The Bride (The Boss)

by Barnette, Abigail

  “He hasn’t told his ex-girlfriend yet. I think she’ll be the lead pitch fork holder.” I groaned and slumped down a little in my chair. “Do you really think I’m going to be enemy number one?”

  “No, honey. Far from number one. But you just wrote a book about the well-known and influential bachelor you landed. You already put yourself out there.”

  “I would have much rather put myself out there as a four times a year beauty segment host on a morning show.”

  “Well, it fell through. Be disappointed about it. Drink and cry and listen to sad music and pretend no one understands you. But in the morning, get your ass out of bed and start coming up with an idea for a follow up book. People are going to ask about that when you do press.” India’s practical response was strangely soothing. She gestured to the waiter and said, “Look, I think we’re going to need some drinks here. Scotch. Doubles, neat.”

  “Oh, I don’t think—”

  India gave me a look that would have stopped a charging elephant. She leaned forward and fixed me with a hawkish gaze. “We’re going to start brainstorming. Right now.”

  And I was way too frightened to say no.

  * * * *

  India’s method of making me feel better by steering me toward the future was well-meaning, but ultimately I left our lunch feeling worse than I had over the rejection. I was beginning to feel like it was a mistake, leading off with the cancer in my very first book. It was difficult to top.

  Was every job I had going to be a one-hit wonder? Would I just flit from industry to industry until I was completely unemployable?

  My pity party continued on the cab ride home. To add insult to injury, when I arrived at the apartment, Emma’s mother, Valerie, was there.

  Over the past year, Valerie and I’d had our rocky moments. She believed I’d tried to sabotage Porteras, and I believed she was trying to sabotage my relationship with Neil. After I had put my foot down about the strangely close relationship she’d still had with Neil, we were on more even footing.

  Still, we didn’t like each other, and I wasn’t thrilled that I was coming home from bad news to have to put my nice face on.

  Neil, Valerie, and Emma were in the dining room, the massive, fourteen-person table covered with more paperwork than it takes to buy a damned house.

  “What’s all this?” I asked with a forced smile to announce my presence.

  Neil looked up from the glossy pamphlet he’d been frowning at. He wore the thick-rimmed reading glasses that looked so impossibly good on him, and the sleeves of his gray button down were rolled back to his elbows. He smiled, looking utterly relieved to have an excuse for escape. “How did it go? Did she hear anything about the audition?”

  I didn’t want to discuss it there, in front of Valerie. And not in front of Emma. She was trying to plan her wedding, not hear all of my problems.

  Luckily, she jumped in and rescued me with a perfect mocking imitation of her father. “Darling, glad you’re home. In answer to the question I so rudely ignored, we’re having a small crisis with the menu. And I’ve invited my intelligent and beautiful daughter Emma and her mother Valerie to stay for dinner.”

  Valerie laughed, and I managed to maintain my smile, which was suddenly trembling under the onslaught of forced interaction with people. I was disappointed, angry with myself for being disappointed, and it was just too much to be “on” and friendly tonight.

  “Can we speak in the kitchen?” I asked, trying hard to sound peppy and upbeat, hoping no one would ask me what was wrong while simultaneously knowing it was unavoidable.

  Neil’s frown returned, and he pushed back from the table. “Certainly. Excuse us, Valerie, Emma?”

  “Of course.” Valerie waved her hand and turned her attention back to the catering brochures.

  In the kitchen, Sue the housekeeper was seated at the island, vigorously polishing the stainless steel cutlery. She looked up as I entered and smiled warmly. “Hello, Sophie.”

  “Hi, Sue.” I winced. “I hate to ask, because you’re so busy—”

  “I will find something else to be busy on,” she said easily, and slid off her stool. As soon as she’d departed through the service entrance, I turned to Neil.

  I took a deep breath and noticed the split second of hope and anticipation in his eyes. That made it even harder to get the words out without crying. “I didn’t get it.”

  He wrapped his arms around me. “Oh, darling, I am so sorry.”

  Only a few tears leaked out. I’d felt devastated a moment before, but leaning on Neil, with his hand on the back of my neck, his chin resting on my head… That made up for a lot.

  I savored the feeling for a moment, then I stepped back with a sigh of weary resignation. “It’s okay. I’m more bothered by my reaction than anything else.”

  “Why is that?” Neil went to the cooler under the counter on the island and pulled out a bottled water. I shook my head, he came back up with a bottle of chilled 1998 Veuve Cliquot, and I nodded gratefully. He set about opening it while I tried to explain.

  “I feel like an asshole for being disappointed about not getting a job on TV.” I shrugged. “Everyone wants to be famous. I kind of thought I was above that.”

  “And it hurts to know you’re not.” I could always count on Neil to understand me.

  “I’m just exhausted right now. Why does bad news make me so sleepy?” I mused.

  Neil smirked. “It’s another of your avoidance techniques. Would you like me to cancel dinner with Valerie and Emma? I’m sure they would understand—”

  I shook my head. “No. I’m not going to chase Emma out of here.”

  “Good, because I was thinking that I would tell her tonight.” He muffled the pop of the cork with a kitchen towel. “About us.”

  Neil had been waiting for an appropriate time to tell Emma two big pieces of news: that we were getting married and that we were looking for a house together. Tonight was as good a night as any… And horrible person that I am, I wanted to be present when Valerie heard the news, so I could see her first reaction.

  I hated that whenever I was around Valerie, I felt this intensely stereotypical jealousy. Especially after she had apologized months ago, and she’d done absolutely nothing deserving of my scorn since then. While I would have preferred to be totally cool and unthreatened by the fact that she had reproduced with my fiancé and had maintained a creepily close friendship with him since, some petty, mean part of me wouldn’t let it go.

  I brightened and nodded. Then, remembering my ring was on my finger—and Emma was super observant—I twisted it around to hide the diamond in my palm. “Oops, can’t have that.”

  “Thank you, for letting me take my time in telling her.” Neil took down four flutes and a tray.

  “Oh, that wasn’t just for me?” I asked, leaning against the counter across the island from him.

  He looked up, a sympathetic smile bending his lips. “It’s for you. I know you, Sophie. You need to decompress. If we go out there and announce our engagement right away, you can drink to something happy, instead of your rejection.”

  “You’re basically the best boyfriend ever, you know that?”

  “Fiancé,” he corrected me. “I am terribly sorry. I know you wanted that job.”

  “It’s fine,” I reassured him.

  But it wasn’t, really, and he knew it, just like he knew he couldn’t fix it for me right now. So, he did what he could do and came around the island to pull me into his arms for a scorching kiss. His mouth on mine, the slow sweep of his tongue along my bottom lip and his hand in my hair made me forget myself for an instant.

  He could overwhelm me when I least expected it, in the best possible way.

  When we stepped apart, I took a moment to steady myself and return to the real world.

  “I think they’re going to suspect something is up when you come in with those.” A giddy bubble rose up in my chest, at odds with my lingering disappointment. Maybe telling Emma about th
e engagement really would chase away some of my pouty mood. Every time we told someone, it made it more real to me that Neil and I were officially “forever.”

  Emma and Valerie had moved to the living room, probably to give us some privacy. The apartment was gorgeous, but its soundproofing left much to be desired. We were definitely keeping that in mind while looking for a new house; we didn’t need another embarrassing incident like the first time I’d met Emma.

  The moment we entered the living room, both Emma and Valerie’s gazes landed on the tray of glasses in Neil’s hands.

  “What’s all this for?” Emma narrowed her eyes.

  I could have just blurted out our happy news, but what would be the fun in that? “I didn’t get the job.”

  Emma looked almost as disappointed over it as I felt. She got up from the couch, and I accepted her hug gratefully. “I’m so sorry. They’re clearly idiots, because you’re fantastic.”

  “Yes, terrible luck,” Valerie added, and to her credit, she did sound sympathetic. She was seated on the same sofa Emma had been on, her bare feet pulled up beneath her, her arm resting on the back of the couch, like she was completely at home in my living room.

  No, Sophie. That’s your hurt feelings over the rejection talking. Don’t make this into something it isn’t, I scolded myself.

  “Thanks.” I stepped back from Emma’s hug and looked to Neil. “But it’s nothing, really. Because I’ve got plenty of other stuff to be happy for. Right, baby?”

  Valerie looked from me to Neil with a slowly growing smile, her impeccably straightened slashes of auburn hair subtly swaying as she turned her head. “I’m sensing some kind of announcement?”

  Emma’s jaw dropped.

  Neil tried to keep a poker face, but a big, boyish grin broke through. “I wanted to tell you in person, Emma. I’ve asked Sophie to marry me, and she accepted.”

  “What? Oh my god.” Emma held a hand to her chest. Then she grabbed me and nearly jerked my arm out of its socket pulling me into a hug that was part joyous celebration, part python squeezing its prey. She squealed her happiness directly in my ear, and I couldn’t help but laugh and return her hug. She stepped back, holding my upper arms like I was a sweater in a shop. “Oh my god, finally.”

  “Congratulations,” Valerie told Neil, with one of those smiles people have when they know they have to seem enthusiastic about something, but in reality they just don’t care. I didn’t blame her. She was trying to plan her daughter’s wedding in the middle of her own relationship breaking up. If she didn’t have the mental energy to expend being happy for her ex and his fiancée, I wouldn’t hold it against her.

  “When’s the date?” Emma demanded, her hands on her hips. “Because I can’t start helping you plan the wedding if I’m busy with my own.”

  “I’m sure Sophie has friends who want to help her,” Valerie reminded her daughter.

  “I would never turn down the advice of a woman who manages to organize paint bucket wielding career activists into one cohesive fur-coat battling army.”

  “Yes, well. We have Emma’s wedding to worry about at the moment,” Neil reminded them. “Let’s get all of that settled first.”

  Maybe it was the champagne on top of the scotch India had plied me with, but I managed to sit through a dinner with Valerie without too much unpleasantness. Neil was touchingly exuberant when Emma pressed us for questions about the wedding. It was good to see him so happy. Sue served us an amazing lentil walnut loaf with a side of spinach and soy paneer and an aromatic basmati rice dish.

  “This is absolutely delicious,” Valerie said after a few bites.

  Emma nodded, but frowned. “Watch out for cloves in the rice. I just bit into one and it was not agreeable.”

  “So, Sophie,” Valerie began with an attempt at a friendly smile. “What’s happening with your book?”

  “Well, the initial print order is high.” India had assured me that this was good news. “And I’m going to have a launch and everything. It’s getting a lot of interest because people know Neil’s name, and they’re all snoopy.”

  “And what is it called again?” Emma swirled the water in her stemmed glass.

  “I’m Just the Girlfriend.”

  Neil rolled his eyes. “I loathe that title.”

  Emma made a face. “Why?”

  “It minimizes her role in my care, and frankly, our relationship. She was my girlfriend, yes, but not just my girlfriend.”

  “I think it’s catchy,” Emma defended me.

  “And the point of the title wasn’t to show the reality of the situation, but my perception,” I reminded him for the millionth time.

  Valerie nodded. “And once everyone reads the book, they’ll have the whole picture.”

  A sudden pang of indigestion hit me as I realized for the first time that people who knew Neil and me were going to read this book. Emma was going to read this book, probably.

  “Sophie, are you all right? Did you get one of those cloves?” Valerie’s concerned gaze slid from my face to my plate and back.

  “No, I just… I agonized over the decision as to whether or not I wanted strangers reading this intensely personal story… I never thought about, Emma, for example, reading it.”

  Maybe I would gift everyone I knew with a copy of the book, whole sections blacked out with a marker.

  “Dad, have you read it?” Emma asked, digging back into her food.

  “I’ve read parts. Passages that Sophie felt were sensitive.” He took a swallow of water and didn’t meet her gaze.

  Emma looked questioningly at me.

  “Sex stuff.” It wouldn’t help to tap dance around it.

  “Nothing pornographic,” Neil said to sooth her horrified expression. “But there is…frank discussion about sexuality during cancer treatment.”

  I hoped she heeded those words as a warning. At India’s urging—and with Neil’s full support—I’d written about the toll chemotherapy had taken on our sex life. Of course, I hadn’t included the fact that we’d had a threesome or had gone on a Parisian sex holiday, but I didn’t think that would matter. Reading about my honest feelings regarding sex with her father would probably not be high on Emma’s list of must-do activities.

  “Well, Sophie, I wish you all the best, but that’s a side of the two of you I’d rather not have illustrated.” Valerie held up her glass as if in toast and took a long swallow.

  That was fine with me. I’d also written—without naming names—about an ex-partner of Neil’s who’d made me feel profoundly unwelcome when I’d first arrived in England. Valerie had meddled with Emma and her father’s relationship, implying that she wouldn’t be wanted at the house while her father underwent treatment, because of me. I’d never figured out what end Valerie had been trying to achieve by widening the divide between Emma and me, but I was bitter that it had come at the cost of Neil spending time with his daughter while he’d been ill.

  Still, we were at peace for once.

  When dinner was over, Emma headed for Michael’s, but warned us she’d be back later, as Michael had an early meeting and she didn’t want to disturb his rest.

  “He has a full-size bed, and it’s just way too hot and uncomfortable to be squeezed in so close all night,” she said, looping her scarf around her neck.

  We stood in the foyer, to see both Emma and Valerie off. Just the mention of a bed and Michael in the same sentence was enough to elicit a scoff of displeasure from Neil.

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Don’t wait up, or you’ll be quite put-out.”

  “Oh, Neil, I’d almost forgotten,” Valerie said, pulling on one red leather driving glove. “I need to reschedule our meeting with research and development, but I didn’t know when you would be free this week. Do you have your diary with you?”

  “I’m going now,” Emma said, leaning up to kiss her father on the cheek. She gave her mother a hug and wished her goodbye and went out to the elevator, leaving just me and Neil and Valerie, standing alone
without Emma as our buffer.

  “Well.” Neil cleared his throat. “My laptop is just in the other room, I’ll run off and get it, shall I?”

  “Thanks.” Valerie nodded briskly, and I realized there had been some unspoken communication between the two. Valerie wanted to get me alone, and Neil didn’t want that to happen, but he had no way to parry Valerie’s “Let’s talk about work,” strike. I was left there with his ex, the mother of his child, the woman who hated me probably more than anyone I’d ever met.

  “So. Sophie. Congratulations again on your engagement.” Her smile wasn’t what I would describe as frozen, but it was certainly stiff. “I guess this makes you Emma’s stepmother.”

  “Um, technically?” I couldn’t puzzle out what she getting at. She couldn’t actually be worried that I was going to become Emma’s favorite mom or something, right?

  “Well, maybe you could do Emma a motherly favor. See if you can’t get Neil to stop being so…vocally opposed to Michael.”

  Oh. She was being nice to me because she wanted something. Well, now it all made sense. “I don’t know that there is a force on Earth capable of changing his opinion on Michael.”

  “No, you’re spot on there,” she agreed. “But perhaps you could convince him not to voice that opinion so often and so forcefully? With all the stress leading up to the wedding—”

  “What’s this about the wedding?” Neil entered the room, holding his laptop and looking from Valerie to me, and back again. Concern caused a vertical crease between his eyebrows; he got that often when Valerie and I were in the same room together. I think he worried that he would have to rush to my defense or something.

  I smiled to show him everything was cool. “Emma’s just got some nerves, and Valerie was suggesting I take her out for lunch. You know, so she can blow off steam about things to a non-parental type figure.”

  “Oh.” He smiled, relieved and surprised all at once. He held up his laptop to show Valerie. Neil’s schedule, a fearsome spreadsheet of numerous multi-colored boxes, was displayed on the screen. “Do you see that window of about fifteen minutes on the seventeenth?”