To Have and to Hate

by R.S. Grey

  Then he has to open his mouth and ruin it.

  “Get in out of the cold,” he says, motioning for the door of the limo with a touch of impatience.

  I roll my eyes and move quickly, ducking past him and sliding across the back seat, as far from him as I possibly can get without moving to another bench altogether.

  Walt follows, sticking to his side, not that it matters. The moment the door closes behind him, he seems to be everywhere in that limo, stealing all the oxygen.

  Alexander looks back at us in the rearview mirror.

  “All set?”

  Walt nods then glances over at me out of the corner of his eye.

  “Sorry I was late,” I say, rushing the words out before he can speak in case he was about to chastise me.

  “I’d only just pulled up.”

  My shoulders sag in relief and I glance out the window, giving myself a break. Looking away from him feels like I’m coming up for air. It’s a nice little reprieve from an overwhelming man I can’t quite figure out.

  He takes his phone out of his pocket and starts to type.

  At first, I don’t mind, but when we drive down another city block and continue on in stop-and-go traffic, I find myself getting annoyed with him.

  “Is this what it would be like?” I taunt. “Are you the type of man who’s always on his phone even when he’s on a date?”

  “I didn’t realize this was a date.”

  “It’s not,” I say quickly, embarrassed.

  He sets his phone on his thigh and hangs his arm across the back seat of the limo in an act of sheer dominance.

  “Just to be clear, I work every chance I can get because I have to, but if I were with someone who wanted to spend time with me, I’d get off my phone.”

  His eyes implore me to challenge him on that, but I’m suddenly too nervous. God, I hate that he does that—strips me of my power with one cocky glance.

  “Good to know.”

  I rearrange my purse on my lap and look back out into traffic.

  “Thank you for attending this fundraiser with me,” he says after a long silence.

  It’s the sincerity in his voice that persuades me to glance back at him. To my surprise, I find him studying me.

  I reply with a small smile. “I’m happy to do it. I can’t really complain about getting all dolled up. It was a fun afternoon.”

  “I’m glad.”

  I nibble on my bottom lip before continuing. “And you don’t have to worry. I haven’t forgotten the arrangement. I know I’m only here because my name was on that envelope. This isn’t like…some…”

  He leaves me hanging, trying to come up with a way to articulate what I’m hinting at.

  Finally, I groan in agony, rushing to continue, “That’s just to say, I know you would have wanted to invite Camila tonight, and I’m sorry you can’t spend the evening with her.”

  “Your apology isn’t necessary. Camila and I aren’t together anymore.”

  “Oh.”

  Hope blooms in my chest until reality comes into sharp focus. Hello! What does it matter if he’s dating Camila or not? Why do I even care?! Our relationship won’t change. He’ll just start dating someone else.

  Then a horrible thought occurs to me.

  “You two didn’t break up because of our kiss, did you?”

  Oh god, I’ll feel horrible.

  He actually chuckles at my question as if it’s utterly preposterous, and immediately, my hackles go up.

  “No. We broke up the night of the dinner party.”

  “Really?” I’m confused. “But then she came over to the apartment after that and you guys hugged.”

  “Did we hug?”

  “Yes. I saw it.”

  Realizing what I’ve just revealed, I backtrack.

  “I happened to be walking by. Anyway, yes, you guys definitely hugged.”

  “Right. Well, we aren’t together. That day we were tying up loose ends. I haven’t seen her since then.”

  “Oh.”

  He goes back to looking at his phone, and a moment later, I add, “You don’t really sound that sad about it.”

  “I guess I’m not.”

  “Weren’t you two together for a while?”

  “I suppose.”

  “And you aren’t sad?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re trying to get at, Elizabeth.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “No.”

  I grimace. “Wow, you answered that quickly.”

  “Should I have lied? You asked a question and I gave you an honest answer.”

  I hold my hands up in innocence, deciding to drop it.

  Then we turn another corner and settle back into a rather uncomfortable silence, at least on my end. Walt’s probably forgotten I’m even in the limo with him. In fact, I think he’s already moved on from our entire conversation, until he adds, “By the way, what we shared wasn’t really a kiss.”

  I whip back around to face him. “Are you kidding? Yes it was!”

  He shrugs. “Agree to disagree.”

  I lean closer to him, trying to steal his attention back from his phone. “Your lips touched mine, Walt. What was that if not a kiss?”

  He glances back to me as if really thinking it over. “I’m not sure.” Then he shrugs. “I’d show you the difference, but you threatened divorce.”

  I hate that he’s taunting me right now with his dimples and his half-smile.

  I narrow my eyes and lean toward him. “That’s right, and don’t you forget it.”

  His gaze falls to my lips at the exact moment Alexander slams on the brakes.

  I jerk forward and Walt reaches for me instinctively, gripping my arm to keep me from tumbling off the seat.

  “Sorry!” Alexander shouts from the front. “Idiot cut into my lane.”

  “Are you all right?” Walt asks me.

  “Yes. I barely moved. You can take your hand off my arm now.”

  “I will when you let go of it.”

  I glance down to see my fingers are wrapped around his forearm with a viselike grip. Right.

  Embarrassed, I drop my hand, and then he loosens his hold on me.

  I brush the sleeve of my jacket as if to say, Nothing to see here.

  “The museum is just up ahead,” Alexander calls back.

  I gather my things and straighten my clothes to prepare to exit the limo. The vehicle comes to a gentle stop, and Walt thanks his driver before opening the door. There are a few camera flashes as I step out beside Walt, enough to make me try to blink away the fleeting blindness.

  Walt wraps his arm around my waist to guide me, and I tense in surprise.

  He ushers me forward, up the steps of the Natural History Museum and along a small step and repeat. An event organizer begs us to stop for a photo, and Walt obliges her by tucking me in beside him and telling me to smile under his breath.

  I do just as he asks, pinning on the brightest smile I can muster before we’re whisked through the entrance of the museum.

  “Good evening. May I have your name?” another event organizer asks at the door.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Walter Jennings II.”

  The organizer scrolls down his iPad until he pauses and his eyes widen at his screen. “Yes. Wonderful. We’re so happy the two of you are with us tonight. You’ll find your place cards at the distinguished donors table.” Then he waves to an attendant. “Kenneth, would you please escort Mr. and Mrs. Walter Jennings II to their seats?”

  Walt interjects with a shake of his head. “That won’t be necessary. We’ll find them easily enough.”

  The organizer smiles in confirmation. “Good. Of course. In that case, you’ll find coat check over there and hors d’oeuvres just inside. Dinner will begin in half an hour.”

  Once we’re out of earshot, Walt leans down to whisper in my ear.

  “Don’t make your hatred for me so plainly obvious every time I touch you.”

  “What? I don’t!” I say with
an insistent scowl.

  “You practically jump out of your skin every time.”

  “Because it’s surprising!”

  “It shouldn’t be. Here, turn and let me take your coat.”

  “I can do it myself.”

  “Elizabeth, I swear—”

  His sentence cuts off when I turn abruptly and start unbuttoning my coat without his help. When I’m done, I shrug it off my shoulders and let him do the rest. He tugs a tad too hard getting it off me, and I shoot him an angry glare over my shoulder.

  Then he passes off our outerwear and accepts a small coat check ticket from the attendant. I turn to face him, and he looks back at me and freezes, making me worry something is wrong. I look down at my dress, but once I find nothing out of the ordinary, I look over my shoulder, searching in the crowd for someone noteworthy behind me.

  “It’s the dress,” he tells me, stepping forward. “Now give me your hand and try not to look too annoyed about it.”

  I reach for his hand first, trying to prove to him I can be a team player. My fingers tighten around his, but he doesn’t accept that arrangement. He quickly resettles us so that my hand is tucked gently inside his, and then he tugs me forward.

  “What about the dress?” I ask as we pass through the crowded foyer.

  Walt sees someone he knows and nods a greeting, but we don’t stop to talk to them.

  “You already know,” he says curtly.

  I smile at the floor before wiping it clean and applying a perfect mask of innocence. Looking back up at him, I press the issue.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He stares down at me with a cocked brow. “I won’t give you what you want.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “A reaction.”

  I feign an overly dramatic sigh. “I wish you would. God, I’d love to see it. Do you ever get truly mad? Sad? Happy?”

  “I’m happy right now—can’t you tell?”

  A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Is it really so absurd?”

  “That you could be happy right now with me? God yes. We’re completely at odds. The very definition of incompatible.”

  He sniffs and looks away. “I don’t see it that way.”

  “Oh stop. Pretty soon I’m going to think you actually like me.”

  “And if I do?”

  “I’d…” I shake my head, coming up short for a response. “I’m not sure. It’s like my brain can’t even compute the notion.”

  He shakes his head, clearly having had enough of me for the rest of this century. Good thing for him, we’re at our table now, greeted by a crowd of people. Walt knows a few of them—the guys clap each other on the shoulders—but he’s not familiar with everyone, so he introduces us to the group.

  “Oh, I think I saw the two of you in The Times!” one woman says. “Weren’t you just married a few weeks ago?”

  “Yes,” Walt confirms, keeping a tight hold on my hand.

  The woman claps her hands together with glee. “How sweet. The photo in the paper didn’t do you two justice. You make a beautiful couple.”

  Walt looks down at me as any adoring husband would and I play along, scrunching my nose at him teasingly. To the woman, we look absolutely in love, but we know better.

  Walt’s gaze says, Don’t screw this up.

  Mine shouts back, I’m not!

  “How sweet. Did you honeymoon anywhere?” she asks.

  “We didn’t get the chance,” Walt says, sounding regretful. “It’s a busy time for my company.”

  “Walt is actually Walter Jennings II from Diomedica,” her husband supplies.

  The woman’s brows perk up, clearly impressed. “I hadn’t connected the dots. We don’t see you at many of these things.”

  He straightens his bow tie, slightly uncomfortable with the attention.

  “I like to keep him all to myself,” I say, wrapping my hand around his arm and sidling up beside him.

  The woman chuckles and shoots me a wink. “I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same myself.” Her husband clears his throat loudly, and she bats his shoulder. “Oh, come on. We were just like that at their age! You never let me out of your sight for long.”

  The couple eventually moves on to another cluster of friends, and Walt looks down at me.

  “You can’t say I didn’t play my part to a T,” I press.

  He makes a noise like he’s semi-impressed. “Tucking yourself against me was a good touch.”

  “Wasn’t it?” I say, gloating. “And it wasn’t even half bad. You smell nice.”

  His eyes hold mine for a beat too long and my smile widens, but our private moment is interrupted when a man walks up to us, his booming voice shattering the quiet decorum as he asks, “Is this the table for the big donors?”

  Walt’s mouth thins, but he’s still polite as he addresses the man.

  “Don’t bother introducing yourself,” the man says with a shake of his head. “I know who you are. I watch Diomedica’s stock like a hawk.” His gaze sweeps down to me, and his grin turns slightly lecherous. “Who’s the pretty bird?”

  Walt’s arm slides around my waist so he has a grip on my lower hip. “This is my wife, Elizabeth.”

  “Wife?” he whistles low. “Lucky dog.” He holds out his meaty hand for me. “Name’s Fred Barron.”

  It takes Fred all of thirty seconds to tell us he amassed his wealth by investing in Japanese tech firms in the early 90s. Even now, he splits his time between New York and Tokyo.

  “Have you ever been to Japan?” he asks, scooting closer to me and making no effort to disguise his gaze as it lingers on my body.

  I force a tight smile. “No, though I’d love to visit one day. There are quite a few Japanese artists I admire.”

  His brows perk up. “Good, I’ll take you. I’ve got a fleet of private planes. We can leave first thing tomorrow.”

  He says all this with a teasing air, which makes it that much worse because I’m forced to play along when what I really want to do is tell him to leave us alone.

  Fortunately, Walt’s still beside me, watching Fred, and when his hand tightens on my waist, I think he’s letting me know he doesn’t like Fred any more than I do.

  “I think dinner is about to be served,” Walt says, trying to end the conversation while keeping the peace. “Have you found your seat yet?”

  “Oh sure, yeah. Let me see where they stuck me. I better have a damn good spot with the amount I donated to this thing.”

  In a wonderful turn of events, Fred has been placed clear across the table from me, so I’m not subjected to any more of his attention over dinner.

  Instead, we sit between a few of Walt’s business acquaintances who have no real interest in me whatsoever. It’s nice. It means I can eat my food in peace while they all talk about things that bore me. After dessert, I tell Walt I’m going to freshen up, but it’s really an excuse to wander around the museum and get a breather from all the theatrics. The line takes a while and I check my phone, not really in any hurry. Then after, on my way back to find Walt, I poke my head into the silent auction room and get distracted.

  There’s a lot of art, and I take my time perusing each item, reading about the artists and studying their work. One sculpture in particular, a dancer cast in bronze, is reminiscent of Degas. The starting bid for it was $25,000 and it’s already worked its way up to well over $60,000. Beside it, hanging on the wall, the foundation placed a small original René Magritte painting with a security guard positioned beside it. Once I see the starting bid, I understand why he’s there.

  “They’ll arrest you if you stand here for too long,” a man says behind me.

  Seventeen

  My eyes widen in panic and I step back immediately.

  I turn to see the man who warned me, and I’m surprised to find he’s young and attractive, polished and fashionable in a slightly nontraditional navy
satin tuxedo. His black hair—kept slightly longer—is slicked back and brushing the nape of his neck. The tiny crook of his nose is the only thing that’s less than perfect about him.

  “I was just looking,” I say, going so far as to hold up my hands as if in proof.

  He laughs and shakes his head. “I’m only kidding.”

  I smile, realizing he meant no harm, and now that I see his cheeks carry a tinge of pink, I think he might be embarrassed about his bad joke.

  “Do you think you’ll bid on it?” he asks.

  “The painting? No. I mean, I already have like a dozen Magrittes. Who needs one more?” I tease, not wanting to outright admit that I could never afford to bid on a painting like that.

  He grins and steps up to take a pen off the table. “Then I guess I’ll have to bid for the both of us.”

  Holy cow.

  Quickly, I step forward and touch his arm. “Don’t. You can’t just put your name down like that. What if you win?”

  He turns to look up at me, his pale blue eyes catching mine. “I intend on winning.”

  My jaw drops as he finishes writing his name, Olivier Rappeneau, beside a sum so staggering I blush and look away.

  “I was going to bid on it before you walked up,” he admits when he senses that I’m slightly uncomfortable. “Though that did feel quite cool to do it with you watching.”

  “I hope you win,” I say with a friendly smile.

  He nods in agreement before extending his left hand out to me since his right hand is still holding the pen. “What’s your name?”

  “Elizabeth Brighton.”

  I realize a moment too late that I was supposed to say Elizabeth Jennings. It’s not something I’m used to yet, and now it feels too awkward to go back and correct myself.

  His hand wraps around mine, and after he shakes it up and down for a moment, he turns it to study my ring without letting go.

  “Please tell me you bought this ring for yourself and you’re only wearing it on this finger to deter men.”

  I laugh. “No.”

  “So you’re married?”

  “Oh…um, yes.” I look down at the ring as if only now remembering. “I am.”

  When I look back up, Olivier is frowning at me. “Why do you sound so disappointed about that?”