Part 11 (2/2)
”Yes?”
”Thank you for all this. For your support. And Marta's.”
”Anything we can do, brother, anything at all. You deserve it. Have a wonderful dinner tonight with your lovely lady.”
Otto hung up before Eliot could protest.
I thought for most of my life that mathematics could describe anything. The population growth of deer, the deep spirals of the calla lilies blooming in the spring, the reverberations of an echo down an empty tunnel. The path of an arrow as it fell headlong toward its target. Even love, the chemical reactions and electrical signals in our brains that made us fall into each other's arms headlong in bliss.
All of the world obeyed the rules laid down years ago by mathematics, at the beginning of time, perhaps even before time existed. Everything happened for a logical reason, an event set into motion another event and so on and so forth. From initial conditions, as Quentin would say. There was no such thing as magic. Or so I thought.
It only took one kiss for my orderly, predictable world to fall into pieces.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
Eliot paced the floor, waiting for Brynn to be ready for dinner. His b.u.t.toned s.h.i.+rt irritated him at his neck, the collar so starched and stiff that any motion felt like an itch. He felt overdressed in a suit after so many years spent in Californian casual attire. The restaurant opening specified a dress code, though, and he didn't want to undermine Otto's reputation among whatever crowd would be there tonight any more than he already would just by being there. He hoped that anybody who recognized him would stay far away, and he would be able to spend the evening quietly with Brynn.
He heard the click of a heel against the hard floor, and looked up to see Brynn standing at the top of the stairs. All of the breath ran out of his lungs. She wore a lilac sheath dress that flowed over and around her body, accenting her lovely curves in every place that mattered. Her hair was pinned up in a loose bun, a few wavy strands hanging over her cheeks. She looked down at him from the stairway and he could see her eyes widen similarly at the sight of him.
What a pair we make, he thought, then tore the thought out of his mind. They were no pair, and she was strictly off-limits. But it was impossible to mistake her for a girl in that dress-every movement of hers down the stairs was as graceful and womanly as a ballerina. Despite himself, he felt his entire body respond to the vision before him. Brynn stopped on the last stair. Only the slight bashfulness of her eyes indicated her nervousness.
”You look absolutely stunning,” Eliot said, and Brynn beamed.
”You're not too bad yourself,” Brynn said. Eliot laughed. Graciously offering out his arm, he helped her down the last step of the staircase. She stopped at the door and he turned back to face her.
”Are you alright?”
Her hand tightened on his arm.
”It's just... everything is so beautiful.” Her eyes sparkled in the light of the entryway and a nervous chatter of laugher burst from her lips. ”I don't know why I'm worried. I feel like I'll be out of place. With you...”
”You're absolutely right,” Eliot said. ”You're too d.a.m.n pretty. Everybody will be jealous. I suggest you go back and put those sweatpants on.”
Brynn laughed, and Eliot could see the lines on her face ease with relief. He pressed his palm against her arm.
”Don't worry, it's just a little restaurant opening. How bad could it be?”
Eliot's own words rang in his ears as he stood outside the restaurant with Brynn, watching the hordes of people clamoring around the place. The restaurant, overlooking the Danube, was festooned with millions of tiny lights, and media reporters lined the sidewalk outside.
”Oh dear,” Brynn said, her voice all but drowned out by the hubbub of the mob.
”I'm sure it's better inside,” Eliot said, and pulled her forward through the crowd of people determinedly. They elbowed their way forward to the front of the line, where an aggrieved hostess and a security guard kept turning people away. Brynn looked doubtfully around as they came up to the entrance. As Eliot approached, he saw a glimpse of recognition in the security guard's eyes as he glanced at Eliot's scar. The guard leaned forward and whispered to the hostess.
”Dr. Herceg,” the hostess said, beaming. ”How wonderful to have you here with us. And this is?”
”Ms. Tomlin,” Eliot said breezily. ”My guest.” Brynn looked up at the mention of her name, not understanding the Hungarian words.
”Of course. Delighted.” The hostess waved them through, snapping her fingers for a waiter. The waiter led them through the crowded tables to the outside patio, where a single table had been set apart from the rest. A jazz quartet played on a low stage just across the patio, and Eliot pulled out a chair for Brynn so that she would be able to see them from their vantage point. Another waitress came by with a bottle of champagne for their table. Some people at the other tables turned their heads to see who was sitting down at the reserved spot. Eliot saw a flash of red hair and it was Clare at one of the tables, Clare drinking from a gla.s.s not twenty feet away. She turned to him and her lips mouthed a silent word. Eliot.
”Eliot?”
Eliot shook his head and turned back to Brynn, who was looking at him curiously. He looked back at the woman, but it was not Clare, just a woman with a red rose pinned behind her ear.
”Cheers,” Eliot said, raising his gla.s.s and focusing his attention entirely on Brynn. ”What shall we toast?”
”Good luck,” Brynn said. ”Or fate. Or math. One of those.”
”To good luck, then,” Eliot said. ”Maybe one day I'll be able to cheer math or fate.”
”To good luck,” Brynn echoed, a darker look in her eye.
Despite Eliot's desire to avoid recognition, as they clinked their gla.s.ses a large, well-dressed man came up to their table. By his swagger, Eliot guessed that he had already had too many gla.s.ses of complimentary champagne. He spoke in a broken, heavily accented English.
”The expatriate returns from America! Don't tell me. Otto has sent his younger brother to get out of coming to the party tonight.” The man's ruddy face grinned stupidly at Eliot, but Eliot couldn't place him.
”I'm sorry, you are?”
”Damien, Damien. We meet at a party, oh-ten years ago, it must be.”
”Yes, it must have been.”
”Otto told me you just are now back into town, but I did not believe him. And who is this lovely, lovely young beauty?” He turned to Brynn, who had already downed half of her gla.s.s of champagne. She held out her hand and the man pressed her hand to his lips altogether too enthusiastically.
”I'm Brynn.”
”Brynn. You are American too, yes?”
Brynn nodded.
”I always know an American! It's the pretty eyes. You are pretty enough to be a princess. A princess for a prince!” He slapped Eliot on the shoulder and laughed at his own words.
”A prince?” Brynn looked quizzically up at Eliot. Eliot raised his hand to stop the man, but Damien went on talking.
”The Hercegs, both princes.”
”Not at all,” Eliot said to Brynn, but she was enraptured by Damien's chatter.
”Really?” she asked, leaning forward.
”Well, if we still had our kings and queens around,” the large man said. ”All democracy, now. But still, this one has it in his blood. And you too, now a princess!”
”Damien, it was good to see you,” he said, shaking Damien's hand firmly, so that there could be no question about his leaving.
”Yes, very good,” Damien said. ”I will leave you to your princess.” He winked at Eliot as he left, and Eliot put his head in one hand.
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