Lured into Love (Blossom in Winter Book 2) Read online

  You know exactly what I think. But instead I say, “That would be great. Thanks.” After all, this lunch is not the right place to talk about it.

  “Do you guys have anyone in mind to plan the event?” Emma suddenly asks.

  I take sip of water before saying, “Um, no, not really.”

  With a big grin on her face, I know exactly what she is about to say. “Perfect. I’m in charge of it, then.”

  Alex drops his jaw like he’s about to unleash some sort of comment, but I manage to speak first. “Are you sure? What do you intend to do?”

  “I can arrange the setting, the flowers, the music, the invitation cards, like, all that stuff, you know. I’ve organized plenty of parties in my life. Fifteen days is short, but I can manage.”

  And with a hint of naughtiness, I look at him and ask, “What do you think, Mr. Van Dieren?”

  “Sure,” he mumbles, returning the smile. His eyes then go to Emma, but now they are more formal. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

  “Hmm…” Emma takes out her iPhone, and after checking something, she shows us a picture on Pinterest of an elegant dinner with candles, white tablecloths, live music, and an impeccable setting. “Something like this. What do you think?”

  “Oh, wow.” My lips curve into a broad smile, picturing our engagement party in such a classy setting. “That looks fantastic.”

  “Perfect,” she says. “And how many people are gonna attend?”

  “Thirteen adults,” Alex replies. “Including you and your parents.”

  As I watch them discuss the details of our party, and how they can arrange the terrace to include live music, a soft smile quietly charms my lips, warming up my heart. Being engaged to him tastes better than anything I could’ve dreamt of. And I make the conscious effort to keep it in my memory for as long as I shall live. To me, having lunch surrounded by all those I love is the exact definition of happiness, and my mouth starts watering at the delicious smell of the sautéed mushrooms Maria is now putting on my plate. Ah… what a beautiful day to be alive.

  After lunch, Emma, fully empowered in her new role as the event planner, goes around the terrace, taking pictures and jumping from call to call to prepare the decor and setting. Meanwhile, Cynthia brings me my iPhone so I can check all the emails and messages I’ve missed. To my surprise, I find many unread texts from my group at Columbia, and in particular from Matthew: Prof Chilnisky told us you got into an accident and are in a coma. I hope one day you will wake up and see this. Columbia is not the same without you. We miss you so much, Petra. Please call me once you see this. That one is dated all the way back in March.

  Then another one from him, this time for Easter: Happy Easter!!! I know you are still in a coma, but if you ever wake up, I want you to know you are in our thoughts. The group had lunch at my place, since a lot of restaurants are closed due to the current pandemic. But in your memory, we tried matcha lattes with seven spoons and soy milk just like you like. I must say, though, it’s absolutely disgusting (sorry). But hey, at least Sarah loves it! Xx

  Oh boy, I crack a laugh imagining him tasting a matcha latte for the first time. What a pity I wasn’t there to see it.

  Then another text—this one, though, is really long:

  Well, today I just took my last exam. With the current pandemic, we’re doing everything online. And we didn’t even know if the exams would ever take place. It was such a big mess. I swear, what a terrible time to be alive. You’re kinda lucky that you don’t have to witness any of this. The mood is pretty bad, everyone is kinda depressed. Suicide rates are skyrocketing. Our group is having some friction, and Katrina and Sarah had the biggest fight ever because of the face coverings. Anyway, sorry for the rant, but I miss talking to you. I hope one day you will see my messages and call me.

  Wow. My heart feels tight as I finish reading his text. Scrolling farther down, I notice that Matthew kept sending me many, many more messages, the latest one sent just a week ago. Without waiting any longer, I press the FaceTime button and call him.

  My anxiety grows as I wait for him to accept my call.

  Oh! Finally! “Hey, good afternoon, Mr. Bradford,” I tease with the biggest grin.

  “WHAT?!” he screams, before covering his mouth. As I wave at him, I see him getting overly emotional and his eyes watering. He starts sniffling, looking up to prevent tears. “Thanks for the messages,” I tell him. “They were really amazing. I felt like I was still there with you guys.”

  After breathing in and out, and getting used to seeing my face, Matthew gives me one of his goofy laughs. “Good afternoon, Ms. Van Gatt,” he jokes back. It feels amazing to see him again. He looks happier, heck, even tanner, like he just came from vacation or something. “I can’t believe you’re finally awake. I’m so sorry I didn’t visit you, but with the current pandemic, like, I didn’t think it would’ve been prudent.”

  “Don’t worry, I understand. How are things with the group? Is everyone alright?”

  “Yeah, things were a bit tense, ya know, some arguments here and there, but friendship always wins,” he confesses. “I haven’t seen David or Katrina all summer. I think they went back to their home states to visit their families.”

  “Are they coming back to New York for this semester?”

  “Yeah, they should be flying back next week. Very few people managed to get a dorm room, ya know. They got very lucky. Campus this year is pretty much closed. Most people are staying in their home states and will do everything online,” he says.

  “Oh, wow. And Sarah, how is she?”

  “She’s great. We went to Hawaii for my dad’s birthday. We stayed there all summer. You don’t see my tan?”

  I laugh at Matthew’s failed attempts to try different angles of light that will enhance his bronzed skin. “Yeah. You look great,” I tell him. “Look, um, the first day of classes is the eighth. What if we meet at my place on Park Avenue and we attend the classes together?”

  “Um.” Matthew seems confused. “So you also decided to switch to economics-philosophy?”

  “Huh?” My jaw drops at his question. “What?”

  “You didn’t read my last message?” he asks.

  “No,” I confess. “What was it about?”

  “Well, the group and I have decided to major in economics-philosophy instead of finance.”

  My heart freezes at the terrible news and I’m left totally speechless. Then, after a few moments of processing his words, the only thing that comes out of my mouth is, “But why?”

  “Well, a major in finance means we’d be part of the system that’s destroying our economy, our planet, and pretty much everything we stand for. But with a major in economics-philosophy, we can challenge the current status quo and present new solutions and alternatives,” Matthew explains.

  “Oh, wow.” That’s the only thing I manage to say. “So you guys changed your minds just because of the pandemic?”

  “It’s pretty serious, Petra.” Matthew’s tone is indeed just like that. “I’ll explain to you once we meet. But it’s not only about the pandemic, no. It’s much deeper than that. It’s always the same folks doing the same shit, and I’m tired of it.”

  For some reason, I’ve got the impression that those “folks” include my dad and Alex. Indeed, I had forgotten for a minute how much Matthew hated everything about Wall Street, politics, and the tech industry. He has always been a dreamer, an idealist, a utopian. I was like him when I was younger—the idea of wanting to make the world a better place by fighting the evils of capitalism. But growing up with someone like my dad, you drop those ideals as fast as you get them. “So, what kind of career do you intend to pursue with a major in economics-philosophy?”

  “There are many to choose from, like economist, academic, heck, even adviser to politicians. There’s a lot we can do.” I’m still in shock at the group’s decision, so I remain mute, digesting the horrible reality that I might have to spend the next few years completing my major in finance-
economics all by myself from home. “You know me,” he mumbles, breaking our sad silence. “You know finance wasn’t the best fit.”

  “Well… you like fancy cars,” I tease. “So I thought it wasn’t such a bad idea.”

  Matthew chuckles. “I can still appreciate brands and beautiful things.”

  “So does that mean you’re gonna have different classes than me from day one?”

  “Why don’t you attend some of them and see if you like it?” he asks. “Maybe you would prefer philosophy over finance.”

  Not even in a million years would Dad accept such a switch. I chuckle at the simple idea of asking him. I think he’d choke on his food if I did. Surprisingly, though, I say, “Yeah, I’d love to give it a try. Which course do you recommend?”

  “Hmm, definitely Public Economics. It’s about exactly that debate you had last year with Prof Chilnisky, remember? About the role of the government in the economy? I swear, it’s pure intellectual porn. You’re gonna love it. The online class starts at ten a.m. or so.”

  The invitation seems quite tempting. I remember perfectly well the dissertation I had to do last year. This course indeed seems right up my alley.

  “Alright, I’ll attend that one, then,” I tell him as I wonder how I’m gonna persuade Dad. “I’ll send you the address and we’ll meet at nine-thirty, okay?”

  “Amazing!” Matthew gives me a big, bright smile. “I’m sure you’re gonna love it. See you on the eighth, then.”

  “See you on the eighth,” I reply back before ending the call.

  Wow. That was such a big blow. It’s hard to believe they decided to switch majors so suddenly. But I guess the heated arguments and the current pandemic must have been the deciding factors. I look briefly at the courses that Columbia offers for a major in economics-philosophy. I must confess, all the subjects seem really interesting. But as Matthew just said, they are pure intellectual porn. They won’t teach me asset management, financial markets, portfolio allocation, or even entrepreneurship. They seem to be more about theory than practice. Nevertheless, attending one class with them to keep up some sort of social life seems like a pretty good compromise.

  Decision made, I now have to persuade Dad to let me enroll in Public Economics. When you can’t walk, your phone becomes your best ally, so I decide to call him.

  “Hi, Dad,” I greet upon hearing his voice. “Um, can I talk to you for a sec?”

  “I’m pretty busy now. What’s going on?”

  “Well, I just spoke to my friends at Columbia…” I say, carefully choosing my words.

  “And?”

  “Well…” I know I won’t convince him by phone. Dad seems to be in a rush, and he never takes time to think about my requests when he’s hurrying up a conversation. It’s better to go and talk to him in person. “May I speak to you in person?”

  “Um, sure. I’m with Alex in his office.”

  “Oh, alright, I’ll be there soon, then.” And I hang up.

  For a second, I’m about to stand up on my own, but just as fast, my weak legs prevent me from doing so. They are not ready to support my body weight by any means. Then I call Cynthia, my tone laced with distress at my constant dependence. As she helps me walk back inside the house, I can’t help but curse under my breath at my own fate. To be dependent on someone to do things as basic as walking, showering, and dressing can cause even the nicest person to become annoyed pretty quickly.

  As I stand in front of Alex’s office door, I knock before Cynthia can, and upon hearing an approval, I reach for the handle just as fast so I can open the door on my own. A small victory among an ocean of things I can’t do alone.

  “May I?” I ask.

  I find them sitting on the sofa as they analyze some sheets spread over the low table. Oh, Alex has his glasses on. He looks so damn hot with them on—it gives him that intellectually serious vibe that suits him so well. But he removes them upon seeing me. I should tell him he looks great with them on—but not in front of my dad.

  “Hey,” Dad greets me. “Sure. Have a seat.”

  I notice the empty armchair beside them, and I instruct Cynthia to help me over. As I slowly make my way toward them, I feel a bit embarrassed that Alex has to witness this. But as I glance over at them, they have already returned to their conversation and don’t seem to be paying attention. Good. I’d have hated to see their eyes filled with pity or impatience as they waited for me to sit.

  With Cynthia’s assistance, I sit quietly in the armchair and wait for them to finish their talk. As I peer over at the sheets laying on the table, they seem to be about portfolio performances. From what I can see, the graphs are quite positive. Dad didn’t lie— it looks like it has been a really good year for them.

  “So...” Dad looks back at me and I put on my best smile—the one I give when I need to be convincing. “What’s going on with your friends?”

  “Well, they have changed their majors to economics-philosophy,” I tell him.

  “Really? But didn’t they want to do finance like you?”

  “Um, I thought so. But they said it makes more sense for them, ethically speaking,” I explain. “Do you think you can have a word with the dean so I can enroll in Public Economics? It’s one of their courses, and I’d like to enroll so I can see them from time to time.”

  Totally caught by surprise, Dad asks, “You want to take even more classes than you have now?”

  “Well, PE is similar to the dissertation I did last year, so I’m sure I’m gonna be fine.”

  But he doesn’t look convinced. “You already have so many courses to take this year. Don’t you think it’s going to be too much?”

  “Just that one is fine.” Letting out a sigh, I tell him, “They are the only friends I have at Columbia. And now, since we are doing everything from home, I don’t see how I’m gonna make new ones.”

  Dad keeps quiet as he ponders my request. “Okay, let me have a talk with the dean and see what we can do.”

  My mood lightens up immediately. I never thought I’d manage to convince him so easily. “You’re the best. Thank you,” I praise with a big grin.

  “Roy, we have the Zoom call with management in ten minutes,” Alex informs my dad. “Should we go to the lounge?”

  “Oh, I can leave,” I interpose just as fast, looking at my fiancé.

  His striking blue eyes land on me, and with a smile on his lips, he gets up from his seat. “There is no need,” he replies, heading in my direction. Then, as he stands in front of me, he crouches down to be at my level. “There are a couple of books that you might enjoy here in the library,” he says in a low voice, his eyes never leaving mine. The fact that he is whispering while so close to me makes my heart go wild. His cologne invades my nostrils, and my body heats up at his scent. Jeez, lust invades me, and I feel totally powerless at my growing arousal. “Cynthia will show you.” His gaze drops to my parted lips, and I wonder if he’d dare to kiss them in front of my dad.

  “Alright, let’s go,” I hear Dad saying as he stands up.

  And my much-wanted kiss lands on my forehead instead.

  Chapter 3

  Bedford Hills, August 27, 2020

  Petra Van Gatt

  Alex was right—the great thing about his home office is that there is a library with a wide selection of books dedicated to finance, money, and banking. As I take one of the paperbacks, I wonder if he got these books especially for me, since they appear to be brand-new and without any creases on the spine. With the whole afternoon pretty much available, I start reading the ones Matthew recommended to me in order to get ready for the exams in the fall.

  But just as I am about to finish the first book, I’m interrupted by a knock on the door and Cynthia comes in. “Ms. Van Gatt, sorry to interrupt, but Dr. Nel advised that you should go to bed no later than nine p.m.”

  What? I glance at my watch, and I can’t believe the time has gone by so fast. Jeez! Despite her medical advice, I feel like a freaking child when someone te
lls me it’s time to go to sleep. It reminds me of when Janine would usher me into my bedroom while I was in the middle of a good book. I hated it so much that I’d take the book with me to read it in bed—well past the twenty minutes’ allowance. But at that time, I was seven, not eighteen! Janine hasn’t bothered me to go to bed since I was fourteen or so.

  Once we get into the bedroom, Cynthia helps me into a red silk nightgown with laces on each side that falls above the knees, and a quick giggle escapes me as I observe myself in it. At my house on Park Avenue, I’d have worn cotton pajamas or shorts instead. Heck, I don’t even have any nightdresses there. Afterward, Cynthia helps me to the bed and tucks me beneath the sheets. I can’t help but wonder how long this childish routine will continue. “This is just until I can walk, right?” I ask her, my tone defiant as I lie in bed with my book resting on the nightstand.

  “Miss, sleeping is very important,” Cynthia lectures. “If you were in a hospital, you’d have a nurse escorting you back to your bed, just like I’m doing now.”

  She didn’t even answer my question, so I ask again. “Once I’m able to walk, you won’t have to stay, right?”

  “Correct,” she replies. “But until then, I will be here.”

  Having someone telling you what time you have to go to bed when you are an adult is an absolute nightmare. And for some strange reason, my thoughts go to seniors living in a retirement home and to anyone physically incapacitated who needs assistance. Are they being infantilized like me? I never thought that one day I’d be paying attention to such a small luxury. But the truth is, I can’t wait to walk again so I can go to bed when I feel like it. Then I wonder if Alex will come anytime soon and if he’s gonna sleep with me. Jeez, I can’t possibly imagine spending my nights here alone when we are both living under the same roof. I already miss him way too much.

  Once Cynthia closes the door behind her, I take my iPhone from the nightstand and text him: Are you gonna sleep with me tonight?