by Lauren Layne
“Hey!” she said happily. “At least our conversation made me forget all about the whole Scandal Boy thing. Do you think they got a picture of us holding hands?”
Clarke looked down, a little surprised to see that they were indeed still holding hands. And more than a little surprised that for the past few moments of their conversation, he hadn’t been holding them for a photo op.
But he was most surprised of all that he didn’t want to let go.
Chapter Ten
MONDAY, JANUARY 27
O-M-G you guys!!! You will never guess where I am today! Be sure to check my stories for all of the white, poofy details.
—@TheAudreyTate
No,” Claire and Naomi said at the exact same time as Audrey came out of the dressing room.
She feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Honey, is there no mirror in there?” Naomi asked, aghast, as she stared at Audrey.
“What, do you not like it?” Audrey asked in dismay.
She shuffled toward the big mirrors in the main dressing area, then tried and failed to hold in her laugh at the absurd wedding dress. “Who made this?”
“Oh, thank God,” Naomi breathed. “I thought you were serious.”
“Yes, definitely serious,” Audrey said, plucking one of the dozen buttons that made up the front of the bodice. Not functional buttons. But decorative, mismatched, randomly scattered buttons. “Country quilt is so very me.”
“It does sort of look like a quilt,” Claire said, champagne glass in hand as she circled Audrey. “It’s like they took all the scraps and buttons from every other wedding dress in existence and put them all together on this dress.”
“I couldn’t resist trying it on. I thought it had to look better on me than on the hanger, but… no. It’s worse. So much worse.”
“At least it makes your boobs look good!” Naomi said cheerfully.
“Sorry about the delay,” the saleswoman said as she came back into the dressing area. “I had to— Oh. Oh my.”
“I don’t think this dress style is quite me,” Audrey said diplomatically, not wanting to insult the woman’s inventory.
“I think that particular dress is probably for very few people,” the woman said with a smile. “It was custom-made for a bride whose wedding fell through. She paid full price, and even though we don’t offer refunds on custom gowns, she insisted we keep it in case some other bride fell in love with it.”
“Well, it won’t be this bride,” Audrey said, scooping up the fabric of the skirt and heading back toward the dressing room.
“Wait,” Naomi commanded. “Picture!”
Audrey struck several dramatic poses as Naomi took photos. It was, after all, the reason they were here.
One of the city’s top bridal shops had called Audrey and offered her the shop to herself and champagne for her and her friends if she did a casual fashion show to share with her followers.
After being assured there would be no pressure whatsoever to buy or commit to a gown, Audrey had agreed. The bridal shop was extremely elite, with reservations usually made months in advance. Most of Audrey’s followers would never be able to see it in person, and she was thrilled to be able to give them a glimpse inside, as well as to hopefully offer brides-to-be inspiration on designer gown wear.
She wasn’t exactly sure who would find inspiration from the button and lace explosion she was currently wearing, but she supposed it took all kinds.
“Okay, so the fan favorite so far is definitely the strapless A-line with the pink sash around the waist,” Claire called from the other side of the dressing room, apparently having taken over monitoring Audrey’s phone. “Did we like that one?”
“The cut, yes,” Naomi said. “I don’t know how I feel about the pink. Audrey, did you like the pink?”
“I didn’t hate it,” Audrey called over the dressing room door as she wiggled into a slim-fitting halter. “It was fun, but maybe a little too trendy. I’ve always sort of envisioned the traditional all-white dress.”
She got the zipper as far as she could, then gave up. Some she’d been able to yoga her way into zipping up; others she needed help.
“Agreed on the all-white thing,” Naomi said as Audrey came out of the room and turned so someone could zip her up. “Though I hate the fact that it’s supposed to represent purity.”
“Yeah, because what percentage of brides do you think are actually virgins?” Claire asked as she pulled up Audrey’s zipper and fiddled with the halter neck.
“It’s been so long for me, I may as well be a virgin,” Audrey grumbled as she stepped in front of the mirror to see the dress. It was pretty, but a little simple for her tastes. She turned and struck a couple of poses for Claire to take a picture.
“How long is so long?” Naomi asked, bringing Audrey’s champagne glass to her. “Exactly how long is your sex hiatus?”
Audrey took a sip. “Um.”
“Oh no,” Naomi said, her eyes wide in horror. “I’d known you’d been on a sort of dry spell since Brayden, but are you telling me… all the way dry spell?”
“Well, I tried to break it with Randy,” Audrey defended herself. “Look how that turned out.”
“Yes, but, sweetie,” Claire said, looking concerned. “Brayden passed a year and a half ago.”
Audrey resisted the urge to snap that she was well aware of just how long it had been. Audrey had never considered herself an overtly sexual creature. She liked sex, definitely, but she’d found herself missing the companionship, the romance, and the butterflies of being with Brayden much more than she’d missed the sexual aspect.
But in recent months, she’d officially rounded the bend. Her body’s cravings had caught up with her heart and mind, and she’d decided to do something about it. Hence, Randy. Yes, the guy had turned out to be a creep—a married creep. But one with laugh lines, a great smile, and excellent shoulders. More importantly, the guy had known his way around a romantic phrase or two, and for Audrey, good sex was all about the romance.
“I just haven’t quite figured out how to have sex without romance,” Audrey said, spelling it out for her friends.
“Oh, it’s easy,” Naomi said. “Before Oliver, I—” She broke off. “Actually, Claire. You take this one.”
“I get it,” Claire told Audrey, taking over. “I had the same realization last year. Remember when I was going through my whole no-strings-attached aspirations?”
Audrey smiled. “I remember. You were dead set on having a fling.”
“I was dead set on not getting my heart broken,” Claire corrected. “I didn’t realize it at the time. Needless to say, I was not counting on Scott being so…”
“Dreamy?” Audrey fluttered her eyelashes.
“Something like that,” Claire said with a private smile.
“Well, I’m already there on that realization,” Audrey pointed out. “I already know that I’m not cut out for sex without romance. The romance is my favorite part!”
“So why aren’t you seeking romance?” Naomi asked. “You’re gorgeous. Successful. Sweet. Smart. Funny.”
“Blushing here,” Audrey said, pretending to fan her cheeks.
“I’m serious. We’re onto you, Tate. We know exactly the looks you get in bars, and I could name at least ten men who would kill for a shot with you.”
“Same,” Claire said.
“I haven’t been interested,” Audrey said, sipping the champagne.
“You haven’t let yourself be interested,” Naomi persisted stubbornly. “Why?”
Audrey gave them both an exasperated look. “Was I this pushy when you were fumbling your way through things with Oliver and Scott?”
“Yes,” they answered in unison.
She laughed. “Fair enough. But I’m doing fine, I promise.”
“Sweetie, you’re trying on wedding dresses for a wedding that you have no intention of going through with,” Claire said gently. “Not that this isn’t fun,” she was quick to a
dd.
“It does sound sort of depressing when you put it that way,” Audrey said, checking to make sure the saleswoman wasn’t nearby before sinking onto a puffy blue cushion, doing her best not to wrinkle the dress.
“Having second thoughts?” Naomi sat beside her.
“Weirdly, not really,” Audrey admitted, looking down at the bubbles rising in her champagne glass. “I’m having so much fun with this. My followers are loving it, and it does feel weirdly good to keep calling Linda’s bluff.”
“But?” Claire asked.
Audrey looked up, surprised to realize her friend knew her well enough to sense there was something lurking beneath the surface, then realized she shouldn’t be. She sometimes thought she knew these two women better than they knew themselves—she’d certainly known they were falling in love before they had. She supposed it made sense that they’d know her pretty well, too.
She bit her lip. “It’s probably nothing. Maybe my imagination. But I keep having these fleeting moments where things with Clarke feel a little… weird.”
“Weird how?”
“It’s hard to describe. Like, when we kissed—”
“Oh, thank God,” Naomi said, flopping back in relief. “I thought I would die if you didn’t talk about that, but Claire said I couldn’t bring it up unless you did.”
“Why would you bring it up?” Audrey asked in confusion.
“Because it was hot,” Naomi said. “He all but bent you over backward in front of everyone. And the way he looked at you after…”
Audrey’s eyes rolled. “He just puts on a good show.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Naomi said, not bothering to hide her skepticism. “If it was just a show, then what was weird about it?”
Audrey huffed out an irritable breath. “I don’t know. It was just… I guess we’ve kissed before. Pecks. Playful smacking kisses. But we’ve never kissed. Not like that.”
“It was pretty great, huh?” Claire asked.
“It was a good kiss,” Audrey admitted. “Though, the guy’s had lots of practice, so I sort of keep trying to chalk my butterflies up to his sheer skill. But then…”
“Oh, there’s more. Did he touch your boob?” Naomi asked gleefully.
“Boob? How old are you? And no. He just… we held hands.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Audrey saw Naomi’s nose scrunch in disappointment, but Claire seemed to have the opposite reaction, her gaze sharpening slightly. “When?”
Audrey filled them in on dinner and Clarke doing damage control after Scandal Boy posted a picture of him looking horrifically bored to be in her presence.
“The moment in the restaurant was just like the kiss,” she said, frowning. “It started out almost jokingly, very pretend, and then something shifted. And I don’t really know what.”
“Do you think he noticed the shift, too?”
“Maybe? I don’t know, and that’s what bothers me more than anything. I keep getting the sense that there are things he’s not telling me. He’s holding back, and he’s never held back around me before.”
“He might be right to keep his distance,” Claire said gently, coming to sit on Audrey’s other side. “You guys are playing with fire here. Blurring the lines of your friendship with romance is dangerous territory. Maybe he knows, even on an instinctive level, that it’s smart to keep some distance.”
Audrey swallowed, the thought of Clarke keeping his distance feeling totally depressing.
“Okay, I’m going to ask something that’s not my business,” Naomi said.
“Now, there’s a surprise,” Claire said.
Naomi gave Claire a toothy smile and turned back to Audrey. “Have you ever thought about trying this whole romance thing for real with Clarke?”
Audrey groaned. “Not this again. I’ve told you two a thousand times that we’re really, truly, just friends.”
“Yes, but that was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before you knew he was a good kisser. Before you held hands. Before you had feels,” Naomi said, lowering her voice to a whisper.
“I do not have feels,” Audrey said shortly, standing to indicate the conversation was over.
She handed over her champagne to Claire and headed back into the dressing room.
I do not have feels, she repeated to herself. I do not have feels.
Swallowing, she put a hand to her stomach, realizing with dismay that saying it aloud and thinking it repeatedly didn’t seem to make it true.
Chapter Eleven
WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 29
Yeah,” Clarke called, not looking up from his computer at the knock on the door. Clarke didn’t close his door very often, preferring to keep the exact opposite work environment his father offered.
If Alton West could have built a moat around his top-floor office, he would have. Instead he settled for regulating the elevator. Nobody could even get to the CEO’s office unless personally escorted by Clarke’s father’s longtime assistant.
Clarke’s own office was on the floor just below the CEO’s, and he made a point of keeping it as open and accessible as possible. Not because he particularly relished interruptions, but because he found that people worked harder and worked better when they felt heard.
Still, the open-door philosophy, while ideal in theory, wasn’t always ideal for Clarke’s productivity. The past month in particular, Clarke had been scrambling to keep up with the constant influx of questions and demands crossing his desk.
As a result, he’d been closing his door more and more lately in an attempt to block out the noise. He didn’t like it, but he needed to keep his performance from slipping.
Clarke knew why Maria was flooding his inbox and calendar—she knew her opponent was distracted with a wedding, and she saw her chance to prove her dedication to the job. What he didn’t fully understand was why his father seemed to be in on the misery.
Not that he was complaining, really. Clarke had been waiting years to feel like his father trusted him enough to lean on him. And it was finally happening. He just didn’t understand why it had to be now, when Clarke was trying to balance cake-tasting appointments with budget meetings.
“Yeah,” Clarke said again, louder this time, when whoever knocked didn’t enter. He was careful to keep the impatience out of his voice. His team knew better than to knock on the closed door unless it was urgent.
He glanced up as the door opened, his fingers freezing over his keyboard when he saw the familiar face. “Liz.”
His ex smiled tentatively. “Can I come in?”
“Sure,” he said automatically. Not because he wanted to see her, but because he was damned curious. Elizabeth had rarely come to see him at work when they’d been dating. She’d been too immersed in her own career. That she’d take time out of her busy workday now was… interesting.
“My mother sent you?”
Liz had the decency to flinch as she shut the door. “I deserve that.”
“Ah,” he said, smiling slightly and leaning back in his chair. “So you admit you’ve been working with her.”
She lifted her chin slightly in defense. “She knows I’ve been wanting to see you since I’ve been back in town. To catch up.”
“We caught up over the lunch you two tricked me into.” Clarke kept his voice light, but there was a note of steel to his tone, too. “I know you’ve moved back because you’re up for a nomination at the AG offices. I know you’ve just bought a place on West 70th and that you’ve had a year to mourn Lucy and think you’re about ready to get a new cat. I know you still pick cucumbers off your salad, even though I maintain they have no taste and are thus harmless.”
She gave a fleeting smile and approached his desk. “And I know you still live in that place off Madison you bought after I moved. I know that if there’s a cheeseburger on the menu, you order it. I know that Priscilla is still your assistant and that you got a promotion. Congratulations.” She lifted her hands and gestured around the large office,
the Midtown view.
“And yet”—her hands lowered so all ten fingertips braced lightly on the opposite side of his desk—“you didn’t mention one very crucial detail at that lunch.”
Clarke stayed silent and still, not giving an inch.
She leaned forward just slightly. “You failed to mention you were getting married.”
“Must have slipped my mind,” he said with a noncommittal smile.
“Must have.”
Their eyes locked, and as he had at the aforementioned lunch, Clarke waited for the punch of rightness. Hell, he’d take a flicker. Anything to remind himself that he’d once cared about this woman. Not that he didn’t care about her now. Elizabeth had once been important to him, and he wished only good things for her. But whereas before he’d found her beautiful, now she was merely attractive to him, in a detached, observational kind of way. Not because she’d changed, but because the way he felt about her had changed. She was merely a mostly fond memory now, and her being back in New York didn’t change that.
Still, Elizabeth gave him a knowing smile. “How long are you two going to keep it up?”
He tilted his head, feigning confusion.
“Cut the crap, Clarke,” she said, sitting down without being invited. “I know why Audrey’s playing bride. It’s literally her career to pose. But what I can’t figure out is why you’re going along with it. To get back at me, to irritate your mother, or because Audrey still has you wrapped around her finger?”
“Careful, Liz.”
“Oh, I don’t mean any offense against Audrey,” Elizabeth said. “She’s always been nice to me. I even started to like her once I quit being jealous of her. But I was jealous in those early days, and I can remember quite clearly that you spent the first several months of our relationship trying to ease my jealousy by reminding me that she was like a sister to you.”
It was on the tip of Clarke’s tongue to issue his usual knee-jerk reaction. To insist that Audrey was like a sister to him. Today, however, the words wouldn’t come. He tried to tell himself it was because he wanted to get under Elizabeth’s skin, but he was becoming increasingly aware that things between him and Audrey had nothing to do with Elizabeth.
