Olivia had told him not to do anything crazy, but he had to see her.
“Olivia!” he called, storming into her office. But instead of the woman who’d promised to become his wife a week ago, he found a short Latina woman with glasses.
“Where’s Olivia?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Who are you? Are you supposed to be back here?”
“Where’s Olivia?” he demanded again, this time roaring the question.
“Phantom! Phantom, stop!” a voice he recognized said behind him.
He whipped around to see the doctor he and Olivia had consoled earlier in the month. The best friend who’d called them #couple goals.
“Why don’t you come into my office,” Eric suggested. “It’s here right across the hall.”
Phantom followed him, but only to demand, “Where’s Olivia?” again as soon as Eric closed the door behind them.
“Not here,” Eric answered. His voice was careful, as if he could hear the bomb ticking inside of Phantom. “She decided to take a sabbatical in Uganda. She won’t be back until next year. That was why we brought on the new doctor.”
“That was why…?” Phantom’s voice gave out before he could finish the question. “No, we were trying to have a baby. She wanted to cut back her hours. That’s why she brought on the new doctor.”
Eric regarded him with a pitying look. “Um…that’s not what she told me. In fact, I shouldn’t be sharing this with you, but….”
He looked both ways and lowered his voice to tell Phantom, “She asked me for a prescription for birth control right after the Lunar New Year. She said you’d told her some story about your grandmother that made her fear you might be mentally unstable and her not wanting to take any chances. I don’t personally think you’d ever do anything to hurt her or any of us, but she told me to call the police if you came here and refused to leave.”
Phantom was as strong and steady as a mountain. He always had been. But his legs nearly gave out as Eric’s words plunged into him like daggers.
She was afraid of him? She’d been on birth control this whole time? She’d sold her brownstone and bounced back to Uganda just to get away from him?
Everything he’d assumed over the last few months started to rewrite itself in his head. He’d thought they were fulfilling his grandma’s prophecy, but their whole arrangement had been an illusion from the start.
But…
“Why?” he asked out loud. “Why would she fight to get back together with me, say she’d marry me, then dump me like this?”
Eric shrugged helplessly. “I can’t say for sure. But I’m going to assume your ah…bedroom skills…had something to do with it. You know, BDE isn’t something you can buy in stores—believe me, I’ve searched all the shelves.”
More rewrites. All that time they’d spent together, fucking like animals, lounging around his penthouse in utterly satisfied silence or working in separate rooms.
He’d liked that they simply enjoyed being together without the pressure to entertain each other with small talk and witty repartee. He’d thought it meant that they were comfortable in the other’s company from the start.
But Olivia hadn’t seen it that way. He thought about how she’d playfully adopted his New York accent to say “alright” and had even cursed at his parent’s house. Like this was a game—like he was her game.
Eric gave him a pitying look and dipped his chin to say, “Listen, I went through an old money phase before the bad boy one myself. They love to play with people who didn’t grow up like them. They’ll party with us and sleep with us, but when it’s time to settle down, they marry each other—almost no exceptions. They’re all sort of living embodiments of that song, ‘Common People,’ by Pulp. Olivia doesn’t look or necessarily act like them, but at the end of the day—well, there’s a reason we’re all assigned The Great Gatsby in high school, right? It’s a warning.”
Yeah…yeah, Phantom had been assigned that novel in Junior English Lit. He’d gotten an A+ on the paper. And he didn’t know that song, but instead of trying to hunt Olivia down, he went home in a daze and asked his home device to play it.
And as he listened to some English guy wail about the rich girl who’d treated him like a joke, he fully understood.
He’d loved her. He’d loved her with all his fucking heart. But he’d been nothing but a joyride to her—one she hadn’t felt like getting off back in February—not until she got sick of him.
He’d always thought he wasn’t good enough for her, and she agreed. That was why she never called him out on his foul language. That was why she never tried to change him. Because she’d never planned to stay.
Phantom decided to let her go.
Not like back in December, for real this time. He made himself not be crazy and track her down to Uganda or anything else like that. All the small ways he’d figured out how to watch her from afar since they met…he abandoned those as well—even cancelled the Google Alert.
Eventually, hours became days and days became weeks…then months.
He even managed to fake a smile when Mike brought Eric with him to their mom’s birthday dinner in September. And the evening didn’t go terrible—even if his grandma kept on insisting, “This is my last birthday thanks to Hak-kan!” throughout the night.
His dad had already told her that Olivia and Phantom had broken up. Several times. Maybe Olivia had been right about her needing a Psych counsel.
She’d been right about a lot of things—including his grandma’s prophecy not being a thing that could come true.
“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
Phantom looked up from the cigarette he’d decided to sneak out in the backyard to see Eric.
“I wanted to thank you again for texting me Mike’s number even after what happened with Olivia and give you a hug before I left,” Eric said. “But now that I’m out here, it occurs to me you might not be one of those guys that does hugs. I never got a clear read of where you are on the toxic masculinity spectrum.”
Phantom simply held a hand up and let him know, “Option bro hug all day, son.”
Eric laughed as they clasped hands and clapped each other on the back.
“Well, I hope I see you again. Your grandmother assured me I would. Apparently, Mike and I will be moving in together next year? Something about the world catching a virus and us realizing what’s truly important—Mike wasn’t sure he got the translation right. But she’s a character, isn’t she?”
Phantom almost smiled. Almost. “Yeah, she’s something. You take care of yourself, Eric.”
“You too,” Eric said.
He started to leave but then turned back around. “So you’re smoking now? Olivia never mentioned that. She hates smokers.”
“Yeah, I know. I stopped when I was with her.” He didn’t cop to the rest. How he’d taken the everyday habit down to the occasional stress smoke after meeting her. Just once. And after Thanksgiving….
Well, let’s just say the first thing he did after listening to “Common People” was go down to his local bodega to pick up a fresh pack of cancer sticks. Because he’d thrown away every single backup pack he had when he moved her into his place. He’d known this was his one chance with her, and he hadn’t wanted to fuck it up.
But, of course, he didn’t tell Eric any of that psycho shit. Just said, “Old habits come back hard.”
“Who are you telling?” Eric replied. “I ate waffles and ice cream for three weeks straight after the breakup with Byron. Sugar came hard for me. I’m not sure if I should thank you for that or give you a lecture about vices that shave years off your life.”
Phantom let out a wry chuckle. “You’re welcome either way.”
Eric regarded him with a conflicted expression.
Then he said, “I know I’m Olivia’s best friend first and foremost, but I just….I just want to tell you that I meant what I said that morning. I loved you guys as a couple, and even if she is Gats
by rich, I still can’t believe she chose Garrett over you. I’m really not sure how I’m going to get through the part of the ceremony where they ask if anyone has any objections on Saturday. Also, Kentucky, ugh!”
Phantom more than stilled. He turned into a granite statue as Eric’s words screamed through his mind.
She was getting married. Not to him, like she promised. But to that douchebag.
Married.
Married.
Married.
She would become someone else’s wife. Finally prove to the world that she didn’t belong to him and never had.
“She’s getting married to him? On Saturday?” he asked Eric.
Eric grimaced and seemed to realize out loud, “You didn’t know. I thought maybe—”
Phantom cut him off right there with a shake of his head.
She’d made her decision. He wasn’t going to let it drive him crazy or back into obsession. Not again.
He dropped the cigarette into the glass of baijiu he’d been drinking.
“You know what, it doesn’t matter,” he told Eric.
Then he left out before he could ask any more questions. Or get any more answers that might shatter the block of ice he’d built around his heart.
28
OLIVIA
“Ms. Olivia, your fiancé just got here from New York. He’s downstairs waiting for you,” my father’s housekeeper called through the door.
I paused in the middle of putting on my makeup, then schooled an emotionless expression on my face to match my ice blue empire waist dress.
“Thank you, Juanita. Tell him I’ll be down in just a few moments,” I answered, as polite and reserved as my mother used to be before my father dumped her.
My transformation was truly coming along. I’d refrained from taking a job at the other Women with Disabilities clinic I’d begun setting up in nearby Louisville while I was supposedly on my sabbatical in Uganda. And now that Dad and Muffy were officially separated, he’d already promised that my fiancé and I could move into Glendaver Castle after the wedding on Saturday.
Come Sunday morning, I’d be the official lady of the castle. And like Skylar and many of the other southern wives in my circle, I’d be a woman in the business of raising money for—not actually running—my own charity.
Life could not be more perfect, I reminded myself, a few minutes later, as I walked down the grand staircase to where my fiancé was waiting. Chin up, shoulders back, lips raised in a gracious smile—I was the very picture of Southern Lady comportment despite my dark skin.
“There you are, darling,” Garrett said, turning with my father, who’d come out to greet him when I made it to the bottom step. He had a dress bag slung over his shoulder— most likely a new suit for the rehearsal dinner. His wedding tuxedo was already hanging in the guest room a few doors down from mine. And Garrett had always loved to buy a new suit for special occasions, no matter how many he already had hanging in his closet.
“Don’t you look splendid? Every man at the rehearsal dinner will be jealous.”
I demurred with a wave of my hand and told the same joke my mother would have given in reply and her mother before that. “Oh, this old thing?”
Both Garrett and my father laughed as if it was the most delightful bon mot they’d heard in ages.
I hope you’re happy because he came here looking for you, just like you predicted he would. I said what you told me to say, and he left, but he seemed so torn up. I felt so guilty. You're my best friend, Livvy, but please don’t ever ask me to do anything like that for you again.
Eric’s recriminatory voicemail from May floated into my head without warning.
But I smiled and turned to Garrett, ruthlessly suppressing the memory as I told him, “If you want to get freshened up before the rehearsal, we’ve made up a guest room for you. It’s just two doors past the top of the stairs, on the right.”
“Thank you, darling. I think I will do that. Be back in a scooch.”
My father and I watched him go.
“Garrett’s a lot more attentive these days,” Dad observed. “I suppose almost losing you to another man will do that.”
“Mmm,” I answered with a slight nod. “We’ve decided to let the past be the past and push forward into our future, together.”
My father raised his eyebrows. “How…enlightened of you.”
“I know you’re probably experiencing some whiplash from all of this back and forth,” I acknowledged, my voice stiff but proper. “I do thank you for your understanding.”
“Oh, I’d never judge,” my father said. “And selling to Easton Whiskey is probably for the best anyway. The holidays always make me a little loopy, but the Eastons are more like us. And you’re happy now with Garrett, right?”
I forced an even wider smile onto my face. “Yes, I’m so happy, Dad. Thank you for bearing with me while I figured all of this out.”
“Of course,” he answered.
Then we stood there rather awkwardly until Skylar and Clement arrived with their kids in tow.
An hour later, I watched my niece and nephew play croquet on the lawn in the back of the castle. Fortunately, Garrett and I had been blessed with a warm September for our wedding week. The rehearsal dinner party was able to take place outside. Eastons and Glendavers, along with several executives from both our family’s companies, milled around the grand terrace.
Technically, this was supposed to be a rehearsal dinner. But for weddings as large and orchestrated as ours, a whole day of rehearsal would be required tomorrow. And afterward, both Garrett and I would be much too tired for a large dinner.
So Garrett’s parents had decided something that more resembled a who’s who mixer would be perfect for the rehearsal dinner.
But even that was a bit overwhelming for both of us.
“They say it’s easier to smile than frown, but my jaw is sore,” Garrett admitted to me about halfway through the party. “If I keep this up much longer, I’m afraid my face will freeze in this position. Luckily, I’m marrying a doctor. Is that something that can happen?”
His mother, who was standing nearby, and I let out tinkling laughs, right on cue as if Garrett was the wittiest person we knew.
“No, silly,” I answered. “But yes, this is all rather exhausting.”
“It will be worth it in the end,” he declared, squeezing my hand. “I truly can’t wait to be married to you.”
His mother gave us an approving look at the same time his father, Gerald, climbed onto the lip of the terrace’s stone fountain to tap on his champagne glass.
“I just wanted to say a few words to the happy bride and groom…” he said before launching into a twenty-minute speech that was more about the upcoming Easton Whiskey acquisition of Glendaver Bourbon than either of us.
We clapped nonetheless along with all of the guests when he was done.
“That was not short,” Garrett joked to his mother.
“Indulge your father,” his mother said. “It’s not every day we get a wedding and an acquisition on the same weekend. He’s elated about both.”
“I just have to powder my nose,” I told them, handing Garrett the glass of champagne I’d been pretending to sip on all night. “If you’ll excuse me….”
“Of course, darling. Rush right back. Your father’s toast is next.”
“Oh, I will,” I promised.
I made quick work of relieving my bladder, and I admired myself in the mirror after I finished washing my hands.
That primer Skylar swore by had really done the job. I looked flawless, even after two hours of mingling. Who was this Southern Lady Who Lunched?
So first, you ask me to lie for you. Then you stop returning my calls? I just got your wedding invitation in the mail. In the mail! Like I’m so old med school buddy, not your best friend. What the hell, Livvy?
The memory of Eric’s last voicemail, the one she also hadn’t answered, invaded her mind without warning.
And, oh dea
r…the woman in the mirror was now staring back at her, her face terrible and sad.
That wouldn’t do.
Inviting Eric to the wedding had been a mistake. A misplaced bit of sentiment. Perhaps I would text him when the party was done and politely suggest he not come….after insisting I was happy, of course.
Truly happy.
I blinked away the guilt in my mirror image’s eyes. Then I scraped that sorrowful furrow off her brow, pinned on another smile to make the look complete, and headed for the bathroom door.
Time to return to the party.
Perhaps after my father’s toast, I would whisper in Garrett’s ear about escorting me back to my room—
I stopped, the pinned smile dropping away.
Phantom.
Phantom stood there waiting for me outside of the bathroom.
He was dressed in a suit, just like Garrett and all of the other men at the party. But he looked so out of place, standing in front of a portrait of a hunting hound in the hallway lined with dark green damask wallpaper.
Goosebumps—check.
Hair rising on the back of my neck—check.
Crazy fluttering in the pit of my stomach—check.
All my adrenaline responses checked in as usual as I stared at him in complete and utter shock.
He was the same as he had been when I saw him last. But different. Angrier, scarier—his body almost seemed to be vibrating with violence and rage.
“What…? What are you doing here,” I finally managed to ask.
“Just lost a bet with myself,” he answered. His voice was a sharp contrast to his appearance. Laconic and casual, like we were old friends who’d just happened to run into each other in the hallway.
But his black shark eyes glittered with malice as he told me, “I figured the first words out of your mouth would be ‘don’t make a scene.’ Isn’t that what you cared about the most? Me embarrassing you?”
I didn’t answer those questions. They felt like a trap. “You shouldn’t be here. Please go.”
He shook his head. “I was wrong again. I thought you’d try to explain why you fucked me bare for three months, then suddenly decided that I wasn’t good enough for you anymore.”
Phantom: Her Ruthless Fiancé: 50 Loving States, Kentucky (Ruthless Triad) Page 19
