“God, you really are a heartless bitch.” I scoff, using my body like a force field as I pass through the doorway and lock up behind me.
I leave Kerenza on the steps, and I don’t look back. Focusing on the journey in front of me, I make my way to Luciana’s on Fifth.
Thirty-Four
Aidy
* * *
My mother hasn’t let go of my hand since we sat down. She’s been clinging to my side since she flew in this morning and busted into our apartment singing her own rendition of Frank Sinatra’s New York, New York, her brightly hued Lily Pulitzer bag slung over her shoulder and a matching rolling suitcase behind her. Coming to the city feels like the first time to her, every time, and it’s adorable.
“Doesn’t your sister look beautiful?” Mom squeezes my hand, staring wistfully at Wren and Chauncey at the head of the table. “I always knew she’d make a lovely bride. And you will too, someday.”
I don’t tell her I’m not even thinking that far ahead. It’d break her heart.
“Julie, how are you?” Topaz takes a seat across from us, smiling ear to ear.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Mom smiles back. “It’s so wonderful to see you. Look at that hair? Lavender. I love it.”
Topaz runs her fingers through a shiny wave and shrugs. “I’m thinking of going auburn next. It’s almost fall, and I want something that looks good with jewel tones.”
Leave it to Topaz to coordinate the color of her hair with seasonal wardrobe color palettes.
“Auburn would be lovely on you,” Mom says.
“Where’s your date?” I whisper across the table, nose scrunched.
“He’s coming,” she says, sighing. “He’s late. He was finishing up a shoot in Tribeca, but he’s on his way.”
The clinking of glass fills the small party room we’re sharing, and we all turn our attention to the head of the table where Chauncey is tapping his butter knife against a champagne flute. As soon as the room quiets, he reaches for Wren’s hand and pulls her close.
“Thank you, everyone,” Chauncey says, his face turning beet red when he speaks. “We just wanted to thank you all for coming to our reception. Simply stated, today has been one of the best days of my entire life. Never in a million years did I think I’d meet someone as wonderful as Wren, and the fact that she’s carrying my child and she agreed to marry me makes me the luckiest Irishman in all of Manhattan. Enzo, I’m very privileged to be your stepfather, and to assist your mother in raising you. You’re going to be an amazing big brother, no doubt in my mind. And Julie and Aidy, thank you for welcoming me into your family. I know you three are thick as thieves, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to join your circle of craziness.”
Mom lifts her glass to Chauncey, grinning, pink lipstick on her teeth and all.
I watch Wren, smiling when our eyes meet, and she smiles back. She couldn’t have chosen a more perfect day to marry her soul mate. The weather cooperated. Her hair and makeup were on point. Everyone showed up on time.
It’s a shame that my father isn’t here, but at the end of the day, it’s his loss. He’s the one who’s going to have to live with that. I’m just beyond grateful that Wren is marrying someone better than him. She’s marrying the man she deserves, and he’s going to make her incredibly happy.
Candles flicker on the table, surrounded by red roses. It’s an awfully romantic setting, and I find myself wishing Ace were here something fierce. Mom would’ve loved him. And then she would’ve done everything in her power to embarrass me.
From the corner of my eye, I spot Topaz rise in her seat slightly, giving a wave toward the doorway. Following her gaze, I see a man making his way to the empty seat beside her.
“Thanks for coming, everyone,” Wren says at the head of the table, lifting her flute of sparkling apple cider. “Food should be coming out shortly. Drinks are on us.”
We lift our glasses and toast to the new Finnegan family, and Mom wipes a tear from the corner of her eye.
“Sorry I’m late,” I hear a man’s voice across the table. It’s Topaz’s date.
Mom is talking my ear off once again, telling me some gossip about Aunt Bev back home, but from the corner of my eye I almost swear I’m seeing Ace. I shake my head, chalking it up to my brain playing tricks on me. He’s been on my mind all day. All week really. I’ve been seeing him everywhere I go, all over the city. Any man with chocolate brown hair and a rock solid body and a brooding walk about him, I’m convinced is Ace. I almost couldn’t breathe on the train two nights ago when I thought for sure that the guy sitting behind me wearing headphones was him.
“Aidy, this is Gianluca,” Topaz says. I glance across the table at her date and nearly lose my breath. Gianluca is modern and urban and drop-dead sexy, wavy, shoulder-length hair, leather motorcycle jacket, and all. Topaz wears an apprehensive smile, like she’s trying to pretend she doesn’t like him or that she’s too cool to get excited over the gorgeous specimen of man seated beside her.
“Nice to meet you,” I say, extending my hand over a flickering candle.
Topaz watches me from across the table, trying to gauge my reaction.
I take a deep breath and reach for the water in front of me. Seeing Gianluca next to Topaz makes me miss Ace so much it hurts.
All the ice cubes have melted in my goblet, and the glass is slick with condensation. Gripping the glass, it nearly slides from my fingers, but the frigid cold snaps me back into the present moment.
Gianluca is nothing like Ace, but there’s something familiar about him. Maybe it’s his mannerisms or his posture. Something I can’t place exactly.
Or maybe I just really, really miss Ace and I’m projecting.
Giving myself a moment, I convince myself that this is all in my head. Topaz has worked with Ace. She knows his aura. His demeanor. If she thought Gianluca reminded her of Ace, she’d surely have said something, right? Then again, it’s Topaz, and she tends to be a bit oblivious to most things.
It’s all in my head. It has to be.
I clear my throat and lean in, composing myself. “Topaz tells me you’re a photographer?”
He leans in before he answers, eyes locked on mine. His dark eyes are intense, but his body is fluid, relaxed.
“I am,” he says. “Mostly fashion. For some reason they love me in Milan. I’m always over there for shoots.”
“What kind of shoots do you do? Like commercials or magazine spreads . . .?” Making small talk with him helps to keep my mind busy and my curiosity at bay.
“Little bit of everything.” He laughs through his nose, the corner of his mouth lifting on one side. He’s extremely good-looking. Pretty, even. The proportions of his face are perfection, and his hooded brown eyes draw me in like magnets. No wonder Topaz likes him. He’s a walking billboard model. I bet he’s the kind of guy who takes naked pictures of his girlfriends, and not in the perverted, skeezy type, but the artistic, sensual kind.
“Oh, nice,” I say, keeping my response canned because I’m struggling to think clearly here as I try to determine what’s so familiar about this man.