Auctioned to Him 7: The Contract

by Charlotte Byrd

  I look at Kathryn. As they shake hands, Kathryn is so embarrassed, she looks like she wants the floor to open and swallow her right there and then. But Tristan remains oblivious, either completely unaware of how uncomfortable she and everyone else is, or callous to it. At first, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. But now, I’m not so sure. He’s beaming with pride. The wrong kind. He wants us to suffer. And he doesn’t care if Kathryn suffers along with us.

  “Not for long?” Tristan asks. “Is the honeymoon over already?”

  “There never was one, Tristan. You know that,” Dylan says. Then he turns to Kathryn to explain. “It was an accident. We’re getting it taken care of.”

  “I see,” she mumbles.

  “An accident? Oh, is that what you’re calling this?” Tristan says, taking a step back. Insulted. “People accidentally rear-end a car. They accidentally forget their keys and get locked out of their house. People do NOT accidentally marry their best friend’s girlfriend!”

  “Okay, Tristan, calm down,” Kathryn says, sternly this time.

  “I am calm,” he says, shrugging her hand off his shoulder. “But seriously. Why don’t we take a poll? I mean, let’s ask all of these people at the party whether what you two did can be considered an accident.”

  None of us say anything. I feel like I’m watching a runaway train and I can’t do anything to make it stop.

  “Hey, everyone. Everyone. Can I have your attention please?” Tristan says loudly. After a few moments, everyone quiets down and turns their attention to him.

  “My roommate here, my best friend, Dylan Worthington went to Atlantic City a few weeks ago with my other roommate and my girlfriend. The girl who was the love of my life, or so I’d thought. And they got married and slept together. And they are saying that it was an accident. Now, my question to you all, is can we actually call it an accident? I mean, to me an accident is running into something or calling the wrong number. But not marrying your best friend’s girl.”

  We all wait for someone to say something. Each second that passes feels like an eternity. And then a smart-ass from the back yells out, “It depends on how much they had to drink!”

  Everyone laughs.

  “See, that’s what they keep telling me,” Tristan says. “But the thing is that all of you in this room have been drunk plenty. And how many of you can say that you got married while you were drunk.”

  “Maybe she just got tired of your moaning, man. Maybe your roommate doesn’t complain so much,” the guy in the back says again.

  Everyone laughs with him and turns back to doing what they were doing. Tristan shakes his head and drops his shoulders. He’s embarrassed. And I’m sorry for him, but I can’t help but give out a sigh of relief.

  “I’m sorry, Tristan,” Dylan says. “I’m really sorry.”

  “I don’t care,” he says, shaking his head. Tristan turns away from him, so Dylan turns to Kathryn.

  “We’re getting a divorce. As soon as possible. We just have to get a lawyer and this will be over. Soon.”

  “I know,” Kathryn says.

  She’s speaking for Tristan. I hate how I seemed to have been replaced in a second. But I can’t blame anyone but myself. And the alcohol.

  “Well, I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Tristan says. “I was really rooting for you two.”

  The sarcasm in his voice is filled with pain. I wish there was something I could do to help him. To make all of this go away. But I’m helpless.

  “You’re a real asshole, Tristan,” Dylan says.

  “Oh, I’m an asshole? Seriously, man? I’m the asshole?” Tristan asks. He’s at a loss for words. I don’t know why Dylan had to say that. He was on the right track with his apologies. But now…everything’s even worse.

  “I’m sorry.” Dylan turns to me, as if to answer what I was thinking. “But I’ve apologized for this plenty. I am sorry. I’m not making excuses. But if he doesn’t want to accept my apology there’s nothing I can do.”

  “Fuck you, Dylan!” Tristan says.

  “No, fuck you,” Dylan says.

  We’re a second away from yet another fight. And I don’t know how to stop it. Luckily, Kathryn does.

  “I’m leaving,” she says, grabbing her coat away from Tristan. He’s caught off guard.

  “What?” he asks.

  “I’m leaving,” she says again. She puts on her coat and puts her cup on the table.

  “It was nice to meet you,” she says to me and heads toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” Tristan yells after her.

  “I’m leaving,” Kathryn says without turning around.

  “Why?” Tristan asks, running up to her.

  “Because you’re acting like a child. I didn’t come here with you for you to act like that.”

  They continue to argue, but everything else they say is out of earshot. All I know is that Tristan isn’t able to get her to stay and they take their arguing outside.

  The night proceeds at a more even pace after that. Dylan and I avoid each other. I spot Tea and Tanner and try to lose myself in a conversation with them. They were present for the scene that Tristan caused, but once he leaves, they thankfully don’t ask me anything more about him. Juliet hooks up with a guy I’ve never seen before, but luckily does not invite him to spend the night.

  When I go to bed that night after cleaning up after the party, I’m well aware of the fact that Tristan isn’t back yet. I try not to think about it and what it means. He’s with Kathryn and they’re probably at her place. Instead, I just bury my head under the covers and force myself to fall asleep.

  21

  The following morning, I sleep in late. The party raged on until after 3 am and I don’t get up until well after 10. My head is pounding. I wrap myself up in my robe and drag my feet into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. My thinking is all blurry and the light streaming through the windows is too bright. I pull the shades down. Plop. They make a loud noise, startling someone sleeping on the couch.

  “What the hell?” he asks. I turn around. It’s Dylan. “Why are you making so much noise?” he asks with his eyes still closed.

  “Why are you sleeping out here?” I ask, ignoring his question.

  He doesn’t respond. I look at the door. And there, on the handle, I see a Do Not Disturb sign. But not just any sign. I’m well familiar with that one. That’s the Do Not Disturb sign that Tristan stole from the hotel room in Mammoth, California where we spent the weekend skiing and making love. That’s our Do Not Disturb sign.

  Suddenly, the door opens. And Kathryn comes out. She’s wearing the dress she wore last night and holding her heels in her right hand. Her hair is disheveled and out of control. She’s wearing barely any makeup and the eyeliner that she has on looks like it was applied last night, but she still looks as beautiful as ever.

  “Hey,” she says quietly.

  “Hey,” I say, taking a deep breath.

  I wait for her to run off and leave, but she doesn’t. She simply stands in the middle of the room waiting for something. But for what? She keeps eyeing the coffee pot. And then it occurs to me.

  “Would you like some coffee?” I ask reluctantly.

  “Oh, yes, please!” she says. A huge smile forms on her face. “I simply can’t function without it. I don’t think I would even be able to find my way home.”

  I nod and pour her a cup of coffee.

  “Hey, listen, I’m so sorry about last night.” Kathryn walks up to me. She puts her hand on my arm. Shivers run up my spine. I want to shrug her off, but I don’t want to be rude.

  “What do you mean?” I manage to utter.

  “You know, about Tristan making that whole scene. If I knew that he was planning on doing that…I would’ve never agreed to come.”

  “Oh, that, yes. I understand,” I say with a nod.

  “Can you two please take your chatter somewhere else? My head is killing me,” Dylan moans from the couch. He doesn’t bother to lift his head
off the pillow and his words are muffled and barely comprehensible.

  I’m about to reply, but then there’s a knock on the door.

  Bam. Bam. Bam.

  Loud knocks, each one less patient than the last.

  “Who could that be?” I ask rhetorically. I open the door. A man in an expensive suit and coat storms past me.

  “Dylan! Dylan Worthington!” he yells at the top of his lungs.

  Dylan opens his eyes and jumps back into the couch. There’s a sheer terror in his eyes. I look at the man before him. He’s fuming. It looks like smoke is about to come out of his ears, but his suit and tie and coat remain perfectly coiffed and put together. His newly shone shoes shine in the sunlight even though the streets are full of slush and sleet.

  “What the hell are you thinking, Dylan?” the man yells, reaching for something in his front pocket.

  “Dad—” Dylan says.

  Ah, that’s who it is. Kathryn and I exchange looks.

  “What is this?” Mr. Worthington waves a large piece of paper in Dylan’s face.

  “What is it?” Dylan asks.

  “This, my darling son,” Mr. Worthington says quietly, his voice saturated with sarcasm, “this is a bill from Tiffany’s.”

  “Oh,” Dylan mumbles under his breath.

  “So, imagine my surprise.” Mr. Worthington turns to Kathryn and I. I get the sense that this man is used to speaking to large groups of people and he relishes the sound of his voice, “when I walk into Tiffany’s this morning to buy a diamond ring for my future fiancée and discover that my son, Mr. Worthington, already has an account with them.”

  “Shit,” Dylan says.

  “Yes, that’s right. ‘Is something wrong with the other ring you purchased? Or would you like to exchange it?’ the nice woman at the counter asks me. I, of course, have no idea what she’s talking about. I haven’t been to Tiffany’s in years, not since Dylan’s mom and I divorced. So I have no idea what she’s talking about. So I ask her to educate me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dylan whispers.

  “And you know what I find out?” Mr. Worthington asks. He’s speaking to everyone in the room, but he’s focused on me. “Do you?” he asks when I don’t respond.

  “No,” I say, shaking my head.

  “What I find out is that apparently I already bought a 2 carat diamond ring from them. Apparently, I had spent $40,000 there two weeks ago!”

  “I can explain,” Dylan says with a whimper. But his dad doesn’t let him.

  “A $40,000 ring? Are you insane, Dylan? An engagement ring should be two months of your salary. And the last thing I remember is that your salary last year was zero. A big fat zero. So what does that mean, Dylan? That means that the only ring that you could’ve gotten your Peyton is a ring pop. Because that’s all you can afford.”

  “Not Peyton,” Juliet says. I don’t know how long she’s been standing there, but she’s never one to avoid drama.

  “Excuse me?” Mr. Worthington asks.

  “Dylan didn’t marry Peyton,” Juliet says, shaking her head. “He married Alice.”

  “What?” Mr. Worthington yells. His face gets flushed and the pupils of his eyes dilate so much it looks like his eyes fill with blackness.

  “Wait a second,” Dylan says. “Why did you go to Tiffany’s?”

  What the hell is Dylan talking about? His dad is about to murder us all and he’s questioning him? I start to inch my way to the back of the room. If Mr. Worthington explodes, I want to be as far away from him as possible.

  “I’m going to ask Cynthia to marry me,” Mr. Worthington announces.

  “What?” Dylan asks.

  Just at that moment, the door to his room opens and Tristan comes out. Perfect timing. As usual.

  “Cynthia? You’re going to ask Cynthia to marry you? Are you insane?” Dylan asks. He’s no longer a scared little boy afraid to make his father mad. He’s now standing right in front of his dad, challenging him. He’s indignant and his mouth is full of anger and venom.

  “Yes, Cynthia.” Mr. Worthington shrugs. He looks as surprised by Dylan’s temperament as we all are.

  “Cynthia is four years older than I am,” Dylan turns to me and explains. “She’s 23 years old. And my dad apparently doesn’t think that there’s anything inappropriate in that.”

  “Age is just a number,” Mr. Worthington says.

  “Yeah right,” Dylan says.

  “But hey, why are you questioning me anyway? I wasn’t the one who secretly got married to a stranger and got her a…” Mr. Worthington looks down at the piece of paper in his hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that a picture of my ring at the top. “The 2 carat Tiffany Embrace diamond ring,” he reads from the print out. “It’s bead-set diamonds exquisitely accentuate a round brilliant center stone in a setting that evokes glamour and romance. All for a price of $44,100! And you two were engaged for how long? An hour?”

  “You got her a 44 thousand dollar ring?” Juliet whispers. Her eyes light up and I think she’s going to faint.

  Honestly, the ring looked nice, but I had no idea it was so much money.

  “And you know what the best thing is? He put it on his father’s credit card. How perfect is that?” Mr. Worthington says sarcastically.

  “He got you an engagement ring?” Tristan asks quietly. His voice is barely audible, but everyone turns to look at him.

  “I’m not going to keep it,” I say. It’s the only thing I can say.

  “You got her an engagement ring?” he asks Dylan.

  “So what?” Dylan asks. He’s taken aback, I can tell, but I get the feeling that he’s not apologizing as long as his dad’s here.

  “So what?” Mr. Worthington yells. “I was going to get my actual fiancée a $30,000 ring, but my son went out and splurged on 44-grand of my money on some stranger!”

  “She’s not a stranger,” Dylan says. “Alice this is my dad, Mr. Worthington. Dad, this is Alice Summers. My roommate and wife.”

  “Oh please,” Mr. Worthington rolls his eyes.

  “What? You think this marriage is a joke? Well, it’s not,” Dylan says with a shrug.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I whisper.

  “Look, Dylan, even your wife knows it’s a joke.” Mr. Worthington laughs.

  “Well, it’s not. I wanted to marry her and I did. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  I shake my head. No, no, no. What is he talking about? Suddenly, my whole body starts to shake uncontrollably. I turn to Tristan. He can’t actually believe this. Why is Dylan doing this? But Tristan just grabs his jacket and walks out. I follow him. I can’t stay in that room any longer.

  “Tristan! Tristan!” I run after him catching him by the elevator. “Please, wait,” I say. The button pointing down is lit up and I know we don’t have much time.

  “He gave you a ring?” he asks. There is sadness on his face. And disappointment. It looks like he’s going to cry at any moment. He takes a deep breath, trying to hold back tears.

  “He got me a ring. But I’ve already given it back to him. We’re getting a divorce. This all has been a terrible mistake,” I say. I’m speaking fast, a little fast, but I want to be able to get everything out before the elevator comes.

  “He got you a ring, Alice,” Tristan says with a shrug. As if that means something. As if it signifies something important. “And a really expensive ring,” he adds.

  “So what? That’s Dylan. If he gets something then he goes all out. But it doesn’t mean a thing. I don’t care about that ring.”

  “It’s a 2-carat ring, Alice. It cost almost 50 thousand dollars.”

  “It was just a splurge. A mistake from a night full of mistakes,” I say. “Why does it matter what kind of ring it is?”

  The elevator doors open.

  “I don’t know,” Tristan says, stepping inside. “But it does.”

  The elevator doors close and he disappears, leaving me alone. I’ve never felt so a
lone before. This is over. Really over. My legs crumple underneath me. I drop to the floor. Tears rush down my face. I can’t stop them even if I want to. I just let them wash over me. Maybe they can wash away my mistakes. Probably not.

  22

  Day turns into night and into day again. I lose track of time. I cry for so long that my eyes feel like someone’s slicing them with razor blades and my chest starts to physically hurt from the pain. Eventually, the tears dry up. There are no more. The pain remains, but it’s as if it’s happening to someone else. I’m detached from it. Separated somehow. Now, there’s just a dark cloud that descends around me. One that I can’t shake no matter what I do.

  The next two weeks are consumed by melancholy. Hours blend into days and days into nights. I become something of a zombie. I don’t cry much anymore, I just wander around lost. Detached from the world. Unreachable. I avoid everyone. I stay on campus for as long as I can, wandering the busy stacks of the library. And when I do come home, I avoid everyone except Juliet, whom I can’t really avoid even if I had tried. Luckily, she has the good sense to pretty much leave me to my own devices. She doesn’t pester me with questions and she doesn’t ask me how I’m feeling. Mainly, she just leaves me be, which is exactly what I want. As for Tristan and Dylan, I don’t see them at all. I can’t. I don’t think I have the strength to deal with my feelings if I were to see Tristan again. And I’m too mad at Dylan. I can’t believe that he went out of his way to say those things to his father. Those things that hurt me to the bottom of my core. He doesn’t want to be married to me. He doesn’t want to be engaged to me. I, of all people, know how much he had regretted marrying me instead of Peyton. At least with Peyton, there’s a history. They love each other. And they have for a long time. And even if they were to marry by accident and then get divorced….well, that seems just like something out of their story.

  So, if that’s true, why did he have to go and tell everyone that he wanted to marry me? Why did he have to get such a big ring? And why did he have to throw it in his father’s face? There are some things that I will probably never understand. But I will talk about it with him, one of these days. Just not now. Not yet.