My wine somehow ended up in my airway, and I coughed to shake it loose as the Bennets almost simultaneously exclaimed some version of her moniker, Kash the loudest.
“You’ve been wondering?” Kash asked flatly.
“Yes, I have.”
“Mother, I would ask you if you have no shame,” he said with stern force, “but I already know the answer.”
She shrugged innocently, picking up her wine glass. “What? It’s a perfectly normal question for one woman to ask another.”
“It most certainly is not,” Laney said, pinning her with a warning look.
“Lila is a wedding planner. I’d wager she knows the various cuts better than you, Elaine.”
This was true, but my napkin was still pressed to my lips as the coughing wound down. Kash’s hand patted my back gently, and a brief and befuddling vision of him patting a baby’s back just like that flashed in my mind.
Mr. Bennet spoke without looking up from his plate as he loaded his spoon. “We got that shipment of prairie clover in.”
Immediately, Mrs. Bennet pounced, the conversation fueled and stoked by Tess, who mercifully steered her through a number of topics, ending up in weddings where I joined in. As we went on about floral arrangements, the rest of the table carried on, the bubbling conversation easy and fluid, just like the Bennets. They might run on high octane, but they didn’t seem to quarrel, didn’t seem to snipe. The jab here or there, sure, but it was clear without more than a moment with them that they were a unit, a team. Even as an outsider, or perhaps especially as one, there was a feeling of belonging and a desire to belong, to become a part of that unit and hope that your little cog was somehow useful to their machine.
Kash slid his big hand into my lap, palm up, and I filled it with mine. We shared a look, a look that noted the farce as well as the rightness. It was a strange thing, the knowledge that we weren’t much more than a fling and the sense that we were so much more.
But I reminded myself of the truth between us. He didn’t want a relationship any more than I’d said I did when this all began. It was he who’d proposed we enter into this arrangement, and he’d made it clear that this was nothing more than an affair, a fleeting attachment. Nothing more, no matter how it might feel.
And I put that truth on repeat to carry on with the sham, pretending not to enjoy it as much as I did.
By the time dinner was over, I’d been asked only a couple more inappropriate questions, none of which fazed me, simply because I didn’t believe Mrs. Bennet would ever do any purposeful harm. I helped the Bennets clear the table and wash the dishes, wearing a hot-pink apron covered in yellow daisies that Mrs. Bennet had me don to protect the integrity of my white suit. But the second things slowed down, Kash made our excuses and swept me out the door with my unending promises to return soon and a hug from his mother that might have dislocated a rib.
As we walked toward our hotel, I slipped my hand into the crook of his elbow, and he flexed his arm to draw me closer.
“I am so sorry about that,” he said the moment we were out of earshot of the house.
I imagined Mrs. Bennet rushing to open one of the front facing windows so she wouldn’t miss a thing, and the vision made me smile.
“Don’t be. I enjoyed being your … well, if your mother is to be believed, we’re to be engaged any day.”
He chuckled, but the sound was edged with discomfort.
“Really. It was fine. Your mother is sweet, and your family is … they’re lovely. And very welcoming. Although I shudder to think what would happen if I ever did you wrong.”
“A witch hunt.”
“I wouldn’t expect any less.”
We walked in silence for a moment.
“It was a weird night,” he said.
“It was definitely that. But I mean it—I enjoyed myself. Other than the whole ex thing. I could have done without that,” I teased. But when he didn’t laugh or make a joke, I pulled us to a stop. “I never stopped to ask if you were all right.”
At the question, he looked so deeply into my eyes, I thought for a moment we both might drown from the weight of that long, solitary stare. But just as quickly as it had come, it was gone again, leaving me wondering if I’d imagined it.
With a smile, he said, “As long as I’m with you, everything’s all right.”
And when he kissed me, it wiped the world away, leaving me to believe the same was true.
16
Ophelia
LILA
A handful of days passed easily. I’d taken up semi-permanent residence at the hotel where I spent most nights with Kash, still reveling in the newfound pleasure of his company. While my days were crammed with meetings and appointments and the occasional apartment viewing, my nights were rife with Kash.
I’d been swept up like a summer breeze, easy and warm and with promises of endless sunshine.
It was liberating and terrifying, like riding a bike with no hands. I might careen out of control before I got my hands on the bars, or I could ride on with the wind in my hair and the sun on my face. It could go either way, and what a thrill that was.
I hummed happily as I checked my reflection in the mirror of my sister’s apartment. It was my first day off in nearly two weeks—the reconfiguration of the Felix wedding having eaten every spare minute I had—and my only plans were to meet Kash at the greenhouse. I’d dredged up my only pair of jeans and one of my two T-shirts, a fashionable V-neck in white.
The truth of my addiction to white, black, and the occasional shade of gray was that I didn’t have a head for fashion and color, not as it pertained to me. I could choose wedding colors for someone else without a second thought, but my wardrobe was as stark and rigid as I was.
As old me was. As I’d looked over my closet, I made it a point to add some color. Any color that couldn’t be considered neutral.
I looked fresh and easy, relaxed and happy. I almost didn’t recognize myself, my hair loosely braided, my face devoid of makeup beyond a touch of mascara. Regardless of the fact that these were the most casual clothes I owned, they weren’t fit for gardening—high-waisted designer jeans, expensive T-shirt half-tucked, a woven Chanel belt—but it was the best I had. Ivy’s canvas sneakers were the most authentic thing about me, scuffed with dirt and crinkled in the creases with use.
Kash would tease me in that way of his, a joke that felt more like a compliment than an insult, an endearment rather than an affront. A fluttering in my ribcage flushed my cheeks, just like thinking of him always did.
He gave me what he’d promised—he’d been the best distraction. Since we’d started seeing each other, work had been exponentially more bearable, simply because nothing could touch me. Kash had me floating above it all, too blissed out to be bothered with pithy things like Addison and her shitty attitude. And Brock was largely a thing of the past. Every day that passed with Kash left me wondering why I’d wasted so much time with someone who was so clearly wrong for me. These days, I felt beautiful and appreciated in ways I hadn’t in years.
Maybe it was the nature of our relationship. There was a reckless abandon, an untethered freedom I’d found in him. I wished I could have said it was just about sex. I’d come to crave his smile, the lightness I felt when he was near. Of course, I craved his body too, desperately sometimes. Intensely. In moments least expected, like at a wedding venue or signing contracts. He would creep into my mind, the memory of long nights and the feel of his hands, rough and able. Of his body, hot and hard. And just like that, I’d need him with urgency that shocked and electrified me. I was alive with feeling.