Eyes of Ice (Eyes of Ice Erotica Series) (20 page)

“You’ll learn soon enough,” he told her, with a glance that itself seemed to penetrate her.

Giddily, Cecelia walked along
holding his hand. They were a block and a half away from her dormitory when Andrew’s walk slowed. He looked at Cecelia, some confusion on his face.

“Those people are talking about you,” he said, in
dicating two distant figures. Peering, Cecelia saw that he had gestured to two persons who stood in front of her building. One was struggling with a suitcase; the other was fumbling to pay the driver of a yellow cab that stood idling next to the curb.

“What?” Cecelia asked, dumbly.

“I can hear them, they’re talking about you,” he reiterated, looking from her to the figures.

Cec
elia went cold, recognizing the figures at last. She swore, and took a step back into a snowdrift.

Andrew’s look of confusion changed to something like amusement as he good-humoredly allowed himself to be tugged back with her, though he managed to neatly sidestep the snowdrift that chilled Cecelia’s feet to the bone.

“
That’s
new,” he remarked, smirking at her. Distantly, Cecelia realized that Andrew had never heard her curse.

“Shut up,” Cecelia snapped hastily. “That’s my parents! What are they doing here? We have to hide – I mean, we have to get out of here. Come on!”

But it was too late. As distant as they were, her parents had recognized her, perhaps because her antics had made her stand out from the other smattering of pedestrians. Cecelia saw her mother point, and her father draw closer to her mother to track the pointing finger to Cecelia and Andrew’s location.

“They see us,” Andrew observed, unnecessarily. “Your mother’s somewhat bewildered about who I am.”

“We can’t be here!” Cecelia said, panicking and tugging his hand again. If they stayed here any longer, her parents might begin their approach, and then they would be truly trapped.

“Cecelia, they’re here to see you. Clearly, they miss you and wish to reconcile. You’re being childish,” Andrew informed her sternly.

“So, what, I should just forgive them for trying to stomp on my dreams?” Cecelia demanded. “I don’t talk to them for a reason! Do you realize how intrusive it is that they’re here? Now? And wondering who you are?”

Andrew actually sighed, his breath emerging as a puff of steam in the freezing air. “You’re right, of course,” he told her. “I suppose I would feel the same. I mean, if I had ever met my parents, that is.”

Cecelia gaped at him. “That’s unfair.”

He tilted his head, looking at her with something between patience and condescension, the way one might regard a misbehaving preschooler. Looking down the street in desperation, Cecelia saw that there was nothing she could do anyway; her parents were halfway to them already, close enough so that she could see her mother mouthing her name.

“Cecelia!” her mother repeated, drawing within calling distance, now.

“Mom,” Cecelia said, evenly.
She wasn’t sure that her voice had carried, but she was sure her expression had.

“Your father and I – have been – so – worried,” her mother said, panting from exertion. “But, you know, we thought – it’s better to let her – find her way – and your father said you’d – find your way back to us if – you weren’t well. And you – were with Margaret – so ….” She trailed off
, her features alternating between extreme concern and delight at seeing her daughter again. Beyond this, Cecelia saw that she was very much her normal self, as if no time had passed since her daughter had run away from California. She even looked younger than Cecelia had remembered; she only had hints of grey in her brown hair, and her suntan testified to her health. At this time, Cecelia’s father had caught up, also breathing heavily. He had overdressed for Chicago’s climate, or perhaps Cecelia’s overprotective mother had overdressed him – either way, he seemed to be wearing two wool sweaters and the lumpy, hand-knit scarf that Cecelia had made for him last Christmas. As was his way, he said nothing, merely nodded solemnly at Cecelia – but perhaps this was because he was too out of breath to speak, too.

“It’s all right,”
Cecelia managed, and then noticed that her parents were no longer gazing at her but at Andrew, who towered over all of  them by a good food.
And has a good five beauty points on all of us, too,
Cecelia reflected grimly. Looking up at him, she saw him through her parents’ eyes in a disorienting flash of insight. He was not merely tall, he was ridiculously good looking, the snow settling in his dark hair and bringing some color to his pale cheeks. His clothes were neat and expensive, he held himself comfortably as well as confidently, and stood very straight while most on the street hunched to the cold. And his hand arm was firmly around Cecelia’s waist, now, so that her head was at his shoulder.

“This is Andrew,” Cecelia said, and then felt that she must add some sort of title for clarification. But
boyfriend
sounded wrong, and so did
sex partner.

“We’ve been together since near the start of term,” Andrew smoothly clarified for her, and extended a hand to her mother.

Together
echoed loudly around Cecelia’s skull.

“Cassandra,” Cecelia’s mother said, too dumbfounded to say much else.

“Sir,” Andrew said, extending his hand now to Cecelia’s father. Shocked at being addressed as “sir,” Cecelia’s father, too, shook Andrew’s hand wordlessly.

They all looked back to Cecelia, Andrew having exhausted the amount of conversation a new acquaintance could make, and both of Cecelia’s parents too caught off guard to speak.

“Should we get dinner to … um … catch up?” Cecelia suggested, aware of Andrew’s judgmental eyes upon her and feeling oddly like a parody of a proper daughter.

Her mother nodded in vigorous agreement, and wrapped Cecelia in a suffocating hug.

“Oh,” Cecelia said into her mother’s hair. “Okay.”

She returned the hug though, and felt tears spring to her eyes. It was like peeling a band-aid back from an old wound to see how far the healing had progressed. She realized
in a rush that in spite of all her hatred and mistrust, she had missed her parents terribly. She choked back a sob.
I can’t go crying in the street.

             
Andrew led them to a nearby restaurant, while Cecelia’s mother asked her question after question:
Have you been eating? Are you really taking classes? Are you working on the newspaper? You are living with Margaret still, aren’t you? Aren’t you scared in the big city?

             
“I’m not, at all,” Cecelia answered the last question as they sat down at a table. She felt a surge of regret as she surveyed the restaurant. It was more expensive than anything that her parents would choose for themselves, even for a special occasion, like reuniting successfully with an errant child. Silver utensils gleamed atop a white tablecloth, a single white orchid blossomed from a jade pot in the center of the table.
I should have told Andrew something
, she thought. “I mean, I have Andrew, so….” She finished, refusing to let her divergent thoughts distract her.

             
“Andrew! Do you go to school at Chicago University as well? Or…” Cecelia saw her mother again take in Andrew’s steadfast demeanor and mature bearing, “Have you graduated?”

Cecelia tried desperately to communicate with her eyes without being obvious, and forgetting that her parents could probably interpret every twitch of her face with little effort.
They’ll ask enough questions about me having a boyfriend, they don’t need to know he doesn’t actually go to school!
Andrew raised his eyebrows at her for a fraction of a second, and then turned his face back to her mother, answering with a polite smile:

“Yes. My best friend is pursuing his PhD in physics, and I live with him off-campus. Cecelia and I were on our way back from my apartment when we ran into you.” Andrew answered, slipping easily over the lie and adding further true detail to enhance the fabrication.

“And how did you two meet?” Cecelia’s father asked. Cecelia jumped. He had been so quiet that she had half-forgotten he was there.

Andrew again raised his eyebrows at Cecelia, and it was as if he had actually spoken to her:
I’m not lying for you again.

“At … a …” Cecelia stuttered.
Another aspect of her life that she had to hide from her parents. Andrew was smiling at her, amused.
Yes, poor you for not having any parents
, Cecelia thought viciously. “Party. A friend was having a party that Mags and I went to. And he was there. We talked, and danced, and then … talked some more … and he walked me home.” Not the most romantic story, but it was slightly more acceptable to prudish parents than the truth; Andrew ordering her champagne, the sensual dancing, Devon’s infidelity and Mags’ easy virtue, the make-out session in the park in the wee hours of the morning… yes, definitely more palatable to the middle-aged than the truth, Cecelia thought grimly.

“Do we need to order?” her mother asked, scanning the restaurant.

“No, no need to worry. I know the chef-owner,” Andrew informed her.

Cecelia’s father, however, was not to be deterred by Cecelia’s story, for he rounded on Andrew next, fixing the younger man with a keen and unfaltering gaze and continued his interrogation: “And Andrew, what drew you to Cecelia?”

“Dad,” Cecelia protested weakly.

“I knew she was special,” Andrew said
, his face smoothed by seriousness. “She was having a terrible time at the,” he paused for a millisecond that only Cecelia would notice, “party. I saw her, and she has this way about her – I don’t know if you’ve noticed – of a total lack of pretense when she thinks no one is watching. She smiles at things without explaining herself, and she’ll glare at people who she disapproves of from a distance. That made me want to be closer to her, that kind of honesty and fairness. As I said, I knew she was special. Talking to her that evening just confirmed it.”

Cecelia jumped again, feeling someone suddenly touching her hand. It was her mother, her other hand on her own chest, watching Andrew with the kind of enraptured expression she usually reserved for the most romantic of movies.  For his own part, Andrew was solemnly returning her father’s gaze, as if his sincerity could be proved by a staring match. Maybe it could, because her father broke their eye contact
after a few moments.

The arrival of the food interrupted further conversation.
The meal was light with small portions and multiple courses, and was so sumptuous that Cecelia began to wonder if their chef was showing off on purpose, knowing that Andrew was there. The answer hit her as she was considering the bright colors of their entrée, a lobster surrounded by grilled vegetables and thinly sliced citrus rounds.

This is Alexandra’s restaurant!
But even craning her neck all around the expansive dining room, she couldn’t see Alexandra anywhere.
Of course not. She’s probably far too busy in the kitchen. And anyway,
she
probably wouldn’t want to obligate me to introduce her to my parents.

“Ceecee,” her mother said, as the vibrant blackberry sorbet dessert arrived in small crystal dishes drizzled with thick blackberry syrup, “Your father and I would like you to come back to California with us, as soon as your semester is over. We would prefer if you would come now, but understand that you probably have some commitments.”

Cecelia felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Her mother had delivered the mandate with such calmness, as if this was the most simple of requests, and the least that Cecelia could do was to grant her this small favor. She blinked down at her sorbet, and was perplexed to find further tears springing to her eyes. Unbidden, they rolled down her cheeks, hot and burning against her skin.

“May I say something?” Andrew’s voice cut across Cecelia’s tangled thoughts at the moment she thought the silence would suffocate her. Cecelia looked up from her sorbet to see her father frozen, his spoon halfway to his cup, and her mother’s eyes darting from Andrew to her father to Cecelia and back again to each. Cecelia found herself neither able to deny or accept Andrew’s request, she was so overwhelmed by the necessity to hold back the rest of her tears.

“I don’t wish to intrude, and I only say this because I feel that I have grown to know your daughter very well in a short period of time, and care for her. Her happiness has, I suppose, become a matter that concerns me as well.”

There were no protests to this statement, though Cecelia’s father’s eyes flashed dangerously. Seeming not to notice, Andrew carried on:

“Cecelia has found a place here. Not just with me, but at school as well. She has found a life separate from you, a life that allows her to pursue her dreams and her passions. I don’t claim to be a great expert on the matter, I never met my parents,” he paused, bitterness tugging at the corners of his mouth, “but I do think that your duty, at this stage in Cecelia’s life, is to facilitate and encourage her independence. Not to stifle her or deny her freedom. She is good. For that alone, I think that she deserves such respect from those who love her.”

“How dare you,” Cecelia’s father said, his voice a threateningly steely undertone. Andrew’s ja
w locked. “How dare you presume what is best for our daughter?”