by T. K. Leigh
“Don’t let anything they say or do make you think you’re anything less than the amazingly beautiful and vibrant woman you are. In my opinion, you’re the most beautiful woman here.”
He runs a lithe finger down the curve of my neck, the warmth of him so close unhinging me. My eyes flutter into the back of my head, my skin flushing, my knees weakening.
“I think that’s enough to get them talking. Let’s go enjoy the party.”
When I no longer feel the heat of his breath so close, I open my eyes, struggling to calm my racing heart and act as if Julian hadn’t brought me to the edge of complete and utter bliss with his words alone. After taking several deep breaths to compose myself, I link my hand in his.
“If whatever project you’re working on doesn’t pan out, you’d make a damn good escort,” I joke in a husky voice as he leads me past a crowd of curious onlookers.
“Is that right?” His tone is amused.
“That’s right.”
“And what makes you say that?” He leans toward me, whispering into my ear, “Do I turn you on?”
“You could probably make a lesbian want to have a go with you just to be sure she really is gay.”
He’s silent for a moment before he bursts out laughing, the sound carrying over the band. It’s so natural and addictive. How can anyone not feel a pull toward this man?
“Thanks for your vote of confidence, but I doubt I could ever be an escort.”
“You never know. You could give August Laurent a run for his money. He’s got a great voice, too, but not like yours.”
We approach a bar and he places our drink order — manhattan for me, scotch for him. Then he faces me. “You’ve spoken to him?”
“I have.”
His eyes brighten in genuine enthusiasm. “How did you manage that?”
“I got lucky.” I shrug. “Someone mentioned I was looking for him…a little birdie, as he put it. He tracked me down, called my office line, and bam. Now we’re email pals.”
“Email pals?” He brings his glass to his lips as he steers me away from the bar and toward a vacant table tucked out of the way. For someone who needs to conduct business, he seems to be paying a great deal of attention to me.
“Yes.” The perfect gentleman, he helps me into a wood slat chair. “We’ve been exchanging emails the past few days.”
“Getting good material for your story?”
I bring the chilled martini glass to my lips, savoring that first sip of my drink. “He’s a bit…aloof. He doesn’t like to share much. But I’m working on it. I just need to establish a rapport with him. Then he’ll open up.”
“Good.”
“Good.” I watch as he shifts his attention away from me, searching the partygoers.
An unnerving silence settles between us as he rests his hand on my thigh like he did in the car. And just like in the car, I know it’s not real. There’s no emotion behind his fingers as they delicately brush my skin. No yearning building deep inside as he steals a glance at me. No unyielding desire as he leans toward me and nuzzles the crook of my neck. It’s all for show. That’s become my mantra these past few minutes. I have a feeling that will become my mantra these next few months, too, a constant reminder there’s absolutely no meaning behind anything he does or says, despite what my heart wants to believe.
“Julian!” a voice shouts, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I follow his line of sight to see a man approach. He has short, shaggy, copper hair, fair skin, and a slight five o’clock shadow, although it’s not too noticeable due to the light hue. His nearly six-foot frame is dressed in a pair of swim trunks and an open, white button-down. That appears to be the unspoken uniform amongst the men, while the trend with women seems to be who can wear the smallest piece of fabric and still be able to call it a bathing suit. Despite all the females being dressed as if ready to go for a swim, not a single one of them is in the pool. In fact, no one is in the pool. I wonder if that’s customary at these things. Have a pool party, wear a bathing suit, but don’t think about getting into the water.
“Christopher! Good to see you.” Julian stands from the table, appearing genuinely happy to see him. Then again, it could be an act, too. I never know what to think with him.
“So this is her? The girl you haven’t been able to stop talking about?” He looks from Julian to me, then back again.
“Sure is. Christopher, this is Guinevere Fitzgerald. Guinevere, this is Christopher Albright.”
“Nice to meet you.” I stand up, holding out my hand.
He grasps it. “You, as well. I’ve heard a great deal about you, Guinevere. Please. Sit. Sit.” He gestures to my chair as he occupies the free one across from me.
“You can call me Evie,” I instruct as I return to my seat. “Everyone else does. Except this guy.” I jab Julian playfully in the stomach once he lowers himself back to his chair.
“He’s always been pretty formal, at least as long as I’ve known him, which is since freshman year of college.”
“Is that right?”
“Sure is. I can tell you some incredibly embarrassing stories about the guy. Trust me. He used to be awkward. And scrawny.”
“Please tell me you have pictures.”
He smiles. “Of course.”
“If you want to keep my company’s 401k account,” Julian interrupts, gritting a smile, “you’ll keep those photos to yourself. And you were just as awkward.”
At that moment, a stunning brunette wearing a yellow two-piece sidles up to the table, placing a kiss on Christopher’s temple before turning her attention to me. Her eyes are the color of honey, her hair full with perfect beach waves falling to mid-back. Her smile is warm, which makes it difficult for me to hate the fact she has the physique most women would kill for — tall, slender, but still with a classic hourglass shape.
“Is this her?” she asks excitedly.
“Now I know why my ears have been ringing the past few days,” I answer, holding my hand toward her. “Hi. I’m Evie.”
“Sadie. And try weeks.” She plops down on the last free chair, taking a sip of what appears to be a cosmo.
“Weeks?” I furrow my brow. “What do you mean weeks?”
“That’s how long Julian’s been talking about you. It’s about time he found a good girl, instead of playing the perennial matchmaker.”
“Matchmaker?” I look back at Julian. I never would have pegged him for a guy who’d go around setting people up on dates, considering he seems rather averse to being in a relationship himself.
“He introduced me to Christopher several years ago. Now we’re about to celebrate our fifth wedding anniversary.”
“Sadie is one of the first friends I made out here in the Hamptons,” Julian explains.
“Is that right?” I smile nervously, looking between them. I can picture them as a couple. Both gorgeous with incredible bodies. They look more like a couple than Julian and I do. And Sadie and Christopher.
“Not like that,” she interjects quickly, her eyes wide. “No, no, no. We never… Ya know. Our relationship’s always been strictly platonic.”
“Even if it hadn’t, it’s okay.” I place my hand on Julian’s thigh. It’s the first time I’ve initiated contact between us. But it’s what feels natural, what I would do if Trevor were here with me and we were having this conversation with one of his friends. I meet his eyes. “He’s here with me now. That’s all that matters. Not the past. Not the future. Just right now.”
I keep my gaze locked with his, the outside world seeming to melt away. It’s not until I hear Sadie that I look back at her.
“Aww…” She covers her heart, her eyes bright and smile wide. “That is the sweetest thing. Isn’t it, babe?” She glances at Christopher.
“It’s about time,” he jokes in response. “Maybe now I won’t have to field this asshole’s phone calls about reinvesting portions of his portfolio at all hours of night or on weekends.” He brings his beer to his lips,
looking at me from over the bottle. “Promise me you’ll keep him occupied outside regular office hours, okay?”
I lean into Julian, giving him a demure look. “I’m sure I can keep him very busy.”
Christopher whistles as Sadie claps, but I don’t look their way. I can’t, the raw need covering Julian’s expression catching me off-guard. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he were about to throw me over his shoulder and haul me into the house so we could find somewhere private. My thighs squeeze involuntarily at the notion.
Remembering where I am, I clear my throat, looking back at Sadie and Christopher. “So, how did Julian play matchmaker?” With a trembling hand, I bring my drink to my mouth, needing the alcohol to cool the flames building inside.
“At one of his parties,” she answers.
“Sadie is what you’d call old money,” Christopher adds.
“Well, used to be,” she corrects.
I pull my brows together. “Used to be? How’s that?”
She shrugs. “Marriage.”
“What—”
“I’m old money, but married no money.”
“Thanks for emasculating me, sweetie,” Christopher quips as he drapes an arm across her shoulders, but the smile never leaves his face.
“Anytime.” She lowers her voice. “You’ll eventually figure it out, but there’s a bit of a hierarchy out here.”
“Julian’s already given me the Cliff Notes.” I glance at him, about to rest my hand on his thigh once more, but stop myself, his heated stare still trained on me. We’re definitely playing with fire. I think he’s finally realized that. “About old money and found money,” I finish, facing Sadie once more.
“Well, I grew up in old money. Granddaddy was big in steel in the early 1900s. Made his fortune and was smart, so he didn’t lose much during the Great Depression. Anyway, some of the more conservative families prefer their offspring to marry within their ‘station’,” she explains, using air quotes. “Like my parents.”
“But you didn’t.”
“They may view love and marriage as a business relationship, one for profit, but I don’t. When I first met Christopher, I couldn’t help but feel a connection. He was smart, charming, funny, a breath of fresh air from all the stuffy people I’ve always known. My parents thought it was just a phase.” Her expression drops as she toys with the ring on her left hand. It’s stunning and a decent-sized rock, but not nearly as extravagant as some of the jewelry I’ve seen on other women here. “I think they sometimes think it’s still a phase.”
She smiles at Christopher, but it doesn’t reach her eyes this time. I sense she still struggles with the tension that must exist between her parents and the man she loves. I couldn’t imagine having to choose one or the other. I was lucky to have a boyfriend my parents adored.
“But that doesn’t matter. They can drop my social standing a few pegs all they want. It won’t change anything.”
“Then why do you still come to these things?” I wave my free hand around. “I could be wrong, but it sounds like you’re pretty fed up with the way things are and want no part of it.”
She leans toward me. “That’s true. But I love showing off the fact that I’m genuinely happy. Most of these people wouldn’t know happiness if it slapped them in the face. And it ruffles their feathers to know I’ve found it. That no matter what they do, they can’t take that away from me.”
“Wow.” I shake my head, absorbing Sadie’s story. “It all seems a bit antiquated.”
She raises her drink. “Welcome to the Hamptons, where the caste system is alive and well.” After she takes a sip, she returns her glass to the table. “So, did you two really meet in a bar?”
I’m about to confirm this when Julian’s voice cuts through. “We sure did.”
I turn my head, meeting his eyes. There’s still an intensity within, but it’s not as pronounced as it was. He pulls me close, his fingers tracing a delicate circle on my bicep. I attempt to melt into his embrace, wanting it to appear as natural as possible.
“Her ex had just broken up with her and she decided to share her story with the entire bar.”
Sadie’s eyes widen. “You didn’t!”
I blanche as Julian continues. “It was far more entertaining than any stand-up routine I’ve seen.” Pride drips from his statement, his hold on me tightening. “Guinevere has a gift with words. So I suppose I should thank her ex for being a complete idiot. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be sitting next to this incredible, amazing, captivating woman who seems to have weaseled her way into my heart practically overnight.”
He speaks with such passion, such fervor, such affection, it’s hard to imagine this is simply an act. But as Shakespeare so succinctly put it in As You Like It, “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.” Now is my time to play the part of Julian’s girlfriend. Come September, the curtain will close and I’ll go on to the next act of my life.
Chapter Nineteen
“And that’s Imogene Joyce,” Sadie says under her breath as we sit at the same table a while later. Julian and Christopher excused themselves earlier. I haven’t seen them in over an hour. At least they left me in good hands. Sadie seems to know the dirt on everyone. And being the Hamptons, there’s more dirt than usual. “She claims to be James Joyce’s great-niece or some shit.”
“Is she?”
Sadie shrugs. “Who knows? One can never be too sure of anything around here. People constantly say whatever they need in order to secure an invitation to the next big social event, or to make someone jealous, or to appear better than someone else. Hell, if you wanted, you could say you were a distant relative of F. Scott Fitzgerald and people would probably believe it. You’ll soon learn that everything out here is a façade. Nothing is real. It’s all for show. The smiles. The clothes. The houses. It’s all a competition, a game we play every summer to see whose dick is the biggest.”
“Then why do you come year after year?”
As she relaxes back in her chair, she crosses her legs. “It’s too entertaining a show to miss. Not to mention it’s good for Chris to network, considering he works in wealth management. Plus, Julian asked me to hang out this summer, as a favor to him.”
“He did?” I furrow my brow.
“Yes.” She smiles warmly. “He didn’t want you to feel lonely. Thought you could use a little female camaraderie.” She’s silent for a moment. “He’s a good guy. A really good guy. Loyal to a fault. Caring. If you have a problem, he’ll do whatever he can to help you, regardless of what he has going on in his own life at the moment. He may look like he’s this tough bad ass, and he’s definitely perfected the mystery man persona he seems to exude, but to those of us who know the real Julian Gage…” She reaches across the table and clutches my hand in hers. “Well, you’ve hit the jackpot because there’s no one better.” She pulls back. “Well, except Christopher, but Julian comes in a very close second.”
She winks as she sips on her drink. It warms my heart to hear someone talk about Julian with so much affection. It solidifies my original assessment of him. He truly is a good guy, not the playboy con artist some would have me believe.
“And I’m so glad he’s finally met someone who makes him happy.”
“That’s all I want.” I force a smile. “To make Julian happy.”
It’s not a complete lie. I do want to make Julian happy. If I didn’t care about him, I wouldn’t be giving up my weekends to be his proverbial arm candy, as ridiculous as the idea of me being anyone’s arm candy sounds, especially when I’m surrounded by several women who actually are models and only here to be some rich guy’s arm candy for the night.
“And this may be the alcohol talking,” she continues, her voice slurring more and more with every word she speaks, “but I think you could be the one. Ever since I was a little girl, I had these…feelings about people. Like I could see a couple and know instantly if they were made to last. And you and Julian…” She
slowly nods, waggling her brows. “You two are made to last. I saw the way he looked at you. That man could not take his eyes off you.” Her playful expression grows serious. “Every woman deserves to find a man who looks at them the way he does you.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek as I lower my head, a blush blooming on my face, wishing I could tell her it’s all fake, but I can’t.
“And every man deserves to find a woman who looks at him the way you do Julian,” she finishes. “It seems I’ve been waiting for him to find a girl for years, at least someone who’s more than a passing fling.” She reaches for my hand and squeezes it again. “I’m so glad he found you.”
“Me, too,” I whisper, wishing I’d met her somewhere else. I could see us being real friends. I could see her joining Nora, Chloe, and me at our Thursday evening get-togethers. I could see her dropping whatever she has going on when one of us has an emergency. But that won’t be possible, an unfortunate side effect of this arrangement I hadn’t anticipated.
Needing to cut through the growing tension, I lift my eyes back to the growing crowd of people swarming around the pool, dancing as if the world is watching. In a way, I suppose the world is watching.
“So…who else do you have dirt on?”
“Everyone.”
After draining her drink, she sets the glass back onto the table and scoots her chair even closer to mine, continuing to give me the rundown on the who’s who in the Hamptons. Every so often, a few women approach, fabricated smiles on their faces as they hug Sadie, claiming it’s good to see her. Then their disdainful stares settle on me. It doesn’t take a genius to conclude that they know who I am. They probably came to talk to Sadie as a pretense to getting a closer look at Julian Gage’s girlfriend.
“You should write a book,” I joke after a while of soaking in the stories she’s relayed. I used to watch soap operas during high school and college, thinking the plot lines were far-fetched. Or so I thought. These people have proved that soap operas aren’t as ridiculous as I presumed. Secret babies. Amnesia. Arranged marriages. Mistaken identity. Faked deaths. It’s all here, and then some.
