I glance over at Alex, who seems nearly as starstruck as I am, despite having once been briefly engaged to this spectacular woman. He’s blinking at her, his mouth hanging open. I can see why he’d want to look his best in her presence. He finally manages to say, “Hi, Isabelle.”
“Hi.” She flashes a self-conscious smile. “How are you?”
“Good,” he chokes out. “And… you?”
“Well, I’m getting married.” Again, that shy smile. Even though Isabelle is beyond gorgeous, it’s obvious she’s not full of herself. Which makes me hate her even more, somehow. She’s beautiful and she’s nice. “So… you know. A little bit freaking out.”
Isabelle is looking curiously in my direction. I don’t think she recognizes me from that fateful night four years ago. I look a lot different now than I did back then—I’m shocked Alex recognized me. And she had a lot on her mind that night. I thrust my hand in her direction, “I’m Nellie.”
“Right, sorry,” Alex says quickly. He glances up at me then back at Isabelle. “Nellie is my… she’s my…” I can almost hear him swallow. “She’s my girlfriend.”
Okay, that just happened.
After that whole speech about how he’d hate himself if I pretended to be his girlfriend, he’s now committed me to the part. But it’s not like I can complain. The original agreement was I come here to play the part of Alex’s female significant other. He was the one who said he didn’t want me to. But apparently, when faced with Isabelle’s incredible pulchritude, he changed his mind.
“Oh, how wonderful!” Isabelle gushes as she grabs my hand. Hers is as soft as a baby’s bottom. “It’s so great to meet you, Nellie.”
“Likewise,” I say.
And then I settle a hand on Alex’s shoulder in a way I’d imagine a girlfriend might do. He jolts his head back for a second, then relaxes under my touch. He’s going to need a little work to get this girlfriend/boyfriend act down pat.
Isabelle settles into the empty seat at the table, and Alex can’t quit staring at her. She’s staring at him too, and it’s not an entirely innocent kind of stare. It’s the sort of stare you get when you want to jump the guy’s bones. If I were actually his girlfriend, I’d be pretty pissed off right now. Of course, if I were actually his girlfriend, I probably would have put my foot down for the entire going-to-ex-fiancee’s-wedding bit.
“I’m really glad you could make it in,” Isabelle says. She glances at me briefly before her eyes go straight back to Alex like a magnet. “Both of you.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he breathes.
“I was a little surprised when you said you wanted to come to the wedding, to be honest.” She drops her eyes for a moment. “The last time we talked, you seemed… upset.”
He nods. “I have to be honest—I wasn’t thrilled. But I’ve had time to think…”
“And I’m sure Nellie was a big part of that too.” Isabelle’s smile is directed at me now, but it’s a little tight. Somehow I get the feeling she wishes Alex were still single. “I’m glad you were able to bring her.”
“Um.” The tips of his ears turn red—I wonder if Isabelle notices. “Yes. Me too.”
“I’m sure you two will have lots of fun.” Her face seems almost pinched now. “Nellie, did you know that Alex is a whiz at blackjack?”
“You don’t say,” I murmur.
“Yes,” Isabelle sighs. And she gives him that look again. It’s making my skin crawl. I wonder if he has any idea how she’s looking at him or if he thinks she just feels sorry for him. “It’s very impressive.”
They’re staring at each other so intently. Oh my God, this is uncomfortable. Whether either of them realizes it or not, there are a shitload of unresolved feelings here. And I’m feeling really third wheely. Awkward.
“Hey, Alex,” I say, replacing my hand on his shoulder, “don’t you think Las Vegas is a great location for a wedding?”
He looks at me, blinking a few times as if he’d forgotten I was here. “Huh?”
I clear my throat loudly. “I said, don’t you think Las Vegas is a great location for a wedding?”
Hint, hint. Wink, wink.
“What?” he says.
For the love of God…
“Las Vegas,” I say, giving his shoulder a squeeze that makes him wince. “Don’t you think it’s a great location for a wedding? Right? Isn’t it?”
“Oh!” His gray eyes widen. He glances at Isabelle. “Yes! It is. I agree.”
Good. I can leave. He’s given me the signal, even if I had to squeeze it out of him.
“Listen,” I say in a pseudo-apologetic voice, “it’s great meeting you, Isabelle, but I’ve got to run. I have to do some shopping, and I didn’t want to drag Alex along with me.”
Isabelle’s pretty blue eyes immediately fill with panic. “You’re leaving? But…” She looks at Alex, whose brows are furrowed, then back at me. “But what if he needs something?”
Alex’s jaw twitches. “I’ll be fine.”
“But…” she murmurs, her perfect features still frozen in worry.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” I promise. Sheesh, I’m beginning to see how things fell apart all those years ago.
I grab my purse and hurry out of Coffee Bean, not wanting Isabelle to beg me to stay. The two of them have a lot to talk about, but nothing is going to get said with me sitting there. The kindest thing I could do for them and for myself was to get the hell out of there.
Well, now where do I go?
I know I could go gamble again, but I have a feeling without Alex’s help, I’m going to take a loss. I can’t afford to lose money here—I need every penny I earn to tide me over until I get a new job. But then again, there were those video poker games for a quarter. I doubt I’d lose my shirt spending quarters. And in an hour, I’ll go back to check on Alex.
Except as I’m heading back to the casino, I see something that stops me in my tracks.
Parker.
Chief Douchebag.
The guy who got me fired is here. In Vegas. In my hotel! He’s trussed up in an expensive-looking gray suit and jacket, talking to some other guys dressed equally well. As I watch them, he throws back his head and lets out a laugh that makes my skin crawl.
What the hell is he doing here? What are the chances?
Then again, I already knew Doug and Parker worked together. Doug was coming for a work-related conference, so really, Parker’s presence here shouldn’t be a complete surprise. But the conference is over tomorrow morning, so then he’ll be gone. I’m sure I can avoid running into him for another twenty-four hours. There’s certainly no reason I’d have to interact with him. Good thing, because I never want to see the guy ever again.
Chapter 22
Alex
Isabelle was the one who ended it with me all those years ago. But to be fair, I didn’t give her much of a choice.
I’ll never forget the night it happened. I was in rehab then, even though there wasn’t much rehab I could do when I was paralyzed from the shoulders down. Mostly it was learning to operate my power wheelchair, and my family learning to do my care. Since Isabelle was my fiancée, she was getting the same training as my parents, but she lacked the confidence my mother had. Any time a therapist instructed Isabelle on my care, she looked ill. I always thought of Isabelle as a strong, confident woman. She’d been hiking in the Alps and braved Siberia, but when it came to helping me in and out of bed, she choked.
That night, Isabelle and I had plans to go to dinner in the cafeteria—yeah, it doesn’t get much more romantic than that. She arrived in my room ten minutes late, and I didn’t have much else to do besides stare at the clock, so by that time she walked in the door, I was already fuming. The first thing I said to her was, “You’re late.”
“Sorry,” she said, her pale cheeks flushed red. She looked at me, lying in my bed. “I thought we were going downstairs to eat.”
“My neck was hurting so I got back in bed for a couple of hours,” I explai
ned. “If I knew you were going to be so late, I would have gotten someone to get me up.”
“Sorry,” she said again.
And she just stood there. Even though the fucking Hoyer lift was right next to my bed. She was aware I couldn’t just leap out of bed anymore on my own—I needed help with that. Was she going to make me say it? Was I going to have to beg? Was I going to have to spell out every little fucking thing for her from now on?
“You could get me up, you know,” I finally said.
“Oh,” she said again. “Yes, well…”
“Or not.” I turned my head away. “I know it’s a pain in the ass. I don’t blame you.”
“No, I’ll do it,” Isabelle said quickly, so easily emotionally manipulated.
Being put in the sling still isn’t fun for me, but I hated it even more back then. It’s not something I can help with at all. I can’t do anything to make it easier for a caregiver to put me in the sling—I just have to lie there while someone else does the work. Isabelle rolled me partially to the side to get one end of the sling under my back, then rolled me the other way to get it entirely under me. She sighed at least three times during this process, then another three times while lacing the pieces under my legs. It was the sighing that got me. Each sigh was a jab in my chest. If everything was such a goddamn chore, why was she here?
And then, once the sling was securely under my body, she couldn’t figure out the hooks. The two lower ends of the sling went under either leg, each ending in a hook, but she couldn’t figure out how to attach the hooks to the lift above. She’d done this a dozen times before, but each time, she acted like she was solving an elaborate puzzle. It wasn’t rocket science. I was trying to explain it to her, but she still couldn’t get it. Her hands were starting to shake.
When it looked like she had gotten it right, she went to the side of the lift. I waited patiently for my body to be lifted in the air, but something went wrong. The hook securing my left leg came undone and my stomach lurched as I started to slip out of the sling when it lifted in the air.
“Isabelle!” I yelled.
She looked at me, baffled.
I was half hanging out of the sling, one leg suspended, the other loose. My whole body was sliding to the left. Didn’t she realize I was about to fall? “Put me back down,” I told her.
She pressed a button on the lift, but it lifted me higher. How could a woman who graduated summa cum laude not be able to work a simple lift? “Isabelle!” I yelled again. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m just—”
“It’s the lower button,” I told her. “The lower button goes down. Are you a fucking moron?”
Isabelle stared at me for a moment. I could see the tears gathering in her eyes, and I knew I’d gone too far.
“I can’t do this anymore, Alex,” she whispered.
“Listen,” I said quickly. I didn’t want to have this conversation while I was suspended in the air, about to fall out of this fucking lift. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
She shook her head vigorously. “No, I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”
And then she left me. Suspended in the air, my left leg spasming as it hung from the sling, unsupported.
“Isabelle!” I shouted after her. “Isabelle! Are you fucking kidding me? You’re fucking leaving me like this?”
Of course, she must have grabbed a nurse the second she left the room, because there was someone in there before I could scream out another sentence. And the nurse got me down much faster than she ever could have. But that didn’t mean I didn’t hate her for doing it to me.
I was angry at Isabelle for a long time, even though I drove her to it. I told anyone who would listen that she was a heartless bitch who abandoned me in my hour of need. But at the same time, I was relieved. I didn’t want her sticking around out of guilt, just because an hour before a mugger with a gun nearly killed me, she had agreed to be my wife. I wanted her to be with me because she wanted to be with me, but that wasn’t the case anymore.
Anyway, I never thought we’d ever be having coffee together in the future.
It’s obvious Isabelle didn’t think so either. Her nervousness is palpable. I can tell because she’s tearing the napkin in front of her into little pieces. That’s what she does whenever she’s nervous about something. As they say at the poker tables, that’s Isabelle’s “tell.”
Damn, she’s massacring that napkin. She must be freaked out. Although it’s hard to believe she’s feeling more anxious than I am.
Isabelle stands up so abruptly, her chair nearly topples over. Her white hands are shaking as she adjusts her empty seat so nobody trips on it. “I think I’ll get a coffee,” she announces.
“Go for it.”
“Would you… like anything?”
I can read the look on her face: Please say no. Please say no.
“No, thanks,” I say.
Her relief is palpable as she rushes off to the counter, leaving me to contemplate the mess I’ve already made of this situation. Isabelle’s been here five minutes and I’ve already irrevocably fucked up. I didn’t mean to blurt out that Nellie is my girlfriend. I genuinely meant to say “friend.” The words were on my lips: This is my friend, Nellie. How did it become “girlfriend”? Why did I say that?
It was epically stupid, but Isabelle looked so great and she’s getting married, and all I could think about was how she was looking at me and wondering how the hell I’d ever meet a girl ever again. I didn’t want her to feel sorry for me. And I knew Nellie would go along with it. We were paying her to go along with it, after all.
I wish I could take it back. But now—forget it. It would have been bad before, but if I have to ‘fess up my girlfriend is fictional? No. No way. Not gonna happen. We’re going to have to run with the lie.
And now on top of that, I’ve got to figure out a way to tell her that her fiancé is a cheating piece of shit.
This coffee date is going brilliantly.
When Isabelle returns with her coffee, I’ve managed to plaster a pleasant smile on my face. If we’re going to have this conversation, I can’t start acting like a dick again. Even if everything she does and says makes me want to shout at her.
Her hands are still shaking as she brings the cup of coffee to her lips. We used to be so good together. We almost got married, for Christ’s sake. She put on my ring. Now we can’t think of a goddamn thing to say to each other. Although the truth is, Isabelle always made me a little nervous—like I needed to be the best version of myself all the time.
“I never thought I’d be getting married in Vegas,” she finally comments.
“Yeah,” I say. “I didn’t think it was your style.”
A smile touches her lips. I haven’t seen Isabelle smile in a long time, and it hits me how much I’ve missed it. She has a great kind of smile. The kind that makes you want to smile back. “Yes, well. Parker wanted it.”
“Didn’t you have a say too?”
“I planned most of it. All of it.” A little defensive, are we, Isabelle? “He let me decide nearly everything. But he wanted Vegas. Compromise, right?”
I never would have made Isabelle get married in Vegas. Never.
“I never thought you’d be marrying a guy like Parker either,” I add.
Play nice, Warner.
She inhales sharply. “Yes…”
I chew on my lip. I’m trying to be nice, but I’ve got a question burning a hole in my brain. I know I shouldn’t but if there ever was a time to ask, it’s now, when it’s just the two of us sitting in a coffee shop. “Isabelle, I’ve got to know,” I say. “How the fuck did you end up engaged to Parker?”
To my surprise, she lets out a laugh. Christ, I haven’t heard her laugh in longer than I’ve seen her smile. “Oh, it’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.”
“Okay, then.” Her blue eyes grow distant. “It was about… maybe four or five months after we broke up. I was at Armani, looking at s
ome items we were considering stocking at Macy’s. And Parker walked in. Of course, he recognized me right away. He started asking me for advice about suits, so I ended up helping him.” She smiles at the memory. “He made a joke about how I should get a commission, but I told him I couldn’t because I didn’t work there. So instead, he said he wanted to take me to dinner.”
Four or five months after we broke up. I was already home from rehab at that point. I wonder what I was doing at the moment she and Parker were flirting at Armani. Odds are I was probably home, watching TV with my headset to control the channels with my voice. What stupid TV program was I watching? It could have been anything. The first year I was home, all I did was watch TV and feel sorry for myself.
“You don’t know Parker like I do,” Isabelle says. “I know he seems like a jerk sometimes, but that’s just a show he puts on. Deep down, he’s actually really sweet and sensitive.”
Now it’s my turn to burst out laughing. “Parker? Sweet and sensitive? You’re messing with me.”
“He is!”
“Trust me. He’s not.”
“Well, why else would I be marrying him?”
It’s called rebound, sweetheart.
I was a dick to her before we broke up. It had to have been traumatic. I can’t blame her for falling for the first charming asshole who tried to sweep her off her feet. If she were on her game, she never would have been taken in by his bullshit. Never. She’s too smart for that.
Except I can’t figure out a way to say that.
“I’m so glad you found Nellie, Alex.” Isabelle rests her hand briefly on mine. Against my will, my eyes dart to our hands. Her hands used to be so freaking soft. I wish I could still feel her palm—I wish it wasn’t just a scrap of a memory. I lift my eyes to meet Isabelle, and she must know what I’m thinking because she swiftly yanks her hand away. “She seems great.”
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