Win stared at him.
I’m British, she thought, but by then they were at the altar and Gum was kissing her cheek and handing her off to the bride’s side. The familiar chords of the Wedding March rose through the conservatory, the greenery shivering and the snow drifting past the windowpanes, giving the light an eerie turquoise glow.
Win turned toward the door, and, without even trying, Leo’s face leapt out at her as though he were Technicolor against a black-and-white crowd. He was close to the back, like he’d slipped in at the last minute. She saw him in a blinding flash: his sharp cheekbones, the clean line of his suit, his expression tired and polite as he, too, turned his head toward the door. Heat and misery rushed through her, so overwhelming and sickening she thought she might need to sit down.
Then Shift appeared in the doorway, hugging her dad’s arm and beaming, and Win drew in a steadying breath.
The ceremony passed in a blur. Charlie cried prettily through most of it; Shift got the giggles between her vows. There was a warm, generous air of indulgence, unusual in a room with this many famous people. Charlie’s vows reduced nearly everyone to happy laughter and tears. Behind him, Gum nodded genially along, a king at the nuptials of his most favored princeling.
Win stared straight ahead, fixing her eyes on Shift and Charlie. She tried to pay attention, but her heart thudded so painfully she felt sure it was audible; she’d forgotten how to breathe steadily. She was so conscious of Leo in the same room as her that it dwarfed everything else. It felt like if she turned and looked out at the crowd, he would be the only one there.
Then it was over, Charlie dipping Shift extravagantly to kiss her, Shift laughing and throwing her arms around his neck. The crowd burst into cheers, and Win remembered they were there, after all. Win stood frozen, her fingers numb around her bouquet, until Shift took hold of her elbow and said, “Come do this weird receiving thing with me.”
Win followed her gratefully to the door. Guests were passing through into one of the smaller adjoining rooms, where champagne would be served until the main reception hall was ready; as they did so, they stopped to shake Charlie’s hand and tell Shift how lovely the ceremony had been. Win stood behind them, trying not to shiver. She felt stupid. She hadn’t thought it would be this physical a reaction.
She kept her gaze pleasant and fixed over Shift’s shoulder, smiling at the people who smiled at her. There were a lot of curious looks; there were already people trying to push Shift and Charlie aside and talk to her. Two separate men she’d never met said, “Oh, it’s no good what they’ve been saying about you,” with smirking winks, like they knew her real story. She smiled and demurred from conversation, saying, if she had to, “I’m really glad to be here with Shift and Charlie,” until they got the hint and told Shift how beautiful she was. Shift, at least, didn’t seem to care. She just rolled her eyes at Win and turned smiling to the next guest. Every now and then she ruffled Charlie’s hair while he beamed at her.
Even with the bustling crowd as a distraction, Win’s attention was fixed on the point, right at the back of the line, where Leo was moving quietly and inevitably closer. She cut her eyes toward him in urgent, guilty glances, sure that someone was going to catch her looking. Probably the Vogue people, who would be under instructions to look out for it. The smart thing to do was keep her gaze facing forward, and deal with Leo when he came. But Win couldn’t help herself.
He was wearing a two-piece black suit, his shirt white and crisp, his tie loosely knotted. He wasn’t quite clean-shaven, but the stubble looked deliberate, and it made his jaw firm and his mouth warm and full. He’d buzzed his hair down again, and when she caught him shaking hands with someone, her mind went momentarily blank. He’d taken all his rings off, every single one of them. His long fingers were bare.
“Loved your latest,” a woman told Win, after kissing Shift on both cheeks. “My boyfriend dragged me along, but you really made Transformers watchable.”
Win hadn’t been in the latest Transformers. “Thank you,” she said.
She wasn’t sure she was capable of talking to him, but the doorway was small, and Leo was squeezed between other guests. Even if he wanted to get away and skip the receiving, he wouldn’t manage it. She wasn’t sure she was going to be able to stand within a meter of him. She wasn’t sure whether she most wanted to step into the warm circle of his arms, or turn on her heel and run for the closest taxi. He was coming closer, though, steady and unhalting; soon he would be within reach.
“Whitman,” Shift said, in a clear, carrying voice. “I think I’ve left my phone in the bathroom. Do me a favor and grab it for me?”
Shift caught her gaze, and Win gave her one overwhelmingly grateful look before she fled. Behind her, she heard Leo say, “Hey, Shift. You look nice.”
Then confetti, and drinks, and a party. The conservatory led into a wide, wood-paneled reception hall that had been decorated according to Charlie’s specifications. He’d taken the plant theme and run with it so the whole room was flush with greenery like a 1930s salon: tall monsteras surrounding the bar, wide banana leafs sheltering the velvet-seated lounge area, sprawling earthenware bowls of winter wildflowers on the tables. To compensate for the excess in plant life, the furniture was relatively understated, with the exception of Shift’s and Charlie’s chairs, which were wound with pepperberry foliage and cactus dahlias. To Charlie’s left, Gum picked one of the leaves and sniffed it. To Shift’s right, Win focused on her drink and tried to resist the urge to lift her head, knowing that if she looked out across the room, she would immediately fix on Leo.
Shift told her that Leo was at a table in a far corner from the wedding party, with the rest of Charlie’s younger male friends and their dates. That information had induced another guilty pang, and Charlie’s assurance, in a comforting voice, that “Leo won’t mind, he said whatever’s easiest will suit him,” didn’t help settle Win’s stomach at all. She wished he could have left at the end of the ceremony, but Gum’s attitude made it clear that this was going to be an endurance test to last all evening. She kept her head down, and ordered another vodka soda.
Georgia Chilton and Bill appeared to take photos of the speeches, pointing and conferring quietly, and Win lifted her head up to smile properly. Shift’s parents had made a PowerPoint presentation of Shift’s life, running through baby photos to the present day and featuring several photos of teenage Win and Shift, glaring from under terrible haircuts during their emo phase, posing back-to-back with their arms folded in an apparent promo for their short-lived band. Danielle nervously read a Mary Oliver poem. Gum’s speech rambled over “the hills and dales of mine and Charlie’s youth” before delving into the postcards Charlie had sent him from wherever in the world he was working, the hangovers they’d endured together, the “mystery noodles” that Charlie used to make on a hotplate when they shared a dorm room, the time Gum broke his leg at school and Charlie snuck into the infirmary after hours to read Gum op-eds from the Financial Times. “He has had the opportunity to sit by my side at many hospital beds since then, I’m sorry to say,” Gum said, with a jocular little laugh. “On the upside, I claim complete credit for his excellent bedside manner.” He raised his glass. His smile was tight. “I am extremely happy for him and his bride.”
Once he was done he looked a little lost, collapsing back down into his seat. Charlie patted his back and was immediately distracted by an errant aunt, but Georgia Chilton sidled closer, a calculating look in her eye. Win could understand the appeal: Gum and his big mouth was a golden opportunity for background dirt.
“It’s Geoffrey, isn’t it?” she said. “You’ve known Charlie a really long time, then.”
Gum stood up to shake her hand, chest puffing out. “There’s not a thing I don’t know about that boy,” he declared. “I was wondering when you’d come to find me—”
“Gum!”
Win fixed her gaze on the table. There was bright confetti scattered over the surface, and she stared at it
until her vision blurred. But Leo was careful. He stuck close to the left, as far away from Win as he could manage while still coming up to snag his brother’s elbow.
She heard his voice, low and warm. “Nice speech,” Leo said. “Come get a drink with me.”
“Well…” Gum hesitated, gesturing at Georgia.
“You’re very busy,” Leo said firmly. “Lots of best man duties. Gum.”
“Yes, excuse me,” Gum said, seeming to remember himself. “I have to look after my brother, you know. He’s having a rough time, poor fella.”
Win knew that if she looked up, Gum would be glaring at her. She wasn’t sure what Leo would be doing. She stayed perfectly still and watched their feet move away, toward the bar, and then she threw back the rest of her drink.
Danielle, on Win’s other side, asked tentatively if Win was having a good time. After a few awkward moments of small talk about her school and her friends, Win asked if she knew anyone else at the reception.
“Well—kind of,” Danielle said, glancing around. “Some cousins, and I recognize some of Charlie’s friends. That one”—she pointed at a short blond boy who was pretending to eat one of the plants while his friend filmed, expressionless—“has a pretty good YouTube channel. And that other one is maybe dating Isaac Bronstein right now, did you hear about that?”
She looked at Win excitedly as the idea dawned that she might have come across a source of potential insider gossip. But Win didn’t really know the guy.
“Right, sure,” Danielle said, changing tack. “I don’t believe in all that gossip stuff. It’s so childish.”
Win shrugged. “I think people just like entertainment.”
“Right but...” Danielle shifted in her seat, clearly regretting this line of conversation. “I think there’s stuff that’s there for entertainment, and stuff that’s more private, you know?”
“Oh, I know,” Win said, and grinned when Danielle blushed and giggled.
“Well, I think,” Danielle started, but paused. Knowing that she shouldn’t, Win followed Danielle’s gaze over the tables of shining guests to where Leo was leaning with one elbow on the bar, looking with a determinedly vague expression toward the south windows, the snow still coming down outside. The shelves of bottles behind him were backlit in blue neon, and his outline cut against them in a soft silhouette, his tie already loosened and one hand in his pocket. Win’s whole body stung as if she’d fallen into poison ivy. She stretched her hands out on the tablecloth. He was alone.
“He shouldn’t have come,” Danielle said. Win glanced at her in surprise. Danielle held her chin up, stubborn. “He’s just here for the drama.”
“He didn’t have a choice,” Win told her.
“Everybody always has a choice,” Danielle said. Win wanted to tell her how wrong she was about that, but she couldn’t do it without revealing how helpless she felt. She wanted to be like Danielle, young and hopeful enough to believe it. She wanted it to be true.
After collecting his drink, Leo slipped back into hiding at the corner table and didn’t resurface for another hour or more. Win finished dinner in relative peace, doing her best to give Danielle sage advice on college choices and how to apply winged eyeliner. She startled when Danielle asked her what her plans were after the wedding, remembering again with a jolt that there were no new projects on the horizon. Patrick had been sending her scripts, but it was piecemeal, uninspiring stuff. He told her at the end of every phone call that he’d keep working on it.
“I guess I’m taking a break right now,” she said.
They all got up and gathered around for the cake cutting—“It’s vegan,” Charlie announced, and it tasted like dust—and then made a haphazard crowd around the dance floor for Shift and Charlie’s first dance, to a sweet, playful Fleetwood Mac song. Charlie held Shift’s hands with earnest reverence and seemed almost overwhelmed by the moment until Shift started mouthing campily along with the chorus. He cracked into a smile, resting his brow for a second on her bare shoulder. Danielle squeezed Win’s hand in the dark. The spotlights were so bright that she couldn’t see anyone else in the crowd, and she was grateful for it.
After the dancing really got going, the room began to heat up. Shift commandeered the DJ booth as soon as she could, playing Top 40 hits that swung into stuttering EDM beats, twisting her shoulders back, witch house and something she’d once described to Win as “tropical goth” and then a pop hit that made all the seventeen-year-old cousins throw their hands up and scream. Charlie danced right in front of the turntables, swiveling his hands and surrounded by his cheerful crowd of boys. Every now and then Shift broke out of her reverie to beam at him, her train hooked artlessly over one shoulder. Bill the photographer was ducking in and around the edges of the crowd, his camera a natural extension of his eye, whose gaze Win avoided.
Win turned down several offers to dance, including one from Gum, which was delivered with such a threatening grin that she only very narrowly resisted the urge to slap him. What she wanted was to return to her table and drink until it was time to leave, but the specter of blurry videos surfacing online, depicting her sitting depressed and alone at her best friend’s wedding, kept her on her feet. She stuck by Danielle, who had become a welcome ally. They danced goofily together and drank virgin versions of Win’s favorite cocktails, and Win helped her curate a tasteful Instagram story of the evening. With Danielle keeping up a constant, delighted stream of conversation, it was easier to forget the eyes that must be on her, the guests nodding knowingly at her as she passed.
Toward the tail end of Shift’s set, one of Charlie’s younger cousins approached them. He looked hesitant, and across the floor a couple of other suited boys watched his progress with glee. Win tensed, but he fixed his gaze on Danielle.
“Fancy a dance?”
“Oh. I’m a bit busy right now,” Danielle started, gesturing to Win.
Win shook her head. “No, you’re not. Off you go.”
Shift switched the track from a bopping Japanese pop song to a smooth soul number, winked at Win, and flipped a switch to turn the floor lights pink. They both watched Danielle and the pretty boy move together, swaying with only a touch of teenage awkwardness. Win blew Shift a kiss and stifled her desperation to grab Shift’s arm and drag her away. Instead she stole Shift’s purse where it was hanging over her abandoned chair, and took Charlie’s discarded tux jacket as an afterthought.
There was an official smoker’s area, a section of the terrarium opened up to the chill night sky, but it had been jam-packed with guests all evening, trampled through with ash and snow and heaving with laughter, and Win wanted more than anything to get away from everyone. It only took a second on her phone to find the emergency routes Marie had sent her. She slipped out through the service exit to the kitchen, smiling apologetically at the gaping waiters, and ducked past endless shelves of dishes and glass, around another corner and out the side door.
She found herself in an external storage space, dirty gray concrete and steel bars and a line of neglected cheese plants. She sat down on a discarded beer crate and picked through Shift’s purse for her rolling papers and tobacco. She rolled a clumsy, terrible cigarette—she didn’t smoke often enough to do this, and normally Emil rolled them for her—and sat trying to keep it alight with short, sharp puffs while the clatters and calls of the kitchen staff drifted out behind her. It was freezing, even with the jacket.
When the door pushed open again she looked up, expecting a waiter. It was Leo with his phone in hand.
“Fuck,” Win said.
Leo blinked down at her, mouth falling open, eyes wide with shock.
“Sorry,” he said, and added into the phone as he turned, “hang on—”
“No, I’ll go,” Win said, standing up and dusting herself off. There was a garbage disposal area on the other side of the kitchen that would probably be just as empty, and maybe it would have a door with a lock.
“You don’t have to go,” Leo said, with one foot
in the doorway.
“You don’t have to go,” Win replied, and gestured for him to get out of her way. She felt suddenly stubborn. Leo had lost his tie and turned his coat collar up against the cold, and he looked so good, and Win was drowning out here, caught in a whirlpool with no way to come up for air. Then the rest of the world raced after her.
“Did anyone see you follow me in here?”
Leo’s expression flickered, but only just. “I didn’t know you were here. I don’t think anyone else does either.” He glanced down at the spindle of paper clutched between her fingers, and raised his eyebrows. “Is that supposed to be a cigarette, Whitman?”
“Fuck you,” Win said. “I needed a break.”
Leo watched her. He put the phone back to his ear. “Listen, Han, I have to call you back.”
“You don’t need to,” Win started, but Leo was already pulling up his own beer crate and holding his hand out for the tobacco. She paused, then handed it over, and Leo pinched out paper.
“I’m sorry this ended up happening,” he said. When Win didn’t reply, he glanced up, and elaborated. “Us both being here, I mean.”
Win sagged. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I know, but.” Leo shrugged, fingers quick on the cigarette. Win tried not to sulk about the fact that Leo’s cigarette was looking much better than hers, which had just sputtered out for the third time. She flicked the lighter at it uselessly.
“I wanted to tell you,” he continued, speaking quickly now like he was forcing the words out, “that I’m not going to make it worse. I won’t talk about you. I won’t call. After tonight I’ll be out of your life for good.”
He didn’t look up from his hands. It was good news. It was what she wanted to hear.
“Okay,” Win said. “Thank you.” She sucked desperately at her cigarette as the wind swept through and extinguished it again.
Leo nodded and smiled, shaking his head at the ground. It seemed like a weird thing to do, when Win was so close to crying she felt like her heart was about to jerk out of her throat. He held the cigarette up to his mouth to lick the paper and seal it, and grimaced, lips twisting in a way that might have been a laugh.
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