The main lobby in our building is quiet, despite it being so close to the holidays. Fridays are usually chaotic with calls about the company printers breaking or our network in the building going down, but today, everything seems calm.
“Good afternoon, Mr. StoneHaven,” Mary says, greeting me from behind the front reception desk. She hands me a copy of The New York Times, a cup of black coffee, and my meeting schedule for the day. Her eyes flicker up in surprise at my unkempt appearance.
“Sir, are you all right?”
“I’m fine, Mary. I just need this day to be over.”
“You’ll be glad to know your schedule isn’t overbooked,” she says.
I’m grateful for the small break from all of department meetings I’ve been swamped with this week. My father insisted that I attend each one, and I have, but they have been nothing but exhausting. On top of everything else, I haven’t really had the time to sit down with him to discuss breaking off my engagement. It’s not something I can just email him about or catch him on the way to a meeting. No, this conversation needs to be well thought out and structured.
I think I’ve had an easier time preparing for a business proposal than preparing myself for this conversation with my father. The few times I’ve run into him, he’s been on his way out or into a meeting. I never realized how little I actually see of him during the week. At least I know I’ll see him for our pre-Christmas dinner that we have at my apartment. That should give me some time to speak with him. The offices will be closed so this might be the best chance to talk to him. Plus, it’s closer to Christmas, the season of peace and joy, though I have a feeling that my father is not going to be too forgiving.
“Is my father in by chance?”
“No, sir. He’s actually in a meeting with Mr. Price. He asked me to tell you to stop by his attorney’s office to discuss your marriage contract.”
That damn contract. Has Alison said something to my father?
“Also, this came in the mail today.” Mary hands me an ivory envelope. My heart slams against my chest at the sight of Alison’s and my name written in cursive on the front of it. What the hell? I flip it over and find a candlewax mold of the letter S sealing the envelope closed. Is this what I think it is? I rip it open, nearly destroying the contents inside. To my utter horror, a wedding invitation sits inside.
Mr. and Mrs. Greyson Price request the honor of your presence at the marriage of their daughter, Alison Lee Price to Nicholas Fitzgerald StoneHaven.
Saturday, the twentieth of February at six o'clock in the evening at the Plaza Hotel New York, New York. Reception to follow.
“Sir? Are you all right?” Mary asks, stepping over toward me. “You look pale.”
“Has Ms. Price called?” I barely manage to get the words out without exploding from anger. Alison sent out invitations to a wedding that I told her would never happen. Now half of New York thinks I’m getting married, and what’s worse, I know she did this to spite me.
“Alison, what the fuck is this?” I ask, trying my best not to scream in the middle of the damn sandwich shop. She flinches at the irritation in my voice. Her eyes briefly scan the area around us like she’s expecting some company to join us. It didn’t take as much convincing as I thought it would for Alison to agree to meet me for lunch. When I brought up the invitations over the phone, she feigned ignorance, blaming the company that was in charge of printing them. I know better than to believe her bullshit excuse. She knew exactly what she was doing.
“I thought I made myself perfectly clear.” I grip my knee to keep myself from slamming my fist across the table. I’m livid, to the say the least. Every time I try to take one step forward in moving past all of this, something has to go and mess it all up. I’ll be lucky if Rebecca doesn’t somehow receive an invitation.
“I’m not giving up on us.” Alison runs one long manicured fingernail across my arm. I flinch beneath her touch and she immediately pulls her hand away, offended by my abruptness. “You obviously aren’t ready to give up on us either. I know you haven’t spoken to your father,” she huffs.
It’s not because I haven’t tried. “My father is coming over this week,” I say.
“She doesn’t love you. Not like I do,” Alison pleads.
“This needs to stop. I don’t want to hurt you, but –”
Alison snakes her arms around my neck and pulls me into a kiss. My first instinct is to pull back, but she grips my neck tightly, squeezing me to her. A flurry of white flashes shower us before I’m finally able to pull away from the kiss. Her face breaks into a smile as I spot a group of photographers on the outside of the entrance to the restaurant. Fuck! Did she call the paparazzi?
“What the hell is this?” I seethe.
“I’m just clearing up some loose ends, sweetie. You can forget about your trampy little assistant when she sees those pictures in the paper. Once she’s out of the way, maybe you can finally manage to get yourself back on track with our plans.”
"Wake up. Now. You are going to stop being so damn depressing."
"I am not depressed," I moan, rolling in bed and burying my face in my pillow. It's Sunday, a day dedicated to rest and moping around in nothing but PJs, but Carol still denies me the privilege of sleeping in until my heart's content. She wakes me at 9 AM with a rough shake and the rich smell of freshly made donuts. Damn it, Carol. I sigh inwardly at the knowledge that my best friend could be a fairly awesome assassin if she wanted. She knows my kryptonite, fluffy maple donuts. I’m sure she sent her driver, Steven, for them.
I’m tempted to toss her butt off my bed but I can't resist the sweet smell of deep fried dough. It calls to me.
"You are deeply depressed. I brought you maple donuts and you're not even tackling me to the floor to get them. I know you're still pissed over Nicholas."
“Ugh.”
She's right. I was glad to see Nicholas on Friday, up until the point where he demanded that I not see Miles anymore. It is just another reminder that Nicholas and I shouldn’t be anywhere near each other. There’s far too much at risk for the both of us.
"Here," Carol says, shoving a greasy white donut bag in my face.
Wait a second. I must look pretty bad if she bought donuts. I made Carol promise to help me lose a few pounds before the gala, and she said she would if I stuck to her "diet" - a.k.a. her horrendous version of juicing. I don't know how, but Carol always finds the smelliest veggies to mix in our shakes. It probably doesn't help that she’s been mixing them with prune juice. I'm really surprised I haven't shit my pants yet, although I think I may have come close a couple of times.
"You know you want some."
"Damn you for tempting me," I say.
Carol places the greasy bag on my nightstand and pulls back my bed covers, baring me to the cold room.
"Now eat your sugary dough and get dressed. We're going shopping before all of the tourists steal all the good deals on dresses."
"And why am I buying a dress?" I complain.
"Well, you're going to Tristan Knight's gallery opening. It’s in a little over week, and you still don't have a dress for the gala for work."
"Shit. You're right, but I don’t think I’m up for shopping."
"C’mon, Becca. It will help get your mind off of him.”
I sigh, “I’m not so sure anything is going to help.”
“Wow, you look great!” Carol says, telling me to spin around.
After four hours, my feet are exhausted and most likely covered in blisters from walking in circles at Macy's, but I’m happy to admit that Carol was right to suggest going shopping. The dress I bought for the gala is a beautiful crimson fabric embroidered with crystals that look like diamonds.
Carol was dead serious when she said we were going shopping. So serious, in fact, that Steven had to help us carry her twenty something bags in from the car. As for me, I was as frugal as I could be with the limited amount of money I have left in my checking. I’m actually surprised I found a dress fo
r the gala and for Tristan’s event. With Carol’s help, I picked out a forest green swing dress for the opening of the gallery. It’s perfect and definitely something I would wear again.
"Are you sure the red one looks all right?" I ask as Carol riffles through her bags of dresses. She looks up with a sneaky smile.
"Yes, I’m sure. You are going to look gorgeous. By the way, it's good you didn't buy any heels, because I have some that will go perfect with your costume."
Carol walks over to her room and reappears a moment later holding a silver shoebox. "A client of mine gave them to me. She bought them in Paris."
I watch in anticipation as Carol removes the glass-like heels encrusted with white crystals. I slip the pair on and they fit snuggly on my foot. It must be meant to be. They’re going to look perfect with my dress.
"It sounds like your phone is going off in your purse," Carol says, waving over to my purse on the other end of the couch.
I scramble over just in time to pick up the call on the final ring. A smile breaks free from my lips as my father’s phone number flashes across the screen.
“Rebecca? Are you there?”
The sound of his voice and the familiar warm tone immediately makes me homesick. It’s been far too long since I’ve seen my parents. This Christmas will be the first one I’ll spend without them.
“Dad, is that you?” I smile into the receiver at the sound of his hearty chuckle. It’s the kind that effortlessly fills a room with cheer. I can almost picture him sitting in his lazy boy chair, wearing the tattered UCLA pajamas I bought him, and flipping through the television stations looking for something gory to watch. I used to love watching cheesy 70’s horror flicks with him. Our favorite was George A. Romero’s Dawn of the Dead.
“It’s me, cupcake. It’s good to hear my little girl. You sound so different.”
“Different? A good different or a bad?” I ask with curiosity.
“Good. Really good. I guess living away from your mother probably helps.” I know he’s joking, but in a way I think he’s right. Living on my own, or at least with another roommate near my age, has given me a taste of real independence.
“How’s mom treating you?”
“Oh fine, you know…she thinks I’m depressed,” he grumbles.
“Are you?”
“No. It’s just finding a job isn’t as easy as it used to be, but something will come up.”
Guilt plagues me, eating away at my conscience. Here I am, just coming back from a shopping spree, when my parents aren’t even able to pay for their house. I’ve been tempted to take a part-time job at the Books N’ Nooks store, but I’m not sure how I would have the energy. I want to help my parents, but I’m not sure if I’m even making a dent in their problem.
“I get paid in a couple of days. I’ll send you guys a check.” I try my best to sound reassuring, but by the exasperated sigh, he can probably tell I’m exhausted.
“Becca, that’s actually why I called, I don’t want you sending us money anymore. I wish I would’ve known sooner about your mother taking the money, but she said it was money she was pulling from her 401K.”
“You guys need it,” I argue.
“And so do you. I don’t even know how you’re eating. Are you eating?”
I have been eating somewhat healthy, thanks to Carol. She refuses to let me eat the 41-cent noodles from the supermarket for meals. Sure, I can’t afford fancy dinners or visit all of the places that I want to see in New York, but there’s still time for all of that. In a few months, I’ll have a permanent position at StoneHaven Publishing, with an incredible salary, or so it’s been indicated on the employee job portal.
“Rebecca?” he warns.
I laugh at the worried tone in my father’s voice. “Yes, dad. I’m eating.”
“I don’t want you wasting your money.” As much as I would like to be saving my money, I don’t want to see my parents lose my childhood home.
“What are you and mom going to do?”
“Let us worry about that.” I hear the faint sound of my mother’s frantic voice filling the background. My father’s voice is muffled for a moment, but I can hear him yelling over to my mother. “Your mother is back from the grocery store. I’ll call you later, cupcake.”
“Okay.” From my father’s long sigh, I can tell he’s just as reluctant to hang up as I am. I miss seeing them. “I love you, dad.”
As I end the call I notice a new text message in my message inbox. My breath hitches at the sight of Miles’s text. I thought Nicholas punching him in the jaw was enough to deter him from bothering me again, but I was wrong.
Becca, I’m sorry for what happened.
Can I please see you?
Tristan greets me at the front of the CrossFit gym with the promise of helping me clear my head for at least an hour. For the first forty minutes, he makes good on his promise. We hit the weight machines, and the only thing that fills my thoughts is the pain that courses through my muscles each time I push them just a little further. We’re almost near the end of our session when Tristan screws it all up by bringing up Alison’s name.
“So I got your wedding invitation.” Tristan glances sideways at me as I do another rep of arm curls.
“Alison sent them. I didn’t,” I groan, letting go of the handle for the arm curl weights. Thinking about Alison just makes me furious. She’s only made the situation worse by using the paparazzi against me. Calling off the wedding won’t be easy, and now that the invitations are out, people will be expecting an actual wedding. It isn’t just a rumor anymore.
“I sort of figured since the last time we talked you were punching me in the face for kissing your assistant.”
I finish with my arm curls and walk over to a nearby squat machine. Tristan stares at me, waiting for my acknowledgement, but I simply ignore him. I know I owe him an apology, but I’ve realized that if he was so sure of my feelings for Rebecca, he shouldn’t have touched her. He should’ve known what was going to happen. We grew up together and he knows my temper, and yet he still provoked me.
“So let me guess, you came to your senses and you realized you’re in love with her.” Tristan grins as he adds more weights to my squat machine.
Okay, now I’m starting not to feel so sorry for punching him in the face. When I called Tristan to see if he was free to meet me for a quick workout, I thought it might be time to put what happened at Riptide behind us. Not that we haven’t spoken, he’s the only person I called, besides Carol, after I took Rebecca to the hospital, but for the most part he’s been giving me my space. I guess it helps that he’s been busy preparing for the opening of his gallery, too.
“You make it hard to feel bad about punching you.” I grit my teeth as I bend my knees and lift the bar onto my shoulders.
“Is that finally your apology?” he says, amused. “Took you long enough.”
After two weeks, Tristan’s bruised eye is nothing more than a faded memory. Somehow he managed to avoid an awkward conversation with my father and sister, and for that I’m grateful. I’m already nervous about telling my father about calling off the engagement, and I still need to figure out what the hell I’m going to say to Rebecca to tell her I’m sorry. I don’t need to add anything else to that already heaping pile.
“That’s probably the best you’ll get from me,” I admit. “Especially when you patronize me.” I lean into another squat and slowly rise back up. Tristan stands nearby to spot me.
“It was worth it,” he laughs. “How else were you going to realize you how blind you were?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. She’s with someone else.” The words spill bitterly from my mouth. Tristan helps me place the bar back in the holder behind me and I clear the machine for the next person to use. He walks over and hands me bottled water from his gym bag.
“Who? Is she with one of your employees? Is it the guy that was with her at Riptide?”
“No. An ex fiancé from back home.” I take a swig of water
and then head toward one of the treadmills. Maybe some running will help get this sinking feeling out of my chest.
“Hold up, so she told you she’s getting back with her ex? The ex you told me about who lives in California?”
“Yes, well, not exactly. He’s in New York right now.”
“What exactly did she tell you?”
“Something about it being none of my business.” I wipe off a trail of sweat that runs from my neck across my back with my gym towel.
“What did you say to make her say that?” he asks.
“I told her I didn’t want her seeing her ex-fiancé anymore.”
Tristan chuckles, and I’m tempted to punch him in the face again. This is definitely not funny.
“Nick, you should know by now that she’s not the type to be told what to do. Even I can see that, and I haven’t been around her as much as you have.”
“I don’t want to see her with that idiot. He was trying to get back with her the night I took her to the hospital.”
“She’s not stupid enough to go back with him. On top of that, she’s in love with you.”
Tristan’s words fill my chest with warmth. I want to believe that she is, but Rebecca is confusing sometimes. There are days when I think she hates me, and then there are days that I’m almost certain she feels the same way I do.
“I wanted to tell her how I feel, but I fucked up.”
“That just means you better buy her a really nice gift for Christmas,” Tristan says, grinning. “She’ll forgive you. I don’t think she’s used to being loved by someone like you.”
“What are you saying?” I scoff.
“You love fiercely.” Tristan smiles as he pats me on the shoulder. “But it’s one of your best qualities.”
Bound to You: Volume 3 Page 6
