“Okay, chill out, Char,” Julia says. “Obviously she’s a little off her bonkers, which happens to all of us at least once. She didn’t know what she was doing.”
“I can’t just sit here and let her hurt herself anymore,” Charlotte says, and I don’t have the strength to look her in the eyes. “I’ve spent enough of my time in the hospital.” I sit still as a statue and listen as she storms out of the store.
I catch Julia’s eyes, and she sighs and gets up to go after Charlotte.
I sit back in my chair and feel a tear drop down my face.
“Okay, I got a whole new batch!” Jaimie exclaims as she runs back to the seating area, a bright smile splattered over her face. Then she frowns at the empty chairs and then at me and croaks, “Where’d everyone go?”
“Thank you for the dresses,” I say, not bothering to hide my tears. I get up, take the large number of dresses, and slip into one of the empty changing rooms.
“Liv, what happened?” She tries the door knob and grunts when she finds it locked.
“They’re sick of my shit, that’s what happened, Char especially,” I cry, falling to the ground with the clump of dresses.
She’s silent for a second, then sighs and says, “She just cares about you, Bam.”
“Sure, let’s see how long that lasts,” I mutter, wiping away a tear. I am so fucking pathetic, it literally makes me sick. “You should go after them. I’m sure they haven’t gone far.”
“I’m not leaving you,” she says defiantly.
“I’ll buy you an infinity of cronuts,” I say with a sad smile, tempting her with her favorite snack.
Another beat of silence, then a low, “Not enough to drive me away.”
My heart creaks, and I groan, “Just please…give me some time. She’ll—she’ll calm down, but you should go after them…please, Jaim.”
It’s so silent for a long time, I think she’s gone, but then she taps the door and promises, “I will be right back, okay? After this, we’ll go for some ice cream and do our nails, m’kay?”
I nod solemnly with a smile. “Sure.”
“Right back, don’t leave without me, you hear?”
“I hear.”
I wait a few seconds as I listen to her boots click-clack on the floor, then peek my head out from under the small space under the door. She’s gone. I stick my head back inside, close my eyes, and try to catch my breath. Why am I this way? Why do I hurt everyone I love? Why can’t I just be that driven girl whose only goal was to pass her classes and make her parents proud ten months ago? If I had a time machine, I would go back without hesitation. I would tell her to ignore the complex boy with pitch black eyes.
After a few seconds of heavy breathing, I finally stand and decide to get this over with. Right now, I just want to find the dress and go back home under my mother’s thumb. At least under there, nothing can get to me but her and my therapist’s wise words of how to move on to a better, healthy life.
I lay out each dress on the hooks available and assess each one. I want a simple yet delicate dress. I want to look nice and presentable, not just fragments of who I used to be on the inside. I do this round after round until I am down to three dresses. I examine them thoroughly and try them on. One fits snugly, another too loose, and another is plain Jane, too plain.
I go for the snug one. It’s turquoise, stops just below my mid-thigh, is strapless and flowy. Along with a pair of silver droplet earrings and a nice pair of heels, I think it will be the perfect outfit. I’m happy to have a fashionable friend like Jaimie. She’s saved my life too many times to count, and I am forever grateful for her being in my life. I make a note to myself to thank her with a hug and those cronuts later on.
I gather the dresses and step outside, wearing the one I chose so I can pick out a nice pair of heels to go with it. I neatly put the dresses on a rack outside of the rooms and walk into the back of the store. The store has a massive collection of all kinds of shoes. I’m surprised Jaimie didn’t discover this part and not come back with the dresses. I laugh at the thought and begin browsing for the right pair. I take my time in trying them on and matching them with the dress, but none of them stand out.
“Liv?” a familiar voice says from behind me.
I turn around and feel my veins run cold. “Rose, hello.”
I swear she lives in boutiques…
She smiles and takes a nervous step forward. “You look good,” she compliments, then her eyes drop to the dress, and her mouth transforms into an “O,” and I hold back an embarrassed laugh. “And that dress—wow! What’s the occasion?”
“For a thing I was invited to.” I wave a dismissive hand. Why am I being coy?
Her face saddens a bit, and she sighs. “David and Holly’s engagement party?”
“Bullseye,” I joke with a sad laugh.
She frowns. “How are you so strong?” I lift a questioning eyebrow, and she says, “Going to it, knowing Grey will be there. That’s just really admirable of you to still go after, you know, what happened…” She drops her gaze like it hurts her too much to look at me, the sad pathetic sap her boyfriend fucked then broke.
I flush at the thought and doubt Grey told her about…that. “I made a promise, and I won’t break it for anyone…not even him.”
She smiles and nods, then glances at the wall of shoes. “I think I found a pair that’ll go great with that dress.”
“Really?” I smile.
She nods and walks over to the wall and grabs the perfect set. How come I never saw them? “There you go.” She hands me the shoe, and I beam at her.
“Thank you so much.” I am tempted to hug her, but I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do…
She makes the decision and throws her arms around me; I hug back with a genuine smile. “I hope you get better, Liv,” she breathes and backs away, holding my hand.
“I hope so too, Rose,” I say.
She smiles and hangs onto my fingers for a bit more before clearing her throat and blushing, pulling away. “Well, I better go look for my own dress. I’ll see you at the party.”
“I look forward to seeing you then,” I tell her honestly.
She waves at me, and I wave back and watch her walk away.
Suddenly, I feel a lot lighter. That girl is like a walking ray of sunshine.
Chapter Forty-Seven
“Head tilted back, chin in the air,” Mother chastises.
I do as told, lifting my head back slightly. “I remember every etiquette class I took when I was twelve, Mother,” I tell her, glancing at her over my shoulder as she revolves around me like a shark circling its victim. She taps her red-painted fingernail under my chin and grunts; I resign with a sigh.
“Then you won’t mind a revision—ah! Keep your back straight. Imagine a tiara—” she reprimands.
“Imagine a tiara is barely perched on my head,” I finish for her with a sigh, reciting what Ivanna, my previous etiquette teacher, drilled into my young mind. Her thick German accent still haunts me whenever I catch myself walking as straight as a pencil sometimes. “Make a sudden, wrong move, and it shatters.”
“And diamonds are too precious to what?” she questions, tapping my lower back, making me suck in my stomach and stand even straighter.
“Break.”
“Good,” she breathes and comes full circle around me until she’s standing in front of me. She looks me up and down, then comments on my footing.
There’s no use trying to convince her to calm down at the moment. Not when she’s so busy prepping me for tonight. Tonight her, Dad, Noah, and I are attending a charity event that’s being run by one of her close doctor friends. But it isn’t just any event. It’s more of a gala than anything. Meaning fancy dresses, flashy pearls, and men in super-expensive tuxes that would make regular guys cry.
Nights like tonight are her opportunities to show off everything she’s accomplished. Her long chain of hospitals, her top-title of Number One Surgeon in the New York Regio
n, her shiny, healthy, stable daughter who knows eight languages, and her wealthy husband who works in the Circuit Court of Appeals. Slap a shiny red bow on us and tie us with a ribbon, standing in front of our collective vacation homes, and we’d be plastered as the perfect family everyone just dreams about…wrong.
To acquire so many hospitals, she had to spend years away from her family, especially her daughter. Her once bright, stable daughter who fell for the boy with dark eyes and had the ability to get between her legs and brainwash her to the point that when he left her, she crumbled into a billion pieces. As for the father, well, the father was practically a mute, staying away from everyone altogether. The only time he ever projected his once-soothing voice was when he was in the court room, taking his anger out over losing his only son on the criminals who entered what he considered his home for the past nine years. And the vacation homes? They’re only places my mother jets to whenever she gets fed up with my father’s inability to speak much.
But at least I can say “my life is a mess” in eight different languages. That’s a silver lining, right? I’m honestly asking, because besides that semi-useful ability, I have no remnants of the old me, whom I am beginning to miss more and more each day.
“What do you say when someone sparks a conversation with you?” she quizzes me.
I take a breath. “I tell them my full name, emphasis on the last name, and the college I am attending.”
She nods in approval, tapping her chin. “Add that elite program you’ve been accepted into. But not the fact that you gave it up the first time. It reads off as if you’re ungrateful.”
Sure, it’s not like I gave it up because I earned it by being a manipulator to the ex-love of my life.
But I bite my tongue and give her a nod. “Of course, Mother.”
Her full red lips curl into a vicious smile, like she’s proud to finally have me back under her control again. I avoid her gaze, ashamed of myself. She then sucks in a deep breath and looks me up and down, clicking her tongue in her mouth.
“We leave in a few hours. You should wash up,” she suggests. “And remember to add a mist of the French perfume I got while visiting there; I’ve had Louise set it on your vanity for you.”
“Okay, Moth—” I begin.
But she’s already walked off, most likely to bark another order at someone else.
“Mother,” I mutter to myself.
“Olivia,” a voice says. I look up, finding my father at the archway of the sun room.
“Yes, Father?”
“Noah is at the door,” is all he says, then gives me a brief nod before disappearing, most likely to his study where he spends most of his time.
I smile at him making a point to talk to me…he usually does, but it’s just very brief, like just now.
I walk to the door, cinching the thin silk Japanese robe my mother gave to me as a gift after I hadn’t seen her for one whole year. I was fourteen at the time.
“Noah, hey,” I say breathlessly as I open the door.
He’s clutching the door jamb, beaming down at me. “Did I interrupt something?”
I glance down at my attire, or lack thereof, and smile with a blush. “No, I was just going over how to walk straight with my mother.” I step back and hold the door open for him to come in.
He frowns, confused, as he walks inside. “Do you still not know how to walk?”
“Apparently not.” I shrug playfully.
“Then I imagine how you’re really supposed to walk,” he breathes, quirking his eyebrows. “Maybe we’re supposed to be on our hands.”
“Possibly…or my mother’s a control freak who has to teach me what I already know.”
“Oh, so I see where you get the control freak part from,” he teases, and I jab him in his stomach. “Ow! Didn’t know you got violent too.”
Got that from someone else…
I swallow harshly. “Is there a reason you came?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Wow…” He coughs and averts his eyes to his shoes.
I gasp and shake my head. “I’m so sorry. I was just mad in my head, and…that came out wrong.” I feel my entire body flush with mortification. I bite my lip and try again. “You’ve been kind of distant the past week…so why the pop-up now?”
It’s his turn to anxiously chew on his lip. “I’m sorry if you feel any way about that. I just—your mother was convinced you’d get better in isolation. Doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you any less, though.”
“You missed me?”
He nods. “’Course I did…I actually like you, if you haven’t really noticed by my being practically glued to your side…”
Aw, I thought inwardly, not wanting to freak him out or embarrass him.
“I kinda noticed.” I shrugged with a small smile. “You’re not as great at playing ninja with your feelings now as you were at actually being one when we were younger,” I joke. “Remember you used to dress up in all black and roll around the country house in Budapest? You used to jump around throwing plastic spoons at me like they were blades.” I burst into laughter at the memory. He was terrible at being a ninja.
“Oh, geez.” He slaps a hand over his eyes and groans. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything.” I laugh even harder, and he rolls his eyes and pushes my shoulder; I return the gesture, and a wide smile breaks out on his face. “What?” I ask, my voice sheepish.
“Nothing, it’s just…I came here to ask you to the ball officially, yet here we are; you are bringing up my regrettable past and making fun of me.”
“Some invite,” I tease, though on the inside, I’m running wild.
His eyes glisten. “You’re right, that wasn’t good enough.” I feel my heart drop when he gets on one knee and takes my hands, staring up at me with a goofy smile. “Olivia Renee Westerfield, will you attend this godforsaken charity gala with me tonight?”
“This is so unexpected, I don’t know what to say,” I choke jokingly, wiping away a fake tear.
“C’mon, don’t make a guy beg.” He pouts his lips.
“Oh, fine. I guess I’ll go with you.” I give him a little lift of my lips and a shrug.
He glares at me, ready with a comeback, when we hear a small shriek to our left.
Mother is staring at us, practically picking out my wedding dress.
Oh, geez. You let a guy get on his knee and dramatically ask you out once…
***
“Wow, the venue is actually pretty stunning this year,” I tell no one in particular as we enter the mayor’s hall ballroom. The walls are decorated with historical, beautiful paintings, the floors so shiny you could see every blemish on your face. Waiters in tuxes rotate around the room, offering appetizers and wine. I spot an ice sculpture across the room and a chocolate fondue station. “Oooh.” My hungry stomach speaks for itself.
Although I would love to dive in to the food table, Mother forbids me from eating tonight because I will get bloated and appear pig-ish. I bet she wouldn’t be saying that when she clamps down on a chocolate-covered strawberry…
“I’ll sneak you some,” Noah whispers in my ear.
I look up at him, quickly blindsided by how gorgeous he looks in his fitted black suit and gelled golden hair. Somehow, his emerald green eyes pop even more, maybe because of the crisp whiteness of his dress shirt or the shiny bling, no doubt expensive, watch on his right wrist.
“You’d be a lifesaver.”
“I do volunteer as a lifeguard on the weekends,” he says smugly, popping his collar with a bite of his lip.
I laugh out loud but stop when my mother snaps me a look. Noah and I both share a funny look behind her back as we follow her to a couple with shining jewels, preparing for the bling show.
“You do not,” I whisper.
“Would you like me to show you my official outfit sometime?” he whispers. Goosebumps spread across my skin.
I turn to face him, a smile tugging my lips. “The ‘uniform’ is just you s
hirtless in a pair of red shorts.”
His smile grows, and his eye twinkles. “Exactly.”
I blush and push at him playfully, and he pushes right back. “I’ll get you back later,” I whisper, standing still when my mother glances over her shoulder warningly.
He snickers, and I roll my eyes with a smile.
I glance at the fondue one more time before I can be dragged into a contest between the two women of who wears the brightest, biggest pearls. I let my eyes wander aimlessly, admiring some of the dresses. They do exude money, but fashion is there nonetheless.
When my eyes land on a particular waiter, I literally feel myself shiver.
Noah must feel me, because he turns to me, face impeccably void of any playfulness it held a moment ago. “What’s wrong?”
I just point at the waiter. “What is he doing here?”
Grey.
He stands at the end of the food table, face hardened like he’s bored. But the great question is: what is he doing here in the first place?
“Do you want me to do something?” he asked, disdain soaking his tongue.
By do something, he means make a scene, or better yet, finish whatever started that day in the hospital.
I can clearly tell as it radiates off him in every way possible. From the way his jaw tightens, and his hands clutch into fists, I can tell he’s angry. Whether it be from Grey damaging his face briefly, thank God, he’s too attractive to be sporting a scar for defending me, or him just hating him in general, him “doing something” would only result in violence, and my mother would kill me and lock me in the house for the rest of the summer for inciting it, somehow. Trust me, she’d sum it up to where it’d be my fault in that insane brain of hers.
“No,” I say and take his hand in mine, sure to lock my eyes with his, though they itch to find…his. But I will not let him ruin something else, not anymore. He is no longer anything to me, just a person I know from my past. “I’d rather dance.” I cup one side of Noah’s face and turn his head so he’s facing me and not Grey. “Would that be okay?”
Grey: The Retribution (Spectrum Series Book 3) Page 32
