He’s about to kiss me. I can feel it. And I’m going to let him. I want it—
The song ends. The crowd around us applauds loudly.
“That one goes out to Neil Drake and his new bride!” announces Justin B. “Congrats, man. Mazel tov.”
The spell is broken. Neil—ever the gentleman—lifts his chin and gives the man on stage a friendly wave. The singer takes a bow and walks off stage just as the band launches into an instrumental dance tune. All around us, bodies begin to move to the beat.
Thank goodness. That was almost a disaster. I need a moment alone to shake it off. “I’ve got to…” I reach for an excuse to run away. “Touch up my lipstick.”
Without waiting for a reply, I step back and then slip between two older couples happily jitterbugging.
It’s not exactly graceful to ditch your new husband on the dance floor. But I do it anyway. My emotional kitty-cat needs a moment under the sofa where she’s safe.
I grab my clutch purse off the table and head for the grand lobby, which is quieter and at least somewhat less populated than the ballroom. “Excuse me,” I ask a uniformed man who’s gathering discarded cocktail glasses from the bar and loading them onto a tray. “Is there a ladies’ room nearby?”
“There’s that one, which looks busy.” He gestures down a hallway, where I spot a line of women waiting. “But there’s another one up there and straight down the hall.” He points up a grand, curving staircase. “Nobody knows about that one.”
“You are a treasure. Thank you.” I straighten my back and stride up the fancy staircase, clutching the curved bannister as if I belong here.
It’s quieter upstairs. My heels sink into the sumptuous rug. My heart rate slows down, and I pull my phone out of the clutch to check the time. We’ve only been at this event for ninety minutes?
Unfrickingbelievable.
Wandering down the corridor, I find a door marked Damsels and roll my eyes. But if it’s empty, I don’t care what they call it.
Pushing open the door, I see a cluster of furniture upholstered in pink tweed. The sitting area has lit mirrors and a vanity with a supply of tissues. On the opposite wall another door leads to what I assume is the business part of the bathroom.
Before I can push through it, I hear voices.
“I can’t believe he would do this to me! It’s so humiliating.”
That’s Iris’s voice. Shit. And Paisley answers her. “I’m sorry, babe.”
“She’s not his type at all! Little tramp from nowhere. Just like all the rest of his trash that he used to run to every time we broke up.”
A gasp lodges itself in my throat, and it stings like anger. Self-preservation is the only thing that holds me back from giving her a piece of my mind. I’d like to, but I’m here for Neil. He’d asked me to play the role of the nice little wife for an event that’s important to him.
I won’t blow it for him.
“That girl has no idea,” Iris rants. “She’s just a hobby for him. She’ll figure out soon enough that he doesn’t really care. There’s nobody Neil really cares about except himself,” she whines.
“Iris,” Paisley says, and I expect her to defend her brother. “Don’t cry or I’ll have to redo your mascara. Here. Have a glass of water.”
That’s it? That’s all Paisley has to say in defense of Neil? My heart thumps, and I know I should walk away before I get caught listening.
“You know what really burns me?” Iris goes on. “I spent three months of my life busting my ass to make a half a million dollars for this charity. But it only took that girl one night in Vegas and a bottle of tequila to take Neil for millions of dollars.”
Holy shit. I’m burning up with fury. And she’s not even done.
“That whore is wearing your grandmother’s ring! She’s not even pretty. She’s a hockey player for fuck’s sake. They fight dirty.”
My jaw unhinges at this bit of slander. That’s it. I’m done. You can’t insult hockey like that.
I push that door open and walk in. “No, ma’am. I’ve got to correct you there. In hockey, if we have a problem with you, we say it to your face.”
They both freeze, staring back at me in shock.
Paisley recovers first. She lays one manicured hand on the marble countertop and gives me a cool stare. “Are you going to go running to Neil and tell him we were gossiping about you?”
“Please,” I scoff. “Of course, you’re gossiping about me. How is that news? You did it in high school, too.”
Her eyes narrow. “If you don’t like the gossip, then maybe you should keep your mitts off my brother.”
That’s when I run out of comebacks. Because I know it doesn’t matter how pretty my dress is, or whether I used the right fork at dinner. To these women, I’ll always be that girl—the one who’s shown up somewhere she doesn’t belong.
They’ll never understand that they have it all wrong. I’m not after Neil’s billions. What I’d wanted that night in Vegas was even more pathetic. I’d wanted his approval. Just a little taste of what it might feel like to be someone’s first choice.
My throat is starting to close down, but I lift my chin a few degrees and manage to get the last word. “It wasn’t tequila, by the way. I used whiskey.”
Then, lungs bursting from trying to hold in a scream, I leave the bathroom.
TWENTY-TWO
BIG PLANS. SO BIG.
Neil
I’m in the center of the lobby, leaning against the pedestal of a marble statue of Zeus, and looking for Charli.
Where has my dance partner run off to? Did I fuck up that badly? Has she left the party?
Finally, I spot her walking briskly down the grand staircase. Her legs look a mile long in those heels. God, that dress. I want to remove those little shoulder straps with my teeth.
As she gets closer, I notice her fierce expression. She doesn’t even see me; she’s just motoring down those stairs like she’ll turn into a pumpkin if she tarries.
I set my club soda down on Zeus’s pedestal—sorry, man—and step forward to tag Charli’s hand before she can pass me. “Hey, wifey. Where’s the fire?” When she turns, I have my answer—it’s in her eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Of course.” But the flush on her face tells a different story.
I catch her other hand, too, because she looks like someone who might do a runner. “What’s the matter? You look a little angry.”
“That’s standard issue on this model,” she says, her voice breathy. But her eyes flick toward the staircase as if she’s worried that someone is following her.
My sister and Iris come into view at the top of the stairs. They pause to lean on the railing and take in the view.
Shit. “Did something happen?”
She gives her head a shake and then looks me in the eye. “Nothing I can’t handle. It’s just part of the game, Neil. I’m playing my role as you asked me to. It’s just a little messier than I expected it to be.”
“Now hold up. Was somebody mean to you?”