Unmasked

Chapter Three: The Other Wolfe

The Wolfe penthouse radiated affluence. I neglected to mention how it had the smell of polished marbles, the atmosphere reminiscent of an expensive spa, and pervasive silence so thick, you wished you could covertly whisper.

Truth be told, I should not have been attending this meeting.

Nevertheless, I had to suffer through the Wolfe gala because Damien had uncharacteristically chosen to yank me off the school premises. Talking about a private dinner which, for some inexplicable reason, his father ditched - yet again. “Come on,” he grunted. “It’s just Domien and me. It’ll be fun.”

The sentence - “It will be fun,” is something I began to actively ignore.

He was partially correct.

The elevator opened into their grand living room. The walls housed never-seen floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the mesmerizing broadway-dotted Manhattan. Not to mention the ceiling which towered beyond belief and the priceless artwork mounted on the walls that should in fact be showcased at museums - the ones I shamelessly visited on the weekends.

Dominic was already waiting.

I had distant recollections of having seen him. He resembled an absolutely refined version of Damien. The suit fitted him perfectly, unlike most prefabricated garments that are dressed halfheartedly by adolescents.

I could hazard a guess and say that his watch also had enough value to demolish the welfare state in which my mum’s apartment complex resided.

He strolled over and casually greeted me, "The pleasure's all mine".

"Sure, sure," Damien said as he waved his hand; "The traffic was horrible." "You do live seven blocks away," Dominic pointed out.

At that moment, he turned his attention to me.

Genuinely focused.

Unlike the majority of men, whose gaze moves just as far as what they need, Dominic was someone who seemed to like reading people. With his eyes, Dominic’s gaze made me feel like I had the bow of an ancient king, so I stood straight.

Dominic finally asked, “And are you?”

Mouth slightly ajar due to focus, pause would be the next step.

“I’m Maya.” “My girlfriend.” "Maya" was a name thrown by Damien to my aid.

"Dominic’s change was subtle: The one who hates the museum and consumes sugar that is ridiculously overpriced.

I blinked. I just blinked.

“Is it true?” Douglas mused, arriving halfway to the answer.

“Precisely.” From Damien’s lips stepped an amused reply adding to the discussion.

Dominic made a small gesture which seemed to indicate "yes". Silence was his choice for all forms of speech. Inflected.

“It is certainly peculiar.”

Peculiar, I added to myself rambling as I fixed a rather oversized chair. At the glass table sent us together.

The rest of the split was marked by Mitchell scrolling through his screen. This multitasking, which immersed me in admiration in addition to the lack of activity perplexing me, did keep Damien busy.

Lines of polite interrogation were coming ‘Dominic’, over a quarter of where I had gone and school ‘Thanks to exhausting questions’ had planned after and where my roots were planted.

Lied, obviously. Gave Damien’s version of me. City girl Maya. Big dreams, small skirts.

But Dominic didn’t look convinced.

Around dinner, Damien received a call, so he excused himself.

The silence left behind the room was somehow thicker.

Dominic stared at me with a focused gaze. “He doesn’t know you.” My heart dropped. “I beg your pardon?”

He took a swallow of his drink. So relaxed that it appeared as though he had no care in the world. “You flinch at every single one of his touches. You have not finished a single one of your beverages since you entered the room. And that painting on the wall? You averted your gaze six times in ten minutes. Do you know who painted it?”

My gaze fell on the painting. It was none other than an oil abstract depiction.

“Margot Klein,” I murmured.

“Exactly,” he replied with a grin.

A pause.

“You don't belong in Damien's world,” he stated. “But you don’t hate it either.”

I looked down at my hands. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It denotes,” he said, lowering his voice but keeping its certainty,

“You’re still determining what your identity is.”

And I loathed how accurate he was.

Damien strolled back in, still chuckling at something his friend said on the phone. “Are you set to leave, babe?”

I looked up, smiled, and gave a nod.

But I knew Dominic's gaze trailed me as we walked out.

And for the first time in many weeks, I felt like I was not unnoticed.