But I can’t stop from glancing at her surreptitiously. Georgia’s limbs are stiff as she finishes out her game of mini-golf. Her sunglasses hide her eyes, and the rest of her expression never changes as Kelsey and the other sorority president tally up the scores. When it’s revealed that our Kappas won, Georgia slaps high fives with Yasmin and Parker, but her smile looks fake. Remembering her genuine joy as we toured the gallery yesterday, I wonder for the millionth time what her deal is.
Why did she get so jumpy at the gallery yesterday? Why did she say she’d cry if she weren’t drunk, and why did she practically jump my bones at the club? I mean, alcohol, obviously, but … why me? With her short black skirt and sweet bare shoulders, she looked great last night. She could have had any guy there.
But she chose me. Why? And is she mad that I didn’t follow through last night? She seemed pretty pissed when I left the room, but she must understand that I didn’t want to take advantage of her. Right?
The breeze plays with the hem of Georgia’s dress as she and Yasmin saunter towards the stairs to the Lido Deck, and I crane my head to watch her go.
~ ~ ~
Later, I am sprawled on my bed in my gray suit, playing a train puzzle game on my phone. Next to me sits a folded towel seal, courtesy of Housekeeping.
Tonight is the big New Year’s Eve party on board. It starts with a formal banquet in the dining room; the Kappas and Alphas all signed up for the later of the two seating times, because then we can roll right over to the ballroom-slash-pool party. There’s going to be a live band, flowing champagne, the works.
I check the clock and pause my game. It’s nearly time for dinner, but so far Georgia has yet to make an appearance to change into her gown. I know she hasn’t already because her dress bag is still hanging in the corner closet nook.
Just as I’m about to give up on my plan, the door opens and Georgia slips in. She’s still wearing her black sundress from earlier, and pieces of her auburn hair have escaped from her ponytail to curl around her neck.
“You’ve been ducking me,” I say calmly, and Georgia starts. I bet she was hoping I wouldn’t still be here. There’s a split-second of shock before her lips stretch into a polite smile.
“Oh, hi Jace.”
I sit up, putting my feet on the floor next to my black dress shoes.
“Hi, Georgie.”
She doesn’t even nag me about the nickname. “Great, you’re already dressed. Can I have the room? I need to shower and change for dinner; I’m already late to meet Yasmin. Would you mind?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
She hesitates, then breezes past me to the closet nook where her dress waits. “Do I need to apologize to you for last night? Because I totally don’t remember anything.”
That makes me pause. “You don’t remember anything?”
She seems to think about it, brow furrowed.
“I mean, I remember the art gallery, but once we got to the club Yasmin gave me a rum drink and I don’t remember much after that.” She cocks her head. “Did I get sloppy?”
“Sort of.” I don’t know what to say now. Maybe she didn’t hear me on the mini-golf course earlier. And if she really doesn’t remember making out with me last night, I should be a gentleman and pretend it didn’t happen. That … sucks, honestly, but it’s not like I can make her remember groping me enthusiastically.
Georgia shoots me an apologetic smile.
“So sorry. It won’t happen again, roomie. Promise.” She holds up her dress. “I really do have to get ready, though. See you up there?”
Without waiting for my answer, she turns to the dresser. I’ve let her use all four drawers, because I don’t mind living out of my suitcase. Thrown because this conversation is not going like I’d expected, I watch her rummage for various items.
Then I frown. She’s too determined to ignore me, to play the polite Lady Cantwell. It doesn’t sit right, doesn’t ring true. I realize that although she’s looked in my direction, she hasn’t actually met my gaze since she came into the room.
“Bullshit,” I decide. Georgia glances up.
“What?”
Standing, I pad over to her—it only takes two steps—and stare down into her blue eyes. They’re wide pools, and she flicks her gaze down across my face, to my shoulders, and back up. I can see the pulse in her throat speed up a little, and her cheeks have a touch of red where a moment ago they were pale. I recognize that look from last night; she still wants me.
“You do remember,” I say.
“I … I really don’t.”
I let out a frustrated breath. “Do you ever tell the truth?”
“Excuse me?” Her dress is draped over one arm, and in the other hand she holds a pink polka-dot satchel, maybe a makeup bag or such, between us like a shield.
“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t remember us kissing last night.” Reaching out, I stroke her wrist, which trembles. I smile. “Or maybe I should remind you?”
She smacks me with the polka-dot satchel.
“Maybe not. Gross, Jace. Get a grip.”
Okay, maybe she wants me, but she doesn’t want to want me. I drop my hand.
“What, so now that you’re sober, I’m not good enough to talk to again?”
“Just leave me alone.” She stalks by me and slips into the bathroom with her dress and satchel, but I follow on her heels. At the threshold she whirls to glare at me. I glare back. Georgia has so many walls, and she’s determined not to let me in. But for whatever reason, seeing her upset hurts, and she’s been upset most of this trip. Most of the last semester.
“Come on, Georgia. What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit,” I say again, softly this time. Alarm flickers across her face, and I know I’m right. Something’s very wrong beneath Georgia’s polished surface. For the space of a heartbeat, her mouth softens, and I think she might actually let me in.
Then her chin firms.
“It’s none of your goddamned business,” she says, and slams the door in my face.
Chapter 8
Georgia
Jace is gone by the time I emerge from the tiny bathroom, thank God.
I am wearing an ankle-length gown in a shimmery pale blue that matches my eyes, with my go-to silver stilettos. My hair is clean and dry and up in an elegant twist to keep it from frizzing in any nighttime humidity. My neck is bare, because two months ago I had to sell the sapphire necklace set that Hunter gave me last Christmas. Thankfully, the high neckline doesn’t make the lack obvious. From my ears dangle cheap sparkly earrings the pawnshop wouldn’t take. I’m glad, because despite being costume jewelry they’re my favorite.
Right as I’m finishing up my makeup, which puts some much-needed color in my face, there’s a knock on the door. I open it to find Yasmin dressed to the nines in a strapless pink dress with rhinestones decorating the neckline. Her makeup looks perfect, and her hair has been flat-ironed to a smooth shiny sheen.
“We are late,” she says, then cocks her head quizzically. “Hey, I thought you were going to wear the gold dress we bought after Fall Ball.”
“Forgot to tell you earlier, but I left that at home.” Just like my mom’s pearls. That was the dress I was planning to wear on New Year’s Eve when Hunter was going to propose. I don’t know if I can ever wear it again. I should see if the store will accept it for return.
“Well, you look awesome.”
“You too!” I grab my ID and room key, and we head to the elevator.
“So what did Kelsey talk to you about earlier on the golf course?” Yasmin asks. “You looked like you’d rather stab a fork through your eye than keep chatting with her.”
“Pretty accurate,” I laugh, and fill her in. “I was afraid if I didn’t tell her I was fine with them being together, she’d murder me and throw me overboard,” I finish as we emerge from the elevator. The dining room is down the hall, and we head over.
“Does that mean
you’re not totally fine?” Yasmin says, sliding me an incisive glance.
I hesitate, then admit, “Seeing him move on so quick was harder than I’d thought it would be.”
“Hunter’s a jerk. Even if you guys are friends now, it’s only been a couple weeks since you broke up! Way too soon for him to be flaunting a new girl in front of you.” We’ve reached the dining room’s open French doors, where Yasmin bumps my arm gently. “If I were you, I’d dump a whole pot of lobsters on Hunter’s big head tonight.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say with a smile.
“Hang in there,” Yasmin murmurs, and we go inside. Gratitude and guilt slide through me. She’s so supportive, but I wonder if she’d still be my friend if I told her about the blackmail, about what I’d done. I can’t chance it.
I follow Yasmin to our table; everyone else is already seated. The dining room is extra-sparkly tonight. Everyone looks so elegant, I feel like I’m at one of Hunter’s family’s charity balls.
Glancing around, I notice Jace at the next table. On one side of him sits a curvy blonde I think I recognize as one of the FSU girls he was flirting with yesterday, and on his other side is Samantha, one of my Kappa sisters. She’s the gossipy type, always nosing into everyone’s business—when she moved into the Kappa house, two roommates even accused her of snooping. Most of us figure Samantha just wanted to annoy people enough so she’d get one of the few single rooms, but in any case I tend to steer clear of her. She’s giggling at something Jace said as if it was the funniest thing in the world, and my stomach clenches. Not that it should matter to me who Jace hangs out with, especially after our blowup earlier. But I can’t help but notice how nicely his slate gray suit fits his broad shoulders, and that his striped green tie matches his eyes.
I turn away and accept a glass of white wine from a waiter. House wine, thankfully, is free with dinner, and tonight at the New Year’s Eve ball there is supposedly free champagne all night.
“What are you getting?” Parker asks me; she’s seated on my other side. I scan tonight’s menu without much interest, planning to pick something I can push around the plate without it being obvious, but then I spot a line that makes me grin.
“Ooh, they have lobster!” Not a whole one, obviously—in our fancy dresses trying to crack a lobster would spell disaster. But Lobster Bolognese in a shallot-tomato broth? Yes, please.
We order, and soon the salad course arrives. It’s mostly iceberg lettuce, but veggies don’t usually upset my stomach, so I eat most of it. I hope I can keep the lobster dish down, because lobster is one of my favorite foods, and with my financial black hole, this is probably the last time in a while I’ll get a chance to eat it.
The main course shows up, and the lobster Bolognese smells as good as it looks. It’s elegantly arranged, the lobster meat still in its tail and perched artistically on a small swirl of pasta. I take my first bite and sigh in bliss.
The conversation thus far has centered largely on what shore excursions people are taking tomorrow, when we’ll be docked in Progreso, Mexico. Excursions cost extra, and since my plan is to finally chill out by myself on the boat with The Dead Awake, I stay out of the conversation and focus on my divine entrée.
“So what are everyone’s plans for the new year?” Andy asks, and everyone starts talking about next semester, our last. Graduation, summer plans. My throat tightens, and abruptly I put down my fork. I swallow hard, trying not to let myself think about the future, but I can’t stop the fears from swarming up like jellyfish, stinging me until my stomach roils.
Next year, I’ll have to beg for more hours at J. Crew. God, I’m going to have to tell my parents what’s going on. They don’t even know Hunter and I broke up yet. My mom will be viciously disappointed for months. I wonder if we’ll lose the house.
I wonder if I’ll go to jail. I feel sweat break out on my brow.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” Yasmin says quietly beside me. “After graduation, I don’t know whether—”
“Be right back,” I interrupt, and bolt for the ladies’ room. I barely make it to a stall before my stomach empties. Ugh. I might never be able to eat lobster again.
When I’m sure I’m done, I exit the stall and wash my hands, staring at myself in the mirror. What’s left of my lipstick is hopelessly smudged, but I didn’t bring any makeup with me, so I wipe the rest of it off.
The episode killed my energy, and I debate going back to my room. But I know if I do Yasmin will come find me, and I can’t handle her concern right now. Besides, going to bed before midnight on New Year’s Eve is bad luck, or so my grandmother always used to say, and I can’t afford any more bad luck.
When I return, dinner is thankfully ending. Yasmin and some others are picking at desserts, but most have abandoned their tables, so I join Chloe and some of the other Kappas in the ballroom next door.
The room is stunning. Half inside, half outside by the Starlight Pool (nicknamed by my fellow Kappas as “the one without the swim-up bar”), the ball is a study in light and darkness—something that Italian painter Caravaggio would definitely approve of. Chandeliers sparkle inside, and strings of lights soar over the outside deck to mingle with the stars. No one is swimming, obviously, but lights float on little flowery islands in the pool. Waiters pass out flutes of the free champagne, and I take one.
A seven-piece band on a raised outdoor stage strikes up tunes from the 1940s and 1950s, songs that match the ballroom’s elegant theme. Couples drift across the dance floor, and everyone looks so beautiful in their suits or evening gowns. I stay on the sidelines, content to watch. It’s like one of those old movies where nothing much happens but the scenery is so gorgeous you don’t care.
I’m on my second glass of champagne and my feet are starting to ache in my stilettos when Yasmin spots me and makes her way over. Just as she reaches me, though, the band finishes a song and pauses. The leader hands the microphone to a guy, who I realize is one of the Alpha guys. Pete, Chloe’s boyfriend. The Alphas are known for pulling crazy stunts sometimes, and I smile in anticipation.
Pete grips the mike. “Everyone, listen up! This will only take a sec, I promise.” That catches people’s attention, and the chattering conversations die down. Pete clears his throat.
“Eight months ago, I started dating a girl. Her name is Chloe, and she’s over there. Wave, Chloe baby!” I glance across the pool to the ballroom floor, where Chloe gives her elaborate signature curtsy. “We’ve been going strong ever since. Here’s the thing, though.” He pauses for effect. “I don’t want to start the new year with her as my girlfriend.”
My breath hisses in along with that of a thousand others. Oh my God, is he breaking up with her right here in front of everyone? Chloe’s eyes have gone wide, like a stabbed fawn, and I stare in horror. Then I realize Pete is grinning.
He whips a small dark box from his pocket, and holds it over his head as he shouts into the microphone. “I want her to be my fiancé!”
Chloe claps her hands over her mouth, her wounded panic turning to shocked delight.
Pete hops down off the stage and he gets down on one knee, and everyone starts going nuts. Perfect strangers are shrieking in excitement. I go numb, clutching my drink. Pete says something about his undying love, and though Chloe is crying prettily, she’s nodding her head, and she must have said yes because he’s sliding the engagement ring on her finger. Our sisters are taking photographs with their phones, and everyone is jumping up and down.
“Isn’t it romantic?” Yasmin yells in my ear, grinning.
Yes. It’s romantic. Getting engaged on New Year’s Eve in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean under the stars … It was supposed to be me and Hunter. I never told her about that, though, because before I had a chance, Hunter and I broke up, and I had one more thing to pretend to be fine about.
“Let’s go congratulate them!” Yasmin bounces off through the crowd, but I can’t move.
Where is Hunter? I search the crowd, finding
him finally only twenty feet away, by a dolphin ice sculpture. My heart stops, because he’s watching me. He makes his way over and, shoulder to shoulder, we gaze at the happy tableau. It’s the first time in weeks that we’ve had a chance for a private conversation.
I nod at Chloe and Pete.
“That was going to be us, wasn’t it?” I say sadly.
Hunter shrugs. “It doesn’t matter now. Look, I came over because I owe you a thanks.”
“What?” I have no idea what he means.
“You didn’t have to tell me about … you know. You could have trapped me into marriage first. Lots of girls would, and then when I found out it would be too late, and I’d be forced to deal with it through the long haul. So … I wanted to say thanks for not doing that.”
Trapped him. I feel like he’s thanking me for telling him I have a terminal disease so that he could escape before he had to be my caretaker. I stare at him like he’s a stranger, and suddenly knowledge rings out inside of me like a big brass gong: Hunter never loved me. He liked how easy things were with us, liked having me by his side. But when things got even a tiny bit rough, he ran without a backwards glance.
For the first time, I wonder if Hunter isn’t kind of an ass. Maybe I should take Yasmin’s suggestion and go get a pot of lobsters.
Hunter glances at me, waiting for me to say you’re welcome or something.
“I guess I had to see what kind of person you were,” I say instead.
Hunter’s brow furrows, but then he shrugs. That was why he never noticed how upset I was the last few months; if I ever said anything off-script, he tended to ignore it.
“Kelsey said you were okay with us hanging out.” Hunter rattles the ice in his glass. He’s drinking what is probably whiskey, his go-to drink for special occasions. He, of course, doesn’t have to care about how much it costs. “So I guess thanks for that too.”
Still shocked from my revelation, it takes me a moment to process what he said. I realize he must have asked her to be the one to talk to me, because Hunter, like his family, hates a scene. The only reason he’s even talking to me now is because Kelsey told him I was cool with them. If I’d gotten hysterical, he’d have just stayed away.
Full Steam Ahead Page 6
