by Sara Celi
Leave it to me to always misinterpret everything.
I drank some more soda. I needed to pull myself together, straighten my shoulders, and stop fumbling around in my head. I needed to—
“How’s the soda, Margot?”
I flinched at the voice; I’d been so caught in my thoughts I hadn’t noticed Nick making his way toward the sofa where I sat. Again.
“It’s great. Best I’ve had.”
“I was going to offer to buy you a drink, but …” He smiled, flashing a mouthful of blinding white teeth that gleamed brighter than I remembered. “You don’t seem to need one.”
“Not from you.”
I placed the glass on the ottoman in front of me and smoothed my button-down shirt. I cursed myself for putting on my flowered capri leggings; they made my ass look bigger and my thighs resemble encased sausages.
“I see you’re ready for today.” Nick sat down the chair facing me. He carried a towel, and wore a pair of black swim trunks, a white T-shirt, and Ray-Ban sunglasses. “Are all women in the wedding party wearing leggings?”
“Don’t be mean. You know we’re not.”
“A shame.” A smirk pulled at his lips. “They suit you.”
I adjusted my legs and rearranged myself on the sofa. “I suppose you want me to take that as a compliment, so thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Nick settled into his seat. “What were you up to last night after the dinner? You missed the main toast.”
“James and I went for a walk. He wanted to see the beach, since he’s never been to this part of Florida before.”
“Interesting.” Nick still smirked. “And does he like long walks on the beach? Is that one of his things?”
I drew in a deep breath. Nick’s tone had a layer to it, an arrogant sarcasm, and I chaffed at hearing it. “James is a good guy. You’d like him.”
“I’m sure I would,” Nick replied with a dryness that told me he didn’t feel that way at all. “Hipsters are always good guys, aren’t they?”
“He’s not a hipster, okay? He’s not. He’s an artist and a businessman.” I felt myself growing warmer. “Just … just stop it. I don’t have to justify my life to you anymore. You’re the past. Let’s keep it there.” I grabbed my drink off the ottoman, finished off the bubbly soda, then slammed it back down again. “With that in mind, I think I’ll get the check.”
“No”—Nick held up a hand— “wait. I’m sorry. I’m a jerk sometimes, you know that.” He took off his sunglasses, and his piercing dark eyes met mine. “But I only get this way when I’m threatened.”
“And you’re threatened by James?”
“Why not?” Nick paused. “He’s here with you, isn’t he?”
We stared at each other for a moment.
“Yes,” I finally said. “He’s here with me. He’s my date.”
Then I stood from the sofa and walked away, leaving Nick to pay the bill.
Margot had rosy cheeks and gritted teeth when she returned to our hotel room. She strode into the room and shut the door with a hard push.
“Hello,” she said but didn’t look me in the eyes. She walked to the closet and took the dress she had to wear for the wedding out of its dry-cleaning bag. “What time do you want to leave here?”
“Whenever you do.” I crossed the room to the large mirror and finished tying the bow tie for my tuxedo. I smoothed my shirt and turned to her. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” She balled the dry-cleaning plastic and dropped it into the nearby trash can. “Nothing at all. The morning with Julie and the rest of the bridesmaids just took longer than I expected, that’s all.”
“Come on, it’s more than that.” I waited for a reply that never came. “What happened while you were gone?”
She finally raised her eyes to mine. “Like I said, nothing.”
God, I was such a damn idiot. The whole night before had been an epic fumble. What kind of a dickhead would ask a woman to become his employee, instead of kissing her?
A dickhead like me, I guessed.
Most of the night, I’d beaten myself up. I’d told myself over and over how much of a failure the night had been, and she’d shown me too. When we got back to the hotel room, Margot said less than ten words to me before she’d crawled into bed and hugged the edge.
I had lain awake most of the night, flat on my back, as I replayed the look of confusion in her eyes, quickly followed by hurt. How the hell do I fix this? Why ask a woman you’re interested in to work for you?
And I still had almost no idea how to fix it. I’d complicated this by asking her to work for me. Now she would see everything I did beneath that lens—that I wanted her as only an employee.
Good job, James. Good freaking job.
Margo turned back to her dress. She unzipped the back and pulled the fabric off the hanger. “Julie wants me downstairs at three forty-five.”
“Perfect, I’ll join you.” I spread a hand. “I’m almost ready as it is.”
“Good.”
With a curt nod, she took the dress and disappeared into the bathroom. I started at the closed door for a few seconds, found the remote on the bed, and turned on the TV. There was a professional baseball game on with two teams I didn’t care about, but I sank into the chaise lounge to watch it.
After about fifteen minutes, I got a text from Hugh.
Hugh: I was wondering how Palm Beach was going
Me: Fine. It’s a nice place. Lots of rich people.
Hugh: Maybe you can direct some of them our way.
Me: Ha ha
Hugh: Good news, though. We sold three pieces in the last two days.
I almost dropped the phone. Despite the buzz surrounding Gallery 29, we’d never sold that much in a week. One piece a month could usually take care of the daily gallery expenses, but three—well, that was a godsend. I read the text again. Damn, I was having some uncanny good luck.
Me: OUTSTANDING! We can expand off this!
Hugh: We can and do it without too much worry.
Me: Probably a good thing, because I offered Margo a job last night.
Hugh: A job? WTF? You’re supposed to be hooking up with her, not trying to make her part of our team.
Me: What can I say? She’s good at social media, and I think she’d made a great social media guru for us. You know we need it.
I eyed the bathroom door. Still closed. She probably wouldn’t come out until we needed to leave. And that might be enough time to convince my business partner that we needed her.
Hugh: So, what if she’s good at Instagram? Who cares? So is half the population these days.
Me: She’ll add to the gallery. And you were the one who complimented her social skills.
Hugh: I did … but how were you going to pay for her if we hadn’t sold the extra pieces?
Me: *shrug* It just came out. It felt like the right thing to do.
Hugh: I thought you were going to hook up with this chick, not go on an extended job interview.
Me: Well … a little bit of both, maybe.
Hugh: This is so typical. Offering her a job as a way to tell her you like her.
Me: Well, she’s qualified too. Can you blame me?
Hugh: Look, when are you coming back? Tomorrow? If so, you’ve got less than 24 hours to make it happen down there. I do not want her as our employee—unless I know you tried hooking up. What are you waiting for? Get to it.
Me: Only if you agree to let her join our staff.
Hugh: Fine. Whatever you want. Just make your move!
I locked the phone, tossed it onto the bed, and thought about Hugh’s advice as I focused on the game, which had a tie score in the fifth inning and two men on base.
It worked for a while.
But when Margot walked out of the bathroom about five minutes later, my breath caught in my throat. The pink satin dress enhanced her auburn hair and creamy skin. She looked so gorgeous I didn’t know what to say.
“What?” she asked as I sto
od there, willing my tongue to untie. “Is everything okay?”
“No … yes, it’s perfect. You look beautiful.”
She giggled and glanced at the mounds of shimmering fabric. “That’s probably the last way I would describe myself in this dress.”
“It should be the first, because it’s the truth.” I held out the crook of my arm. “Ready?”
“Absolutely.” She wrapped her hand around my elbow, and a chill ran through me. “I’ve practically memorized the reading I have to give.” She eyed me. “And thanks for doing this—for being my … my pretend date.”
“My pleasure,” I replied, hating that I’d put that hesitation and discomfort in her expression. She shouldn’t doubt herself or doubt what I felt for her. I’d been an ass, and it was time to fix it.
I only hesitated the night before because I lost my nerve. What if she really wasn’t interested in me? What if she didn’t want more than friendship? But then I’d spent time away from her when she was with Julie and the bridesmaids, and even though my run had taken some of my energy and focus, it hadn’t been enough to avoid the truth. Like the gallery, sometimes you knew when the risk was worth it.
Margot Leesman was worth it.
And by the end of the night, Margot would know the truth. I didn’t only see her as a potential employee. I wanted Margot as mine.
That night, I planned to make my move.
It was all going so well. For Julie, at least.
Her wedding was like something out of one of the best Town and Country editorial spreads, or an eight-year-old’s fevered fantasy. Julie was having the wedding of her dreams. She looked gorgeous in her long, cascading gown with a thousand small pearls sewed onto the bodice. The sun shone. The bougainvillea gleamed. The soft breeze blew. As the minister welcomed a crowd of about two hundred to the ceremony, I sat in the third row next to my parents. I wore a polite smile on my face and carried the reading in my hand.
When the minister called my name, I stood from the chair, acknowledged the crowd of well-wishers, and slid out of the aisle toward the long row of white gossamer fabric between the two sections of seats.
I took three steps, and my high heel caught in the fabric.
“Oh, gosh.” I tried to take another graceful step toward the bride and groom, hoping no one would notice.
Didn’t work.
Instead, my ankle twisted backward, and I fell into one of the guests on the opposite side of the aisle. I grabbed the back of his chair to break the fall, but as I did, the dress hem hooked onto my other shoe and became entangled.
I crashed to my knees, with a loud “oof.” I cut my right knee open on the chair leg, and seconds later lay bleeding on the lawn. Humiliated, I rolled over and stared at the Florida sky.
Several of Julie and Trip’s guests jumped to my aid. A few cried out and asked if I was okay, while my father and the man across from him scurried to help me up and extract me from what had just become to most humiliating moment of my life.
“Oh my God,” Julie shrieked. “What are you doing, Margot?”
“I’m okay,” I said through a few exasperated gasps. Then I looked at my leg and saw the line of blood flowing down my shin. Some of it had already stained the inside fabric of my dress. Just my freaking luck.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I can’t look at Julie. She will be fuming. I have singlehandedly ruined her wedding day, and I will never live this down. I will never forget this level of humiliation.
“Nope.” I collapsed onto the ground. “Maybe I’m not okay at all.”
“At least you didn’t hit your head,” said Clark, one of Julie’s friends from New York. He turned to the rest of the crowd. “Is anyone here a doctor?”
“He’s right, honey,” Dad said. “We should—”
“No,” I shouted. “I’m fine. I can take care of this, no problem.” I took my father’s extended hand and gingerly got up from the ground. “I can—” I let out a small yelp. Pain shot through me. I must have also twisted my ankle in the fall. “I can handle it.”
“No, I don’t think you can,” Dad said.
I looked up and met his eyes. “I’m fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “Fine.”
“Margot, let’s take a moment.” He regarded the rest of the guests. “She’s going to be fine, everyone. Just fine.”
And then, something inside me collapsed.
Maybe it was his tone of voice. Maybe it was the way he addressed everyone else. Or maybe it was the pressure I’d been putting myself under for the last few weeks.
“Fine?” I shrieked. “I’m not fine, Dad. Can’t you tell that?” I winced as pain shot up my leg. “I’m a mess. Nothing but an absolute mess. I’m, I—”
“Honey—”
“No. You don’t get it, Dad.”
I held up a hand. It didn’t matter where I was or what was happening around us. I was rolling down a mountain of emotion like an avalanche, picking up speed with every second that passed.
“You don’t even … you don’t know the half of what I’ve had to deal with in the last month. Everything is falling apart. Everything. First, I lost my job. I don’t work as a TV producer anymore, Dad.” The words came out as a mangled cry. “I don’t have a job. I’m running out of savings. I’ve been working as a dog walker to make extra cash.” I glanced at James, who had a pair of bugged eyes and a half-open mouth. I gestured at him with my thumb. “And he’s not—he’s not even my boyfriend. He’s my neighbor, and he’s just here to help, and so I don’t look so pathetic.”
Which, at that moment, had utterly failed.
No one said anything for a long moment. All the guests simply stared at me. It was as if a lid had been blown off my simmering anger and pain. This wasn’t about Julie or this wedding. But I was angry—at life, at my insecurities, and at how perfect Julie’s life was compared to mine—so at that moment, my dad was the target for my anger trying to placate me.
Well, maybe I’m also angry at Julie for this godawful pink dress.
“It’s okay, honey,” Dad finally replied. “It’s okay.”
“No,” I exclaimed. “It’s not. Nothing is.”
What a horror show.
A staffer arrived with a white hotel towel and insisted we wrap it around the wound. Then he said he’d find some ice, and he scurried down the aisle. Unlike me, he didn’t fall.
“Sweetheart, pull yourself together. Now,” Dad said, with a hard look in his eyes. He wrapped the towel around my knee. “You’ve got to get that stitched up, and a doctor needs to make sure that you didn’t pop anything out of place. You might have dislocated something.”
“I don’t think so.” My cheeks grew warm and the sheer embarrassment of the whole thing washed over me. “I’m so—” I looked at Julie and Trip, who stood staring with the minister. All three of them wore expectant looks on their faces, and Julie’s eyes were bigger than a giant squid’s. “I’m … I’m just … I’m so, so, so very sorry. I shouldn’t have said all of that. I just … I feel like I ruined your wedding.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’re fine.” But her tone of voice told me she was far from it. Julie raised her eyebrow as she looked me up and down. Her expression turned frosty and cold. “We’re just waiting to see if you are.”
“I’m—I feel so bad.”
“You should.”
I blanched. “Oh my God, I’d—”
“I’ve had about enough of this,” James interjected. “First things first. You need to go to the hospital, Margot.” He reached my father’s side. “I’ll take you.”
“Wonderful,” Julie replied through a set of tight teeth.
He sighed and shook his head. “What a cousin,” he muttered, then looked at me. “You’re going to the hospital.”
“No. No way.” I grimaced as more pain shot through my leg. “I won’t do that. I’m fine.”
He pointed at my knee. “Nope, you’re not. That needs a doctor, whether you like it or not.”
“No,” I said aga
in through gritted teeth. “Let’s just continue with this wedding.”
“You’re hurt,” James said in a low voice as he wrapped his arm around me. “I’ll take you, okay? No more arguments.”
I stared at him, willing this to end. It was without a doubt one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, and every second that ticked by made this more excruciating. Not enough wine in the world. Not enough liquor in the world. Not enough champagne in the world would get me through this afternoon.
“I agree,” my father said in a strong voice. “Thank you for volunteering. That’s very kind of you, James.” My father slipped a hand in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys for his rental car. “Use my vehicle.”
“Perfect.” James turned back to me. “Let me help you up, okay?”
“Okay,” I mumbled and leaned into his shoulder.
No sense in arguing with him, or with my father, who had just used a voice that meant he wouldn’t allow another argument from me. Besides, at least I could brace against James. He counted down from three, then he lifted me from the ground.
As we took a few steps, the rest of the wedding guests applauded.
I shut my eyes and tried to wish away the mortification. When we reached the lobby, James handed a staffer the keys and asked for directions to the nearest emergency room. Then he helped me into the car and drove us away from the Colony Hotel.
God, how I hated hospitals.
A necessary evil, but one that gave me plenty of dread. I couldn’t step foot inside of them without remembering the burns on my hand and the surgeries that came with that painful time in my life. It was just as scarring as the accident itself.
So ever since, I had avoided hospitals.
But not this time. Not with a wounded Margot Leesman sitting on the emergency room bed in front of me, sporting a deep gash and even deeper wounded pride. She looked like a sad, lost little lamb.
