She was greeted at the door by Alfred, who invited her in with a knowing smile. "How nice to see you again, Ms. Kenner."
"Thank you, Alfred. Is he busy?"
"Not that I know of, Ms. Kenner." He took her coat and gestured at the sofa nearby. "He's in the study, but I'll be sure to let him know that you're here. Please, have a seat."
As he walked away, Gwyneth sauntered around the barely decorated living room. The place felt significantly less alien now that she'd been here more frequently and become more familiar with the layout of the vast space. One thing that never failed to amaze her was how spacious his place was. The high ceilings and wall-sized windows, added to the sparse furniture made the penthouse look as bigger than it actually was. The white walls were tastefully adorned with art, mostly postmodern - she particularly loved the Jackson Pollock piece on the wall adjacent to the massive flat-screen TV and the Al Held near the dining table. The dining table, oh, how her eyes almost fell out of their sockets when she first saw it. Philippe Starck, 2010 collection, a modern marvel of lucite and steel.
She couldn't help but feel a pang of envy, knowing that she could never afford any of these things, not even in her wildest dreams. Can't imagine how it would suck to be filthy rich, she thought. For all its antiseptic properties, the place had Aidan written all over it, and it was beginning to grow on her. From the Eames lounge chair to the Bang and Olufsen audio system, it was obvious this wasn't the work of some cushy interior designer. No, this was him - clear cut, no fuss, unsettlingly simple and spartan.
Clues were lying all over the place if you looked hard enough. The art, the music, and more importantly, how the place was perfectly spotless, with nary an book or cushion out of place. With any other man, she would've attributed it to a professional cleaning service, but she thought of how neurotic Aidan could be and her lips curved into a smile. This was the home of a perfectionist. Maybe she was overthinking it, reading too much into empty details like she always did, overanalyzing the most basic facts and contorting them into a great hullaballoo...but maybe it really was so obvious. Perhaps his home was a metaphorical representation of something bigger, an avatar...
"It's never a good sign when she's more interested in the decor than she is in the sex." Aidan's dry voice interrupted her inner monologue. She turned around to see him standing there, hand in one pocket, looking like he'd been watching her for a while.
He still hadn't changed out of his work clothes, though his tie was off and his sleeves were rolled up. Rumpled appearance aside - which was just about as un-Aidan as it got - the biggest surprise came in the form of the metal-rimmed glasses perched on his nose bridge, a pair of smart rectangular frames she'd never seen on him before. It was almost absurd, how glasses made him look more attractive, but for some reason it made him a million times hotter.
She wondered if he could keep it on later, even when they were in bed...but quickly shook her head free of all such thoughts. Damn it, she thought, two seconds after seeing him in glasses and all she could think of is sex. As he walked towards her, Gwyneth took the opportunity to feast her eyes at the sight of his strong, exposed forearms and the tousled geek-chic look he was currently sporting. She bit her lip and hid a blush while he leaned in for a quick kiss, folding her into his arms and gently pressing his lips to hers in one smooth gesture.
"Well," she started, struggling to regain her composure, "well maybe if sex looked this good, I'd be much more enthusiastic about it." She gestured around her. "This place is gorgeous, Aidan. And I know it's a little late to mention this, but the view, oh my God, I've never seen anything quite like this." She walked towards one of the huge windows and looked out at the New York skyline, watching the lights of the huge city glimmer like opalescent beads on a sea of ink. At this hour, the traffic looked like glittering snakes of gold and red, pulsing and fading like blood flowing through an artery. For a moment she was lost in its beauty, transfixed by the sight she beheld. "It's amazing...it's almost like the city is alive." she breathed, her voice a faint whisper. She'd always been fascinated with the night, loving its quiescent energy, living her whole life as a nocturnal creature. It was only after the sun set that she felt awake, starting her day as the rest of the world went to bed. The lyric spilled out of her before she could help it. "It's getting dark and the sky looks sticky, more like black treacle than tar."
"Somebody told the stars you're not coming out tonight, so they found a place to hide." Aidan caught the reference and finished after her. Only then did she realize that he was still holding her, her back pressed to his chest and his chin resting on her head. Being in his arms always felt so nice, and in the comfort of their privacy it felt all the more profound. But wait - profound. The more she thought about it, the more uncomfortable she felt and unease began to gnaw at her, sending chills up her neck as she realized that the affection of the moment had been a little more intimate than she'd bargained for.
True, the arrangement between them was somewhat...delicate. They'd agreed on the usual sex with no strings attached, and so the generic rules that prohibited commitments were applied - but then again, a simple fuck and goodbye was too crude to be feasible. She liked to believe that there was a tacit understanding between them that whole romance act thus far was just another part of foreplay, a charade designed to propagate the greater game. After all, what would sex be without the flirting and frisson that led up to it? This is all part of it, she reminded herself. This is what a true casual relationship was like. Pretending to care, but never really being there to weather the worst. It bugged her that this wasn't the first time she had to catch herself because moments like this always felt like they were overstepping an invisible boundary, breaking rules that no one dared speak about. But as long as she kept herself in check, always distancing the most vital part of her feelings - the truth - she knew that she would be safe, harnessed firmly to the reality of matters, never drifting too close to the sun.
She'd been so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't realize how much time had passed. They must have been standing there for quite some time, for now he broke away from her and walked towards the bar. "Do you really like the place, then?" he asked, pouring out two glasses of wine as he did so, "The general complaint from everyone is that it's a little too spartan to be comfortable."
"It's perfect, if you ask me. You've taken a very purist approach to the minimalist concept, which explains why so few appreciate it. I mean, I could never be this streamlined," she pointed at the kitchen, which had not a single pot or pan in sight, "In fact, I don't think I've ever met anyone who could manage being so...minimal. But it suits you, and that's saying something - it's your personal space. It's home."
He raised his eyebrows in amusement and took a sip of wine. "Never heard that one before, but thanks. It's nice to find someone who understands the principle behind it. You know, once, I've even had someone ask if I wasn't done moving in yet. She couldn't believe this was all there was going to be in the apartment."
"Well you can whittle down the whole place even more if you want, and if you're looking to get rid of that dining table, you're in luck. That," she swallowed a mouthful of wine and waved her wineglass in the direction of the futuristic table, "that would look amazing in my house." She paused for a moment. "Assuming it'd even fit. I think my house is the size of your bathroom."
He laughed out loud, eyes crinkling up in mirth. "Funny you should mention the table. It was designed by -"
"-Philippe Starck, I know," she cut him off smoothly, a playful twitch tugging at her lips. Aidan looked caught out for a second, but he just shook his head and smiled.
"Bloody hell, you're good. Has anyone ever told you that you have a great eye? I mean it," he leaned forward to look her in the eye. "You're such an astute observer, and you have impeccable taste."
Gwyneth tried to laugh off the compliment. "Yeah, well, I'm the girl with great taste who has resorted to openly begging for a designer table," she joked.
