by Marian Vere
Somehow I make it into the building, check my coat, and stumble into the restroom without falling on my face. I take a quick appraisal in the mirror and actually like what I see. I’m wearing my new, blue, flowy, Maggy London wrap dress I bought yesterday, which Bree assured me looked much better than the brown one I had also considered. Looking at myself now, I’m glad she talked me into this one. It hugs all the good curves, hides all the bad ones, and the V-neck shows just enough cleavage to be sexy without being skanky. I’d gone this afternoon to have my hair done, something I never do, and I took over an hour to perfect my makeup. I’m happy to see it was all worth it—I look damn good!
I make my way—carefully, on my now numb feet—out to the cocktail reception area. The gala planners have really outdone themselves this year, and everything looks amazing. High cocktail tables with burgundy and gold tablecloths, flower arrangements done in rich fall colors, white-gloved servers passing around champagne and hors d’oeuvres, and a large mahogany bar, stocked with top shelf hooch. Funny how the company could only afford to give me a minuscule raise this year, but bacon-wrapped filet mignon hors d’oeuvres for the gala were a fiscal necessity.
I do a quick survey of the room to see if Nick—ahem, I mean Bree is here yet. As I scan the bar area, I see a familiar young man ordering wine and a cocktail. It’s Chris. I walk up behind him and place a hand on his arm.
“Congratulations, Mr. Langston.”
“Julia! I was hoping to see you here!” he says with radiant smile, giving me a hug.
I return the hug, trying to hide my shock. I can barely believe my eyes; he’s a completely different man from the one I spent so much time with in Maine. He is smiling, warm, and confident—not at all the shy, timid introvert he had been. Love had obviously done wonders for him, and something about it all suddenly makes me want to cry.
“How have you been? We missed you that last week at the house.”
“I’ve been great, no complaints,” I say. “We have been doing so much wedding planning this past week, I’m surprised this is the first I’ve seen you.”
“Well, I’m not really needed for most of that.” He grins.
“Has your mother scared you into eloping yet?” I give him a wry smile.
“No, but she’s getting close.” He laughs. “Can I get you a drink?” He motions to my empty hands.
“Wine would be great, thanks. Whatever they have that’s red.”
Armed with an exceptionally good Merlot, I walk with Chris over to where Bree, Margaret, and Margaret’s husband, John, are waiting.
“Julia, don’t you look lovely!” Margaret says, hugging me.
“Yep, that is definitely the one.” Bree beams, nodding at my dress.
Their conversation picks up where it left off, and I quietly sip my wine, pretending to pay attention when I am actually scanning the room as discreetly as possible.
Shouldn’t Nick be here by now?
Everyone else seems to be here. Maybe he’s changed his mind and isn’t coming. That would figure. A hundred and twenty dollar dress and an evening of primping down the drain. Wait, is that him? No, too short.
Maybe he’s just late.
“Jules?” Bree calls me out of my search. Everyone is looking at me expectantly, and I have no idea what they are even talking about.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“Margaret was asking about the dresses.”
Dresses? I stare at her blankly.
“For the wedding…”
“Oh, yes! Sorry, don’t mind me.”
“She won’t tell me what they—” Margaret suddenly looks past me. “Mr. Kerkley,” she says, stepping around me. “I’m so glad you could make it!”
I turn around to see Nick, looking impossibly handsome in a three-piece tux.
Okay, don’t blush, everyone will notice, don’t blush, don’t blush.
Margaret gives Nick a quick hug, then makes introductions. “Mr. Nicholas Kerkley, this is my husband, John Herstein.” The two shake hands, and then Nick takes a few steps over to greet Bree and Chris. After the greetings are over and the conversation picks up where it left off, I decide it’s safe to bring my gaze up off the floor and take a peek at Nick.
Big mistake.
As soon as I look up I see that he’s watching me. Our eyes lock, and he gives me a smile that makes my toes curl. God damn it all! It is ridiculous how much I still love this man!
I quickly turn my attention to the person talking, though my peripheral vision never leaves Nick. He slowly makes his way around the parameter of the group; my heart pounds just a little harder and harder until he is right next to me. I wonder if he can hear it.
Okay, now is your chance, say something to him.
I take a deep breath, turn my shoulders toward him slightly. “Hi.”
Hi? Dear God.
Okay, say something intelligent next time, idiot!
“Hi,” he replies with a grin.
“I’m glad you came,” I say before I can stop myself.
“Me too.” He really needs to stop looking gorgeous, or I’m going to be on the floor. “You…you look beautiful.”
He really is trying to kill me! My cheeks are on fire before I can even try to stop it. “Thank you,” I say, or at least try to say. I’m not sure any sound comes out.
“This is nice,” he says after a moment, glancing around the room. “I really didn’t know what to expect. Do they do this every year?” We’re completely facing each other now, and I relax. It’s just so easy to be around him.
“Pretty much. It’s always at a different location, but just as…grandiose. It’s a big company with big clients; they want to make sure they impress everyone. This might be my favorite one so far. I like the library idea. At least someone was being creative.”
“I like it too. I didn’t even know you could have events like this here. Maybe next year they can rent out Yankee Stadium; that would be fun,” he adds with a chuckle.
“It would be, but I’m sure that’s much too low brow,” I say with a snotty inflection and an eye roll. “Besides, you hate the Yankees.” I blush suddenly and look down as I realize that I’ve just openly acknowledged our past for the first time since this reunion began. Something in his smile tells me he realizes it too.
“Okay, maybe Madison Square Garden then.” He grins.
I smile without having to think about it. This feels so comfortably familiar. So easy. The two of us have slipped into our own private bubble, and it happened so fluidly that the rest of the group doesn’t even seem to notice. Which is all for the better as I would be happy to stay this way forever. After a few moments I realize that we have fallen silent, but it’s not awkward; there’s only a strange but relaxing feeling of relief, like taking a breath after being underwater. I sip my wine and look up, meeting his gaze. Our eyes lock and my heart races again.
“Actually, Jules,” he says, quieter now, not breaking our stare, “there is something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”
The intensity in his eyes makes my heart jump into my throat, and the room suddenly feels like it’s a thousand degrees. For a few seconds I can only stare back at him, afraid to blink or he might disappear. I take a breath, but before I can get my first syllable out, something catches my eye from across the room. I glance over, and my heart stops. There, working his way through the crowded room, is Zach.
Oh God, no!
The bubble I’d imagined surrounding Nick and me pops, and my world comes to a screeching halt. Before the word “hide” even comes to mind he spots me and walks over.
As I watch him approach, my throat closes and I can’t breathe. How the hell could I have done this? How could I have completely forgotten about him? For God’s sake, I invited him! I had told him to meet me here! Yet somehow, it was possible for his existence on this planet to totally escape my mind for the past two days?
Seriously?
I feel completely helpless as he reaches us and, with
a big smile, pulls me into a more-than-friendly hug and kisses my cheek. Nick actually has to take a step back to let him in.
I want to die.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he says, releasing me from the hug but keeping a hand on the small of my back. “I had the slowest cab on earth.”
I’m frozen. I stare at him for a moment before forcing myself—in the name of common decorum—to smile and greet him like a person. “No, it’s fine.” I’m praying I don’t sound as uncomfortable as I am. “Zach, this is Mr. Kerkley, one of our clients.” I know that the rules of polite society demand I introduce the two men standing in front of me, regardless of the fact that the situation is so awkward that I’m currently contemplating climbing the stairs and jumping off the balcony. “Mr. Kerkley, this is Zach Connoray.” I venture a look up at Nick. He’s staring at Zach with no expression whatsoever. All the smiles and warmth from a moment ago are gone.
“Nice to meet you,” Zach says, smiling and extending a hand. Nick shakes it stiffly and nods once, but says nothing.
“Jules?” I hear Bree call from behind. I turn to see Bree looking back and forth between Zach and myself, and notice that the rest of the group has also taken interest in the new arrival who has his arm around me. I turn and take a step toward them—happily disengaging Zach’s hand in the process—and start the introductions.
“Everyone, this is Zach Connoray. Zach, this is Brianna St. Charles, her fiancé, Chris Langston, and Margaret and John Herstein.”
“So this is the young man we have heard so much about?” Margaret asks with a mischievous smile.
I could kill her.
I blush hotly, but not at all for the reason anyone suspects. It has more to do with the person standing directly behind me who I can’t see, but can feel like a knife in my back. How could I let this happen? Am I really this obliviously one-track minded? Nick tells me he is coming to a party where I will be, and somehow, that conversation equates to erasing Zach’s name as well as any plans I had with him from my mind entirely? And could he have walked in at a worse possible moment? What was Nick about to say? What did he need to talk to me about? The look in his eyes told me it was definitely not work-related. I’m dying to look at him now, just so I can try to read his expression. Should I turn and look? That seems way too obvious, plus I don’t have the balls for that. I’m terrified of what I will find, because there are no good possibilities. Is he mad? Happy? Indifferent? Better not to know, because it will upset me either way. If he’s mad, it will make the situation that much more awkward. If he’s happy, that will depress me, and indifference would be worse. Much as I hate to admit it, part of me—the selfish, heartless, bitchy side that we all have but rarely acknowledge—actually wants him to be mad. Or at the very least, mildly upset or annoyed in some way.
I really am horrible!
Luckily, or maybe unluckily, the group slowly rearranges itself, and I throw an inconspicuous glance over to Nick. He has his hands clasped behind his back, no expression on his face, and is glaring downward through the floor. He’s impossible to read, but my stomach still ties itself a new knot.
I begin to notice a stirring at the other end of the hall as two large doors open and we are welcomed in to be seated for dinner.
“Looks like it’s time to eat,” Margaret says, stepping out to lead our group forward. As she nears Nick however, he stops her.
“Actually, I’m not going to be able to stay, and I just wanted to say goodnight.”
What?
“Oh,” Margaret says, putting a hand on his arm. “That’s too bad. Are you sure?”
“Yes.” He tries to hide the curt tone to his voice, but I can hear it.
“Well then, it was nice to see you. I guess we’ll be meeting up soon to make new plans if you’re sure you are passing on the Marston Estate.”
“You’re not taking it?” Chris chimes in, overhearing. “I didn’t know that.”
Neither did I.
“No, I’m not. I realized I wanted it for the wrong reasons,” Nick says, then, turning his gaze to a subtle but pointed glare at me, adds, “and some things belong in the past and are better left there.”
I feel like I’ve been stabbed in the chest, and have to bite down on my tongue to keep from crying.
“All right then, dear, I’ll be in touch,” Margaret says, patting his arm.
“Goodnight.” Nick nods to the group, then walks off without looking at me again.
I stare after him for several seconds, afraid that any movement at all will shatter me into a sobbing heap on the floor.
“Shall we?” I hear Zach ask, putting a hand on my back. I slowly look up at him and see a combination of concern and confusion on his face. I nod and, still lost in my stupor, stagger forward with the rest of the crowd. “Here,” he says, taking my glass. “Let me get you a refill.”
Yes. Wine. I need more wine.
My eyes aren’t open yet, but I can tell the sun is pouring in my bedroom window. The second thing I notice is a pulsing headache. The third is simply the realization of the fact that I am home in my bed and have no idea how I got here.
Dear God, what did I do? Please just let me not be fired.
Sudden movement on the bed makes my eyes pop open. What the hell? I turn over and see…Zach.
Oh my God, what did I do?
Zach is in bed with me! Dear holy hell, please tell me we didn’t have sex! We couldn’t have, I mean there is no way I was that drunk…
I glance down at myself and see I am still wearing my blue dress from the party. Okay, good. Still dressed, underwear…yep, still on. Another look shows Zach took off his jacket, tie, and shirt, but is still wearing his undershirt and pants.
Okay, deep breath.
There was no sex.
No one has sex and then gets redressed just to go to sleep. All is well.
Zach stretches and sits up, glancing over at me to find me staring back.
“Good morning,” he says with a sleepy grin. “How do you feel?”
“What the hell happened?” I ask, sitting up.
“You had a little too much wine,” he says, exaggerating “little.”
“Oh God.” I close my eyes, preparing for the worst. “What did I do? Please tell me I’m not fired…”
“No, no, nothing like that. In fact, I think I’m the only one who knew.” Oh good. “You just got really tired. Margaret thought you might be coming down with something and convinced you to go home. You passed out in the cab, and I brought you up. I knew your building, but had to go in your purse for your apartment number, sorry,” he says with a guilty grimace.
“You’re apologizing?”
“I didn’t feel right just leaving you, so I stayed. I would have slept on the couch, but it’s way too small.” He still sounds guilty.
“Don’t worry about it, and thank you. I’m the one who’s sorry.” I get up and check my balance. Not bad.
“How do you feel?”
“Just a headache, so pretty good, considering. How many did I have?”
“Glasses or bottles?” he chuckles.
I bury my face in my hands.
“Don’t worry about it.” He comes around the bed and rubs his hands up and down my arms. “Like I said, no one realized.”
“How could they have not noticed how many I had?”
“You drink fast. Your glass was always about the same level; what they didn’t see were the refills. Besides, you weren’t acting drunk, just tired. They’re all worried you have the flu. You could probably get out of work for a few days, if you want,” he adds, laughing.
I finally smile, relaxing a bit. “I feel gross. If you don’t mind waiting for me to shower and change, I’ll take you to breakfast, or lunch as the case may be.” I feel eternally grateful to this man. I know breakfast is kind of weak, but it’s all I can do at the moment, and I have to give him something. “We can stop by your place on the way so you can change.”
“Sounds good.”
I can’t even think about that right now.
The fact is, Zach is a great guy who thinks the world of me, and I’ve been giving him the brush off for almost a week now. It is time for me to get back on track and start learning to want what’s best for me. How many guys would have taken care of me the way Zach did? I am lucky to have him. The best way for me to get over what happened with Nick last night is to move forward just like I’d planned.
I wash, dry off, pop two aspirin, and throw on my comfy jeans and hoodie. I find Zach on the couch, waiting for me.
“Okay,” I say, slipping on my ratty sneakers. “Let’s go.” I turn back toward him when he doesn’t immediately follow me. He is still sitting on the couch, looking down at his hands. “Something wrong?”
“No, not at all,” he says, glancing up. “But can we talk for a minute?”
Oh no, what now?
I sit down next to him on the couch and brace myself.
“Look, Julia,” he says, taking one of my hands in his. “I think you know how I feel about you…”
Oh God.
“…but I can see there is something wrong, and I just want you to know it’s okay.”
Wait, what?
“Huh?” I whisper, my heart beating a little faster.
“It’s okay. I mean, we’ve been out a few times now, and it’s been great. Really it has, I’m not complaining. I can tell you are trying, but I can also tell you’re a little hesitant.”
“You can?” I stare at him, totally dumbstruck. I hadn’t thought it was so obvious. Why isn’t he running out the door? Honestly, if he has any idea how damaged I actually am, he probably would be.
