,” he agreed.

“It’s such a stunning contrast in living conditions it feels like a punch to the gut.” I studied row after row of slapdash homes.

“As an American, I can definitely identify that my country has little to no idea what poverty really is. The worst living conditions I’d ever been exposed to back home pale in comparison. It’s literally embarrassing that we complain at all.”

“They just don’t know, Soph
.”

“They just stay ignorant, Ian,” I answered in kin
d to which he could only smile.

“And I was probably the most dense of all of them,” I whispered.
He slid his hand over mine and squeezed softly.

“No longer.”

“No longer,” I repeated, squeezing back. I took a deep breath. “Why don’t those in charge do something about this?”
To this Ian laughed suddenly and hysterically.

“
What?
”

“Oh, Sophie Price, you’ll get the opportunity. Just wai
t,” he told me, still laughing.

“I feel like I’m missing something,” I smil
ed back.

“My mother is the
executive mayor of Cape Town.”

“If I was familiar with your politics, I’d probably know how grave that dec
laration was, but I’m not, so...”

“The
executive mayor of Cape Town is essentially the big dog on the block. She’s the equivalent of the governor of an American state or the mayor of New York City.”
My mouth went dry and I desperately tried to swallow something that wasn’t there.

“The
executive mayor. Why the hell didn’t you explain this to me before?”

“I did. I told you they we
re in politics down here.”

“I figured they were
council people or something equally mundane.”

“Soph,” he said, brows furrowed, “why would the son of a councilman have top b
illing in the newspapers here?”

“I figure
d news was a little slow here.”

Ian laughed again. “Cape Town is one of the biggest towns in Africa, let alone South Africa.” He sobered. “I can relate to you more
than you could possibly know.”

“Apparently,” I told him, thinking of the gossip rags back in L.A. and how they all bit at the opportunity to expose the Price “darling, trust fund baby” as a whorish coke head when Jerrick died and how they’d followed me for months, tripping over thems
elves to catch me falter again.

They relished in the drama, in the
darkness that was their profession. They were little slithering snakes, their forked tongues extended to catch the slightest bit of gos-sss-ip. I shuddered.

“Don’t worry,” Ian said, breaking me from my revelry, “they know you’re coming and more than li
kely have done their research.”

“Don’t worry,” I told him in return, “my father’s aware they’ve done their research by now and has probably already figured out an opportun
ity to milk the acquaintance.”

“Surely not.”

I shook my head at him in mock sympathy. “Ian Aberdeen, you’ve no idea what he’s capable.”

“Well, he’ll be in good company then,” he sa
id, wrapping his arm around me.

“Now you’re st
arting to scare me,” I teased.
 

Ian’s parents’ home was found in Clifton Beach, an area so wealthy in Cape Town even I’d heard of it, despite my not being familiar with much of anything concerning South Africa.

“You’re wealthy,” I stated as fact, watching the security guards check several cars as they attempted to pass the entry gates.

“No, my parents are wealthy.”

I smiled at him. “I see.”

“Does this change your
opinion of me?”

“Hardly,” I told him, hoping he’d never get the opportunity to absorb the cold monstrosity that was my own parents’ estate.

The house was massive considering how tightly situated the neighborhood was. Crowded but extremely luxurious homes threaded up the side of Table Mountain, winding and conforming to the mountainside. Ian’s home was a modern multilevel home that adapted to the rock face it set itself within.

When our little car pulled into the drive, Ian had to get out
to open the cedar sliding gate. I watched as we wound up a dark rock drive all the way to the towering house that settled so ominously within the cliff face.

“Home sweet home,” Ian deadpanned.

He grabbed my bag as well as his and we climbed the steep walkway to a wide cedar door. Adrenaline inundated me. I glanced down at myself and felt suddenly nervous. My father would not approve of my choice of outfit. In fact, there would be serious consequences if he ever found out I met the executive mayor of Cape Town, South Africa, in anything other than Chanel.

I could just imagine him. “Sophie, this is unacceptable. I require so little of you. Keep up appearances, Sophie Price. Keep up appearances.
Keep up appearances
.”

“You okay?” Ian asked, dropping his bag and using his free hand to caress the side of my arm.

I plastered a fake smile on my face. “Of course, just nervous, I suppose.”

He smiled genuinely in return. “No worries, love. My brother will love you at least and that’s the only
one we need to care about.”

“How encouraging,” I joshed.

He dropped his bag next to mine and held both my shoulders in his wide hands. “Trust me, Soph, even if my parents end up loving you, it should mean very little to you. They’re impressed only with what others can do for them. They run their campaigns on serving the poor here, just as so many before them, but the slums are still here. You saw them. They almost encourage government reliance. It’s sickening.”

“They’re politicians.”

“Very much so.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said they’d get on well with my dad then.”

“I really wasn’t.” He sighed. “Let’s get inside. They’re probably watching us on the cameras,” he said, waving sarcastically at the discrete camera tucked behind a crevice.

He pushed open the heavy door and revealed the interior. Seventy-five hundred square feet of modern art and it could only be described as dark. Dark slate, cool brushed nickel railings surrounding the entire five
-level, tiered property. The floor plan encouraged lots of open outdoor living and it didn’t disappoint. Living spaces opened up to the outside by way of glass accordion doors. The architecture was a nod to classic mid-century modern and the furniture was no different. It was cold and perfect and everything had a place. It made my stomach turn.

“Simon!” Ian called out, startling me.

He dropped our bags just inside and walked with purpose through the picturesque living room to the glass wall. He slid one panel into another until they met the sidewall and exposed us to the rich sea air. The salt blasted my skin and I reveled in the tangible feeling. The ebb and flow of the incredible ocean at the base of the mountain settled my nerves almost immediately. It was then I knew Ian had done this on purpose.

“Thank you,” I told him.

“It was the only thing that worked for me growing up here.”

I hugged his side as we looked over our surroundings.

“Did you miss it?” I asked him.

“Not even one iota.”

The tranquil-looking pool below us boasted an iridescent black tile floor and I found myself almost frightened of it. I imagined it would swallow me whole and I would sink into its dark abyss if I ever dared place a toe in that grim water.

“Ian!” I heard behind us.

We both turned and I took in an older, slightly taller version of Ian. He was more tan than my Ian with shorter, more clean-cut hair, though I think that was only because Ian didn’t have a barber at his disposal as readily as Simon did. He sported impeccable clothing with a European flair. All in all, Simon was gorgeous, but he lacked a fire in his eyes that Ian possessed. Yes, Ian was infinitely more beautiful. Girls could keep Simon Aberdeen. I had Ian.

“Simon!” Ian shouted.

Simon scooped up Ian and tossed him around playfully. He greeted him in, what I assumed was, Afrikaans. They exchanged greetings and I stood awkwardly against the railing wishing to everything holy I could have understood them. I perked up only when Simon eyed me before gesturing and asking Ian another question in Afrikaans.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Soph. Excuse me,” he said, meeting me and wrapping my hand in his then pulling me over to meet his brother.

“Simon, this is Miss Sophie Price. Sophie, this is my brother, Simon.”

“A pleasure to meet you,” I said, extending my hand.

Simon bent and grabbed it with a wink my direction and kissed my palm cheekily. “A pleasure, Miss Price, I’m sure.” He righted himself. “Ian’s told me so much about you. I feel like I know you already.”

“He has, has he? What were these
things
?” I teased back.