by Lila Monroe
My hand was trembling on the champagne flute.
My mother, lips pursed, shaking her head at me as she tossed my goth-style prom picture into the garbage can before sliding Paige’s pink princess one into a golden frame, to hang on the wall—
My high school boyfriend the night I brought him home for dinner, taking one look at Paige and instantly forgetting I was there, his hand dropping from mine as his mouth fell open—
Walking past the teacher’s lounge and overhearing my favorite art teacher: “Well, of course Ally’s got some raw talent, but nothing compared to what Paige—”
Somehow my champagne glass had become empty. I walked away as quickly as I could to keep from overhearing anything else, and grabbed another glass off a tray without looking. Had I been thinking something about taking it slow? What a stupid idea, I needed to take it as fast as humanly possible. There was no way I could do this event completely sober. I needed all the champagne in the goddamn world.
My shoulder bumped into something, and I backed up, already starting to apologize, “Sorry, sorry, so sorry—”
It was Ben Minister. He eyed me with concern. “Miss Bartlett, are you quite alright?”
I laughed, probably too shrilly. “I’m fine! Just fine! Just—it’s a little stuffy in here, and I—” Oh God, were those tears forming in my eyes? No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening! “I just need to get some air!”
I escaped as quickly as my high heels and remaining dignity would let me, trying not to let myself remember the dubious expression on Mr. Minister’s face before I’d made my excuses. This wouldn’t come back to bite me—this couldn’t come back to bite me—though it didn’t matter if it did, because I couldn’t have stayed—
I stumbled up the stairs to the roof, doing my best not to spill my champagne. By the third floor it got too hard and I downed the rest of it before setting it on the stairwell, an impressive feat considering that the whole world had started spinning.
I spilled out onto the roof, which was deserted, thank God. The evening air had barely a hint of a breeze, mostly muggy and humid, making me feel even more tipsy than I actually was. I felt like I was drowning in thick, wobbling Jell-O, each breath I took choking me, weighing me further down.
I was fine. I was fine. I was not drunk and seething with jealousy. I just needed to sit down for a bit.
Just sit. I wasn’t going to go to sleep. Even though it would be so easy to go to sleep, to just sit down and rest my aching feet and let all my problems melt away as I drifted off into slumber…
I watched the sun set over the city, the smog splintering its rays into paradoxically beautiful prisms of color, red and purple and pink and gold, a sunset straight out of a postcard from the board of tourism. I thought of the sunset over the lake at Hunter’s plantation, just as beautiful but somehow less showy, the colors deeper, more permanent.
Then I thought of Paige, some future Paige, watching that beautiful sunset with Hunter. I thought of him leaning in to kiss her, his eyes lit by that sweetly dying light. I thought of Paige’s slight gasp, quickly smothered by those soft, insistent lips, of her delight as she discovered those intoxicating kisses I already knew all too well, that scrape of his stubble, that taste that was him and only him.
A tear dripped down my cheek.
“Miss Bartlett?”
I hadn’t heard Chuck come up behind me. I braced myself.
Chuck. Just the very last person I wanted to see.
But he didn’t say a further word, just offered me his handkerchief.
“Thanks.” I scrubbed furiously at my face, then handed it back. “I’m fine.”
“Of course you are,” he said, his voice low and soothing as a lullaby. “You’re a strong young lady who can take on anything. You’ve really impressed me with your tenacity.”
The words leapt out of my mouth before I could stop them: “Glad I’m impressing someone.”
Oh, Ally, Ally, Ally, I could almost hear my mother saying. When will you ever learn to think before you speak?
It didn’t really matter that I couldn’t recall the context of that memory. It could have been any time within the past twenty-four years of my life.
“Hunter not appreciating you?” Chuck’s voice held nothing but sympathy, and he waved away my sound of protest. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of prying further. I’m sure I’ve heard this story before; he leaves a string of hearts in his wake, young Hunter. He doesn’t understand how deeply women feel things, particularly smart, passionate, artistic young women like you.”
Flattery will get you everywhere with me. Even if you’re a snake. “Well, I guess I am—” But I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, and Chuck plowed on.
“There’s nothing malicious about it; it’s just that when you get right down to it, the man’s rather shallow. He sees a pretty face and the women he strings along hope he sees something more.” He shook his head, mournful and earnest. “Don’t be embarrassed, Miss Bartlett. I’ve seen it all from him at least a hundred times before.”
“It’s not like that!” I snapped, the tears threatening again, but I held them at bay with an iron will. I couldn’t let him think I was some floozy, sleeping her way to the top; not after all I’d sacrificed to keep my good name. “Hunter and I—‘s not like that. We’re just—I’m jus’ sick of Hunter being so self-centered, is all. All ‘I’m Hunter Knox’ like that—like that…”
I waved my hand, trying to convey what I couldn’t with words. Some distant part of my brain noted that my hand was unsteady and I tried to keep it from wavering. I couldn’t let Chuck guess how much alcohol I’d consumed. I couldn’t let him guess because—
Because—
It was really hard to remember the reason. He was being so nice to me.
He patted my shoulder. “Oh, really? Hunter may have his faults, but being egotistical in business—well, frankly it doesn’t seem like him.”
His disbelief goaded me further. “Well, it is! He can’t see how people are trying to help him, he just wants to do it all himself, and all he can do is, is, is—insult everyone, call them names, say they’ve wasted their life on the job they love—I tried to…I mean, other people really care about the company, but he jus’, just is all—” I forgot my need to keep my gestures small, waved my hands like I was conducting a large orchestra—“wanting to run everything himself, gotta turn everything around all by himself and it’s like the family name is freaking sacred or some shit—some ish, some—” I blushed at my profane slip but more words kept burbling out of my lubricated throat. “It’s more than just a product to him, like—like—like he’s a freaking mishin—mish—missionary or something!”
There was a grin in Chuck’s voice, but my mind couldn’t quite put a reason to it. Reasons were very far away and unimportant at the moment, unconnected to me and my anger and the muggy night air.
“That sounds awful,” Chuck sympathized. “Do tell me more, you poor thing.”
And God help me, I did.
#
“Well, I thought that went well, don’t you?” Hunter said.
I did not think that had gone well. I thought that had gone the opposite of well. It had, in fact, gone so thoroughly not-well that in a crescendo of complete unwellness, the evening was ending with me having to ride back to the plantation in a car driven by an obscenely happy Hunter, who insisted on humming happy songs under his breath, making random positive comments about my sister, grilling me about how my efforts had gone and why he hadn’t seen me for the last quarter, and touching my arm.
Like, maybe if he had just confined himself to touching my arm, I would have been more kindly disposed toward him. But probably not.
It didn’t help that my head was already starting to hurt like a motherfucker.
“Whatever.” I purposely didn’t look him in the eye as I said it.
“Somebody have a little too much to drink again?” he teased, playful as a kitten.
“Don’t count on it,” I snapped.
“Ooooh, did your mother call you and offer comments on your dress? Is that why the long face?”
“Just keep your eyes on the damn road,” I retorted.
“No need,” he said with a grin so cheesy it could’ve been its own pizza topping. “We’re already there.”
I looked out the window and saw the white columns of the manor house rising in the darkness, the cicadas singing a welcoming lullaby.
“Fucking finally,” I muttered. I swung the door open and stomped out, slamming it behind me. “You drive like my grandma. What, are you afraid Chuck’s going to send a damn helicopter to survey your cautious driving ass?”
It wasn’t my greatest parting shot in my history of parting shots, but I’d take it. I whirled around and headed for the guesthouse, intent on collapsing into bed as soon as I made it through the door, dreams of sugar plums and recriminations dancing in my head.
Only it seemed that Hunter had no plans to let me make it to the guesthouse.
He planted himself in front of me, blocking the path.
“I can actually go around you, you know,” I pointed out. “You’ve got broad shoulders, but it’s not like you can block all points in space and time.”
“I don’t need to,” he countered, moving to intercept me as I tried to go around him as I’d threatened. “I just need to wear you down until you finally give me a straight answer on why you’re acting like a bratty teenager instead of my brilliant-minded work colleague and personal guest.”
My fists clenched. I could feel a tremble working its way outward from my heart, working its way into my voice. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Hunter Knox. I don’t owe you anything.”
“Maybe so,” he said, his voice a dark rumble. “But I’m going to get one regardless.”
I tried to shoulder past him, but he threw out his strong arm and I ran right into it, that hard muscle under his tailored tuxedo, the fabric crisp and smooth and smelling of his cologne and of him, and oh God, he smelled so good, oh God, he was so warm, I just wanted to taste him, I just wanted to melt into his arms…
His arm wrapped around me, pulling me to his chest.
My heart was beating a million times a minute.
“Admit it,” he growled, his voice darker than midnight, and my knees wobbled as arousal swept through me. “Admit it, Ally: you’re jealous.”
“Of course I’m jealous!” I exploded, ripping myself away from his grasp. My tiny fist hammered onto his chest. “I’ve just been trying to be professional, because goddamnit, some of us have to earn every inch of our way to the top in this business, and I didn’t want people to think I’d earned mine on my back! But—but you asshole—” tears were threatening to choke my voice now—“we shared something good, something, something real, and now you’re just—goddamnit, just onto the next girl, and it’s my goddamn sister, how could you—”
“So you don’t want me dating Paige?” he asked, an emotion I couldn’t identify flitting behind his stoic mask.
“No!”
“Okay, then.” And then he smiled. “I won’t.”
I gaped at him. “What…?”
“I won’t,” he repeated, more gently this time. His hand reached out, cupping my cheek. “I didn’t want to hurt you…I never want to hurt you…”
“You did a good job anyway,” I whispered.
His eyes were molten pools of gold, and I was falling into them. “You’re all that I want…”
He leaned closer.
My lips parted, my breath stolen from me by his mere presence.
Our lips met, hesitantly at first and then with growing passion. His arms pressed me against his hard body, my hands clutching possessively at the small of his back, bunching the fabric there as I claimed him with my mouth. He nibbled at my lower lip and I moaned against him, parting my lips invitingly until he thrust his tongue inside, tasting me, exploring me, making me squirm against him in desire.
And then—
And then he pulled back and gave me a gentle peck on the lips, a wistful smile on his face before he walked away, leaving me reeling and more confused than ever.
But also a little bit…hopeful?
Until I realized: what the hell had I just done?
And what was I going to tell Paige?
SIX
I fussed with the edge of my napkin and tried not to feel guilty. It was tricky. I had a lot of things to feel guilty about. Number one on that list was either making out with Hunter after I’d sworn that I wouldn’t get in the way of his and Paige’s budding relationship, or else it was all the things I could vaguely remember telling Chuck last night—I just hoped I hadn’t told him any more things that I now forgot. And I hoped he’d been as drunk as me. With any luck, he wouldn’t remember a thing.
Unfortunately, Paige was unlikely to ever get drunk enough to forget that she had been dating Hunter Knox, so I’d decided that my first stop on the damage control tour was going to be brunch at our favorite local diner, where I’d break the news to her as gently as I could, and hope she could find it in her heart to forgive me.
A waiter nearly dropped my coffee cup onto the saucer and I winced, pain lancing through my head.
It was super not helping my damage control tour planning that I was hungover as hell. Every time I tried to think of how I’d start the conversation, something—usually mind-boggling pain—would distract me.
“Ally!”
I looked up, trying to grin at Paige in an ‘I don’t feel like a dentist’s drill is going through my skull’ sort of way.
“Hey, Paige.”
She looked great, rested and content and glowing with new love in a pair of comfy jeans and a soft pink cardigan. Guilt turned over in my stomach, more painful than the hangover.
What I was about to say would probably wipe that happy smile right off her face.
Before I could even get started, though, the waiter swooped over, probably drawn by the glow of Paige’s contentment. “And what can I get you two ladies?”
“Stack of pancakes with strawberry syrup and whipped cream, a side of bacon extra well done, and a mint chocolate chip milkshake, please,” Paige said with a chipper grin, which only increased my trepidation. Paige only risked our mother’s wrath with a calorie-loaded meal like that when she was feeling on top of the world.
“Just more water and some dry toast, thanks,” I muttered, digging through my purse and wishing desperately that a bottle of ibuprofen would appear in the bottom. No dice. Of course not.
“Is something wrong?” Paige asked. “Did you lose your phone, or—?”
“Nope,” I grumbled, setting my purse back on the seat. “I’m fine.”
After the waiter was gone, there was an awkward silence that was probably less than five seconds, but that my guilt managed to stretch into eons.
“Ally, honestly, what’s bothering you?” Paige’s voice was concerned now. “Usually when we’re here, I can’t get you to stop raving about the waffles.”
“The waffles are still rave-worthy,” I said.
“Or else you’d be ranting about work,” Paige went on with a fond smile. “All the injustices and slights you’re fighting uphill against, but how it’ll all be worth it someday.”
“Didn’t realize I was such a predictable conversationalist,” I said awkwardly.
“No, no, I like hearing you talk about work!” Paige said quickly. “I’ve always admired how hard you fight—is that it? Did something really bad happen at your job?”
“No, no,” I said before she could get too worried about me and twist the guilt-knife in my gut any further. “Nothing bad. Something kind of good, actually. For me.”
Paige’s forehead creased slightly. “What’s the problem, then?”
“Good…for me,” I repeated. “Maybe not so good for you. Um…Hunter. Well. He kissed me. I kissed him. We kissed. I’m so sorry—”
Paige laughed.
My head snapped up, indignation fighting for space alongsid
e the guilt and rapidly winning. “I’m serious, Paige. It’s the truth! I wouldn’t lie about—”
“Of course you wouldn’t!” Paige said, taking my hand and squeezing it. “Oh, I’m not laughing at you at all, Ally—well, not for that. Just for thinking you could hide something from your big sister. I could tell you liked him. We weren’t really dating.”
I gaped, unable to contemplate a reality in which people cheerfully decided not to date Hunter Knox. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Paige assured me. “To tell the truth, I only went along with the whole thing to keep Mom happy and off my back for awhile. I was never interested in Hunter; he’s not even remotely my type.”
I snorted in shocked disbelief. “How is that man not anyone’s type?”
“Well…” Paige smiled a secretive, happy little smile. “…you remember Sergei?”
“Vaguely?” I remembered some Russian guy from Paige’s college art courses: tall, skinny, androgynous; deep soulful brown eyes but couldn’t grow a beard if his life depended on it, and a build that reminded me of nothing so much as a collection of coat hangers strung together tenuously. “Well, different strokes for different folks, I guess.”
“Oh, stroking has been happening, all right,” Paige said in a low voice with a wicked grin that seemed imported from an alternate universe, not native to the face of my famously dependable and well-behaved older sister.
“Uh, what?” I said, an answering grin beginning to steal across my face.
Paige lowered her voice. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Of course!”
That wicked grin widened, and she let out a little giggle. “I’ve been seeing him again! Under the Mom-radar, of course. He’s painting me,” she sighed.
My mouth fell open wide enough to catch every last fly in the universe. “No way!”
Paige nodded, the cat that got the cream. “Yep. Hunter was actually helping out.”
“Seriously?” I asked again.
“True story. That guy’s a total romantic; I explained about Sergei, and he came right out and offered to invite me on dates and then drop me off at Serge’s apartment. He’d drive off to the library to do research and come back a couple hours later.”
