“You’ll have to take a video of Kingi so we can see his face when he first sees you,” Ria says with a grin.
“I wish you’d both come with me,” I say wistfully. We’ve had this discussion already. Neither Ria nor Lisa can afford a ballgown. I offered to buy them one from the money Kingi gave me, as I know he wouldn’t mind if I treated my friends, especially as he’s asked me to invite people I know to the ball. But despite being tempted, they both declined, and I haven’t pushed them. I wouldn’t have accepted a handout either if I was in their position, plus I know they’re both intimidated by the thought of going to such a high-profile event at the Midnight Club.
“At least you’ll have Scarlett,” Lisa says.
“Yes,” I reply, “and—”
“Whoa.” The male voice from behind me stops me in my tracks. “What the fuck?”
I spin around, alarmed to see Tamati and a couple of his friends.
He looks with amusement at the bags in my hands. “Have you been in there?” He stares at the shop in amazement and then starts laughing. “Dressing up for Kingi Davis? I hope he realizes there’s no point in putting lipstick on a pig.” He glances at his friends, who all snigger.
My face flushes. Scarlett slides her arm through mine. “Let’s go and get a coffee in Espresso.” She turns her back on him. “I fancy a piece of chocolate cake.”
“Yeah, coz she needs a few extra pounds on her hips,” Tamati states.
I’m hardly obese, but who doesn’t carry a few extra pounds? He’s aware that I’m sensitive about my curves. He knows exactly where to slide the blade between my ribs to get at my heart.
I want to slap him, or even punch him—Kingi taught me some boxing moves when we were young for self-defense purposes, and I’m pretty sure I could do some damage with a good right hook.
But with some surprise, I realize I’m done with him. I’m not going to lower myself to his level. I’m better than that. Nothing I can say or do will hurt him the way he’s hurt me. So I’m not going to even try. He’s beneath me. He doesn’t even exist for me anymore.
I look at Scarlett and smile. “Yeah, come on. Let’s get a coffee.”
As if he’s invisible, and we haven’t heard a thing he’s said, we turn and walk off down the mall toward the Espresso coffee shop.
Behind us, Tamati calls out something, but I ignore him, concentrating on the feel of the bags in my hand. A handsome man has just bought me a gorgeous ball gown. And when Iasked him,You think I’m beautiful?He replied,Of course you’re beautiful. Kingi thinks I’m beautiful. Nothing else matters.
The other two girls catch up with us, and together we walk into the cafe.
“I have to say,” Lisa says as we approach the cake cabinet, “that was the most elegant put-down I think I’ve ever seen.”
“Very nicely done,” Scarlett says. “He didn’t deserve a retort.”
“That’s what I thought.” To my surprise, though, I’m trembling. It’s the shock of seeing him, and his comments stung. We were close once, and the knowledge that he wants to hurt me makes tears prick my eyes.
She notices and rubs my arm. “Come on. A cup of coffee and something sweet to eat, and you’ll be right as rain.”
She’s right. I drink my coffee and polish off a chocolate muffin, and the girls talk about all the ball gowns and the other things I’ve bought, and soon I feel a lot better.
Tamati and I are done. He will gradually lose his power to hurt me, especially once I meet someone else.
I think about Kingi, and the way he kissed me outside the restaurant.
It was just for show, Chessie. Just for show.
*
The week passes quickly, mainly because I’m super busy at work. It’s odd, but when I first took over from Dad I felt as if I was floundering all the time; now, though, I’m starting to find my feet. Kingi has given me a few tips to sort out our finances, and the books are in order for the first time in years. I’ve paid all the outstanding bills, and the ride-on mower is up and working again. I’ve talked to each member of our staff, and everyone seems happy with their work and the way I’m running things. Although I’m scared of jinxing it, it’s going well.
I see Kingi a couple of times, but there are always other people around—we meet once at Midnight, for a drink with Orson and Scarlett and a few others, and go for dinner again later in the week to a local vineyard.
Most of the time, we talk about the Foundation. He’s in the process of putting together a document to present to the board, laying out the organization’s strategy and vision, talking about ideas for fundraising, and ways he can foster the internal culture to ensure the Foundation’s success. I knew he was smart, but his knowledge, drive, and authority impress me. I suppose before this I thought his appointment was as a figurehead—he’s a young, handsome, successful, and wealthy Maori guy, a perfect role model for the troubled youths, especially now he’s ‘engaged’. But I can see I’ve been unfair. He’s a sharp businessman, and he’s bringing more than good looks and a heap of charisma to the table.
He obviously wants to talk about it, and so I let him bounce ideas off me. In return, he listens when I talk about my father’s gardening business and gives me some pointers for things I can do to help make it more stable, which are really useful.
Afterward, though, when I’ve gone home and I’m lying there thinking about the evening, I realize how the two of us have used our work as a shield to deflect the chance of our conversation turning personal. It’s also served to remind me how we exist in such different worlds. We’re friends because of a past connection—it’s history that holds us together, and, forgetting about sexual attraction, I know he likes me, too, the way I like him as a person. But yet again it reminds me we’re not compatible partners.