Your Mark on Me

Chapter 37: The Party (I)

We were back in London by Saturday evening, when Mark received a phone call that annoyed him a great deal.

"That damned shrew! She called Jane just to tell her I'm going out with a high school girl. Why can't she bloody mind her own business?"

"Who? Claire?" I was sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed even though I had a dressing table, busy removing the nail varnish off my longer than usual nails. I hadn't played the piano in over a week now, but I wouldn't have had at Aunt Helen's either, so I wasn't feeling that guilty yet. Nevertheless, I was dying to try Mark's Steinway on Monday, when we were going to the house. I missed playing.

"Yes. Jane called to make sure I'm coming alone. She doesn't want to be embarrassed in front of her important friends. What a joke."

He had told me she was involved in politics, running for some sort of high-level position, and that there would be a lot of important people at the party. She had hired a whole banquet hall for it, at the Savoy.

"It's ok, I don't need to come. I honestly don't mind."

In fact, I'd have preferred it.

"Don't be silly. I already told her: if you don't come, I'm not going either."

"I don't want you to be uncomfortable", I said quietly. "I know you'll be, if I'm there. But you should go, she's your sister."

"My wise little girl." Mark sat next to me and pulled me on his lap, his face against mine, his chin rubbing on my cheek. "I want you to come. They'll have to get used to seeing your face, because you'll be my side at every family gathering and every social event from now on."

He brushed my hair aside and kissed the exposed skin of my neck. "Unless you dump me next year, for some young student, barely living off his allowance and dreaming of being a world-known conductor. I bet you'd find that bohemian and appealing."

"Not more appealing than dating a published writer. You've sent out the book, right?"

I had been pestering him about for a few days now. He was too talented to let it go to waste. I was going to be a famous pianist, and Mark, a famous writer: the best couple ever.

Mark smiled. "Yes. It's being edited now. It's definitely happening."

I let out a scream of joy. "I can't wait to hold it. And see it in the shops. I'm going to be so proud! I am proud!"

I turned around to cover his face in little kisses, and he closed his eyes, smiling and enjoying it.

"You might have to wait a bit for that. In the meantime, though, I might write another one." His eyes were glowing with excitement. "I had an idea, in Paris."

We made tea and sat in the lounge. As I was listening to the plot of the new book, from time to time asking questions, it felt like one of our old days in his house in DC, except we were in a different city, and we were both slightly different people, because time and life and encounters change people, but it's less obvious when they change together.

In the evening, I started feeling anxious about the following day. What if he'd be embarrassed with me? What if I did, or said, something stupid?

"Don't worry about it", Mark replied jokingly. "If you don't do anything stupid, then great. If you do — even better. It will make for the one entertaining dinner party out of the many that I've been to."

On Sunday, at four o'clock, Mark drove me to the salon to get my makeup, my hair and my nails done. He was going to get ready in the meantime and pick me up at half five.

"Don't overdo it, okay? You shouldn't feel like you need to be someone else. We're not trying to trick anyone here."

I blushed, because he'd read my mind. I had already planned to ask them to "make me look more mature".

He showed up at exactly five thirty, with characteristic punctuality. My breath stopped when I saw him. He looked gorgeous in his dark tuxedo, with a bow tie and handkerchief in his pocket, his brown, wavy hair which had grown slightly longer brushed back and up, in a sleek wind-swept look. 

I felt like a princess, waiting to be taken to the ball by her knight in shining armor.

"I picked this up on the way", Mark said, after we parked at the Savoy. "I thought it would go well."

It was a delicate silver necklace, which fitted very nicely with the bracelet he'd bought me a few days before, when we had been shopping. He helped me put it on and I gave him a quick kiss. 

I was thrilled, and not necessarily because of the necklace: it was almost a year ago that we first met. — just like now, he was dressed up to the black-tie code, and I wore a red dress, except back then we were strangers, and now, we were going to a dinner party together, as a couple!

Before we walked up the stairs, Mark stopped and looked at me intently. We didn't speak, but his eyes were asking "Are you ready?", and mine replied that I was.

He then grasped my hand, took in a deep breath, and we went in.