“You could stay with me. I have lots of room.”
Yes, he does, in his expensive apartment on East 87th. “I’m not staying with you.” I keep walking, looking straight ahead.
“It’s cold, honey. Come on. Let me take you home.”
“I’ve just been locked out of my home,” I reply bitterly. “Thanks to you.” Then I stop and turn to glare at him. “This is thanks to you.”
His eyes narrow fractionally but his shrug is casual. “Vince thinks we should be together, too.”
I slowly move my head from side to side. “I don’t know what is going on here, but this seems extreme, even for Vince. He’s never been exactly fatherly to me, but he’s always provided for me. Kicking me out…?” I study Roman’s face. His expression is neutral, but I think his eyes flicker. “Why are you doing this?”
“I love you, Emerie.”
“Oh my God.” I start walking again. “No, you don’t.”
“Jesus. Yes, I do!” The passion in his voice startles me. Roman’s part of a successful family business empire. He knows how to negotiate. He knows how to get what he wants. And this isn’t it. He knows to keep his cards close to his chest.
I stop again and search his face. He meets my eyes, his fiery, his mouth tight.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly. “I’ve been honest with you, Roman.” I hold his gaze steadily. “We’re over. I’m with someone else now.” And then it hits me, almost like a punch. I asked Owen to come to the party as my date to show Roman I’m with someone else. But now… “The truth is, I’m…” I stop. I’m what? In love? With a guy I barely know? Yes. I think I kind of am. “I’m falling for Owen,” I say. “I care about him a lot.”
Roman’s face returns to unreadable, but a vein throbs in his temple, and his jaw tightens. For a moment he says nothing, and I can see his thoughts turning. I liked Roman well enough when we started dating. I’d known him for years, and since his family and Vince were friends, I thought he was a decent guy. But right now, I’m a little afraid of him. Finally, he says, “You’re making a mistake.” He turns and walks away.
Holy shit.
This is ridiculous. Why is he being like this? I haven’t led him on. I don’t think. At first, after we broke up and he kept pushing me, maybe I wasn’t assertive enough. But come on! I’m with someone else now!
I resume walking, turn the corner, and see the Carlyle. Okay, I can go in there.
“Checking in?” a doorman asks me, seeing my suitcase.
“Um, no, actually.” I glance around. “I’m here for afternoon tea.”
“Ah.” He stretches his arm out with a smile, and I cross the lobby.
I’m seated on the brocade banquette, my suitcase parked to the side. I pull out my phone and set it on the red tablecloth while I drag off my scarf and coat. I feel spacey. In a daze.
This can’t be happening.
What do I have to do to get Vince to let me come home?
Do I want him to let me come home?
Well, I have nowhere else to live, so duh. Also, there’s Cat. My heart clutches, thinking about her. She needs me. Never mind me, Vince can’t do this to her! What is he thinking?
I remember Vince’s vague threat when I told him I was going away with Owen. Jesus. He was serious. But…is this coming from him? Or from Roman?
A waitress brings me a pot of Assam tea. I need this warmth. I pick up my cup and wrap both hands around it. Probably poor tea drinking etiquette.
What am I going to do? My best friend is in India. I’ve let friendships slide the last few years, and there isn’t anyone else I’m close enough to, to ask to stay with them. I guess I could get a hotel room. The note from Vince said my credit card has been cancelled, but I have money of my own. I’m not that stupid. I’ve put aside money not only from Vince, but also some of my busking money. In the past, I’ve used it to donate to a charity that helps street musicians, but it looks like I’m now my favorite charity. Ha.
I could call Owen.
Things are new with us, but surely he’d be okay with me staying with him for a few days. Until…I don’t know until when, but I’ll figure something out.
The waitress brings me a selection of small sandwiches, scones, and pastries. Surprisingly, I’m starving. I wolf down a few delicious sandwiches, then spread a scone with thick cream and strawberry jam, washing it all down with full-bodied tea.
Okay. I feel better now.
My phone rings.
I grab it and see Owen’s name. Oh good. I answer. “Hi!”
“Hi, beautiful.”
“I’m so glad you called! You’re not going to believe what happened.”
“What?”
“Vince has kicked me out.” I keep my voice low. It’s not busy in here, but I don’t want to broadcast my soap opera life to everyone in the restaurant.
“What?” His tone sharpens.
“I’m not kidding.” I tell him what just happened. “He sort of threatened to do this before we left for Aruba, but I didn’t think he really would.”
“You didn’t tell me that.”
“I didn’t think he’d do something like this!”
“Okay, okay. Where are you?”
“I’m at the Carlyle, having afternoon tea.” Suddenly this strikes me as hilarious, and I start laughing.
“Are you drinking?” he asks.
“No.” I swipe a tear from my eye. It’s from laughing. I think. “I’m having Assam tea. And scones.” I sigh. “Can I ask you a huge favor?”
“Of course.”
I swallow. “Can I stay with you for a few days?”
After only the briefest hesitation, he says, “Of course you can.”
I blow out a relieved breath. “Okay. Thanks. Um…I don’t even know where you live. Exactly.” I know it’s on the West Side.
“I’ll come get you.”
“I can take a taxi.”
“No. I’ll come get you. I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“Okay. Thank you.” My heart settles down.
I eat another cucumber sandwich and a small tart, finish my tea, and pay the bill. Then I head back outside to wait on the sidewalk for Owen.
I don’t even know what kind of car he drives. This is crazy. We barely know each other. And yet…he’s the one I trust to help me.
A brief wave of self-pity washes over me, and I blink back tears. No tears.
I hope Klara is picking up Cat from school. What is she going to think about this? God. My breathing quickens, thinking about Cat being upset.
A silver Range Rover pulls up at the curb and the door opens. Owen jumps out.
I rush at him and throw my arms around him. “Thank you for coming.” More tears threaten. God, what is wrong with me?
His hands land on my back and rub. “I got you.”
I sniffle and lift my chin to meet his eyes. “Thank you. Really.”
“I’ll get your suitcase.”
He tosses it into the back of his vehicle, and we both climb in. He makes a right turn, then another onto Park Avenue. Traffic is nuts at this time of day, but then, when isn’t it?