by Staci Hart
It was as close to a scolding that I’d maybe ever gotten from her, and I found myself speechless for a moment as I looked her over where she sat in her bed, her face angry and flushed.
“Annie, I know Will is handsome and charming. He says all the right things and makes all the right moves. But that doesn’t mean he’s right for you. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Maybe things could have been different,” I said with a shaky voice, “but they’re not. We’re exactly where we are, and the train only goes one way. So, I appreciate your concern, but you don’t know either one of them.” I turned for the door, whipping it open with a whoosh.
“No, but I know you, and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Too late,” I said, slamming the door behind me.
I got dressed in a rush, swiping miserable, mad tears from my face, which was swollen and splotchy. But my irises were electric, sharp with the multitude of feelings they held.
The apartment hummed with activity as everyone got ready for their workdays, but I made no unnecessary chatter and avoided contact with Elle entirely. She stood quietly in the kitchen watching me, not with anger or blame, only understanding and forgiveness, which somehow upset me even more.
The car was silent as I rode across town to work, the sky heavy with low gray clouds ready to drop their payload. And once at work, I stood outside the locked store as the first raindrops fell like a sigh.
Greg stepped out from behind the bar, and with every footfall, my breath thinned. His hard jaw was tight and square, his brows heavy and the emotion in his midnight eyes locked down like a jail cell.
The door swung open.
I walked past him.
He said nothing.
I carried the weight of that moment as I hurried to the back and he moved back to the bar and whatever task he’d been occupied with. And I tried to tell myself it was fine, everything was fine, today would be fine.
As it turned out, my day was anything but fine.
My heart was in especially rare form, skipping and fluttering like moth wings, erratic and unsteady, which landed me on a stool behind the counter.
A particularly aggressive customer argued with me for a solid five minutes about the price of a book. Ruby finally intervened after the lady yelled, You dumb hick at me.
The bright spot was the Monte Cristo I ordered for lunch, but as I sat in the bar with Greg so close, I found I couldn’t eat.
His presence was a dark void in my periphery, sucking away all the light, all my will, all my composure.
What hurt worse than anything was the knowledge that he wasn’t angry; he was hurt, so hurt that he couldn’t even glance in my direction. He couldn’t bear my company, and I couldn’t blame him.
Greg had bared his heart, and I had given him nothing in return. I hadn’t said anything; I’d been too confused and shocked to answer him. Even now, I didn’t know how to answer him, not exactly.
What I did know was that Will wasn’t all I’d imagined him to be, and Greg was more than I could have possibly bargained for.
The day wore on in a never-ending grind mill of minuscule injuries to my heart, one after another. Even when I thought the day was finally over and went to check out, my drawer was short six dollars and forty-two cents.
Rose didn’t ask questions (past, Are you okay? To which I replied, Just a bad day). I started to cry a little, but she didn’t press me for more, just offered me a lollipop from Cam’s candy jar, which I took graciously. I paid the difference out of my pocket money, courtesy of Susan.
I kept my puffy, bloodshot eyes forward and my chin up as I walked past the bar. He watched me; I could feel the heat of his gaze and the pain it carried, as if he were whispering them in my ear. And through the doors I went, waiting in the cold for the driver. But the cold didn’t bother me. In truth, I barely felt it. I was already numb.
When I made it home, I gave cursory answers and excused myself to my room, but before I could reach its comforting confines, Elle appeared in her doorway.
“Hey,” she said gently.
“Hey,” I echoed as my nose began burning again.
“I’m sorry for this morning, Annie. I didn’t mean to hurt you or upset you.”
“I know. And I’m sorry, too.”
She stepped into the hall and embraced me. “No, don’t be sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”
“Sometimes, I need a good shove.”
Elle chuckled and pulled away. “Rough day?”
I sighed. “It’s that obvious?”
“You look like you dropped your favorite earrings down the drain.”
“Not far off, I guess.” I opened my bedroom door, and she followed me in.
We both sat on the bed. Well, she sat. I sagged.
“Was Greg there today?” she asked after a moment.
I nodded. “Although I might as well not have been. He wouldn’t even look at me, Elle. I might as well have been a ghost.” I stared at my wardrobe and through the branches and bird painted on its doors. “I want to believe it will get easier. It has to, right? Time heals all wounds, and all that.”
“I think it will. And maybe, after some time and space, Greg will come around. In life, all things are temporary.”
“That’s both futile and comforting.”
She smiled, lips together.
“Will hasn’t texted me all day,” I admitted with another flash of pain. “I thought he might apologize. But…I really screwed up, didn’t I?”
“No, that’s the thing. You didn’t do anything to hurt anyone on purpose.”
“But does my intention really matter?”
“I have to believe it does. To someone who loves you, intentions are everything.” She toyed with my hair. “Are you going to message him?”
“What else can I even say? He hurt me, kept hurting me, even after I apologized. And I get that he’s angry, but I don’t know how to change that. I don’t know what to offer him.”
She watched me for a moment, her fingers still fiddling with one of my curls. “Annie, I really am sorry about Will and Greg.”
“Me too,” I said on a sigh that carried too many regrets to count.
The doorbell rang, the sound followed by a clamor of barking at multiple octaves, and a moment later, I heard Aunt Susan excitedly calling my name.
She swept into my room with her arms full of long boxes. “These just came for you. Whatever could they be?”
I moved out of the way as she set them on the bed. An envelope was fixed to the top, the paper thick and soft, and my heart skittered as I opened it and read the letter inside.
Annie,
I’m sorry for my jealousy and for the harshness of my words this morning. I was wrong. I never have liked to share, and I’m not always as patient as I wish to be, but those are faults of mine, and I’m sorry I punished you for them.
The dresses I promised are here for you. I hope you’ll forgive me. I’d do just about anything to see you in it. And, if not, I’ll only wish I could have been so lucky.
Yours,
Will
I passed the note to Elle and reached for the box on top.
“Well, what does it say?” Susan said from behind me, and Elle began to read it.
But I didn’t hear them.
I lifted the top of the sturdy red box and gasped.
The empire-waisted dress was made of cream satin and silk chiffon, embroidered with beads that shimmered in the light, the neckline low and square, the back, I could see, dropped into a V. When I picked it up and saw it in full, I could have died from the sheer brilliance.
Elle gasped.
The skirts were made of the same delicate chiffon, the heavy hem scalloped and lined with more beads. It pooled on the ground, and the gathered silk in back spilled down to the floor in the slightest, most elegant train.
“Oh my God,” I breathed. “How could I possibly wear this to a bar?”
Susan laughed. “Easy. You put it on and go. D
on’t you dare waste a dress like this.”
Elle reached into the box. “Look, there are matching gloves and a fascinator. Annie, this is…”
“I know,” I breathed. “Let’s look at yours.”
I laid my dress down in its box and moved it out of the way. Pulling off the lid of the other box elicited gasps from all three of us at once.
The gown was taffeta, the iridescent blue-green like that of a peacock feather. The empire waist was lined with delicate gold fringe, and a large, sweeping floral pattern was embroidered in shimmering gold down the front of the skirts and around the hem.
“Well,” Susan said as we all gaped at the spoils Will had sent, “I think he’s maybe earned another chance. Don’t you think?”
I picked up the note and read it again, touched the strong, square letters.
At my fingertips was an apology from a man I cared about. I’d lost Greg, but Will was still here, still eager and willing. And if he could prove himself, maybe we could find our way back to the magic of the beginning.
And so I decided to defer to my list, to my newfound outlook on life, my cure to move forward when life got hard. I would live in the moment and survive on my hopes.
So with a smile, I said, “I believe he does, too.”
Greg
The second Annie walked out the doors and slipped into the black Mercedes, I threw my towel in the dish well with shaking hands and stormed to the back.
All day, I had felt her there, so close and a world away. Her face was drawn, her nose red and eyes brilliant from crying.
And those tears were because of me.
A war had raged in my ribs between the desire to wipe those tears away and the knowledge that to do that, I’d only inflict more pain on myself. I’d almost been tempted despite the fact.
Don’t be so fucking dramatic, I told myself, raking a hand through my hair. She’s just a girl.
But that was a lie, and I knew it in my marrow. She wasn’t just any girl, and I couldn’t pretend like she was.
“Uh, you okay?” Rose asked when she saw me wearing a track in the cement, her brows knit together in concern.
“No, I’m not fucking okay,” I muttered and paced away from her like I had somewhere to go.
“What happened?”
“I took her to the ballet,” I answered, like that explained everything.
She didn’t say anything, and when I turned to pace back toward her, her arms were folded as she waited for me to elaborate.
“Lily didn’t realize Annie had a boyfriend who isn’t me.”
“Oh God.” Her eyes widened. “Oh God. Cam!” she called over her shoulder.
I turned again to stalk away. “After that, we got in the cab and I…I just couldn’t pretend anymore. I spilled it all, and I told her I couldn’t do it anymore.”
When I turned again, Cam was at Rose’s side, and they wore matching expressions of shock and dismay.
“Well, what did she say?” Cam asked.
“Nothing. She said nothing.”
I stopped in the middle of the room, hands hanging on my hips, my eyes searching the walls, then the ceiling for answers.
“Greg, I’m so sorry.” Cam’s words were soft and sad and did absolutely nothing to ease my aching heart.
“I can’t even fucking look at her.”
“You’re mad?” Rose asked, surprised.
A tight laugh fought its way out of my narrowing throat. “I’m not mad. I’m gutted.” I ran a hand over my mouth. “I don’t even know what happened to me, how I got here, how I came to care so much, so fast. But here I am.” I spread my arms in display. “Welcome to hell.”
“Greg…” Cam started, concerned.
I took a breath. Let it out. Straightened my face.
My heart did what it wanted.
“I’m fine. Really. I’ll be fine,” I insisted, pushing the line we all knew was bullshit. “Seriously, stop looking at me like that. I just…I just need a minute after spending an entire day thinking about how upset she is and how much I hurt her.”
They didn’t look like they were buying it, but Cam sighed. “All right. We’re around, if you want to talk about it.”
“Thanks, Cam, but there’s nothing left to say. And Rose, thanks for the tickets and for helping to get Annie behind the piano. You should have seen her face.” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “I’ll be in the cage if you need me. We got that whiskey shipment in today.”
“Sure, okay,” she answered, touching Rose’s arm.
And then I was alone once again with nothing but my regrets to keep me company.
18
All That Glitters
Annie
“Okay, open your eyes.”
I did as I’d been told, drawing in a breath of surprise when I saw myself in my bedroom mirror.
The makeup artist stood at my side, smiling as she watched my reaction, my eyes roaming my face and hair in wonder.
“I can’t believe that’s me.”
I turned my head side to side, inspecting my hair, which was piled in romantic curls on my head. A gold velvet ribbon wound around my crown twice at intervals, weaving in and out of my hair in a Grecian fashion. The fascinator was pinned just above my ear, a beaded pair of leaves over a frame of creamy feather tips. And my makeup, though simple and natural, changed my face somehow, opened my eyes up, made them brighter, brought color to my cheeks and lips.
It was miraculous.
“Like it?” she asked eagerly.
“I love it,” I breathed. My eyes moved lower to the angry, welted scar between my breasts, which were pinned and swelling from the confines of the bodice of my dress.
I ran my finger over the scar, wishing I had the porcelain décolletage of the movies.
“Did you want me to cover that up?” she asked. “I have some stage makeup that covers up tattoos and scars.”
But I smiled. “No, that’s all right. It’s just as much a part of me as anything else.”
The doorbell rang, sending the dogs on their tear through the house. I stood, gathering my skirts and hurrying out of the room as best I could, nearly falling over when I saw Will just inside the door.
He was utterly gorgeous—from top hat to riding boots and everywhere in between.
But my heart swung back when it remembered the pain he’d caused, swinging even further away when I wished for a fleeting moment that it were Greg standing in the entry in a cravat and tails, smiling at me like I was the center of the universe.
Will doffed his hat and bowed as I approached. “Why, Annie, you look lovely tonight and all nights.”
I curtsied, lowering my eyes and composing my thoughts as Susan wrangled the dogs away.
He replaced his hat and took my gloved hands in his, pulling me close enough to speak in a hush, “I’m sorry, Annie. I…I am a jealous man, and that jealousy drives me to say things I shouldn’t. I’m sorry I was harsh. I’m sorry I hurt you. Am I forgiven?”
I smiled, but the gesture was thin. I’d not yet healed from the lashing, but the bandage was a beautiful effort. With some time, I hoped we could put it behind us. But if his habit of flying off the handle was any indicator, it would only be a matter of time before we found ourselves there again.
For now, I would have faith.
“Of course I forgive you,” I answered as his thumb stroked my hand through my satin glove.
And with that liberation, he brought my hand to his lips.
Mama was at my side, and Susan approached, red-faced and smiling as she brushed an errant hair from her face. “Will Bailey! How is your mother? Well, I hope.”
“She is. Thank you, Mrs. Jennings. Though I’ve barely seen her; she’s working on a charity ball for next month that has had all of her attention.”
“Oh, I’m sure. It’s stunning every year, and the amount of work—oh!” she breathed, glancing behind me.
I turned to find Elle entering the room, blushing prettily, her skin like a dish
of cream against the deep teal of her dress.
Mama’s eyes were teary. “Oh, Elle, you look radiant.”
And she really did. Between the shine of her dress and the flush in her cheeks, she was practically glowing.
“Thank you,” she said, looking down.
It almost made me feel bad for the surprise I was going to spring on her at the mixer.
Susan looked us all over proudly. “You all look wonderful. These costumes are simply amazing. Here, let me take your picture.” She opened her hand for my camera, which was nearly the sole content of my small handbag.
We posed for a few photos before Will offered his arm. “We should be going.”
“Yes, of course,” Mama said.
I bent to kiss her cheek before taking Will’s offering.
And then we were off.
The chatter in the car was excited and buzzing, the three of us laughing and happy and subject to the magic of the evening.
But when I walked in the door of the bar, that magic was sucked out of me in a whoosh and replaced with something far more real.
I saw Greg behind the bar the second I passed the threshold, my feet still moving as I walked at Will’s side, my hand in the bend of his elbow.
But when my eyes met Greg’s across the room, the room stilled, quieted, disappeared, the thread between us tightening with my lungs.
He stood tall, the overhead lights casting his eyes in shadows from the line of his gathered brows and highlighting the hard edge of his jaw. A cravat of crisp white linen was wrapped around the column of his neck and tied in a loose knot at the place where I knew I’d find the hollow of his throat, if I’d been able to slip my fingers into the tie and unfurl it. The dark coat over his vest was tailored to perfection, the shoulders straight and marking the broad expanse of his frame, the tapering to his waist with buttons that served, in my mind, only to accentuate that lovely angle of his body.
