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She freezes, perhaps she never thought I would broach the subject. Her eyes widen, and she stiffens, giving her feelings away even though she shrugs it off, and rushes to say, “We had each other. We coped the best we could. Is it strange if I say we’re more like brother and sister than we are with you two? I know how it sounds, but . . .”
“I understand, and I’m glad you feel this strongly for each other,” I say, then ask, “Will you be my bridesmaid?”
Relief passes in her eyes. “I thought you’d never ask. I was close to asking you myself.”
“I’m sorry. We kept babbling. Who else would I want by my side?”
“Yes, you’re right. I’m irreplaceable,” she says, clasping her wrist with the scars, sadness drowning her eyes in, and I blurt, “Will you tell me about the scars?” She presses her lips together, and I place my hand over hers.
“I . . .” she says, then pauses, shuts her eyes and lowers her head. Isn’t it fascinating how deep down we give our secrets a life of their own and acknowledging them would be the end to all the what-ifs running through our mind. The moment we would express out loud what we keep hiding, the fantasy would end. Instead, by not telling, we keep the hope alive and breathe life to our darkest, wildest desires.
“I’m here if one day you want to talk about it.” Her eyes turn glassy, and she sighs.
“I’m fine, Bria, and then second chances happen, and it’s hard.” She dabs at her eyes and puts a smile on her face, just like that, leaving me thinking what she’s talking about.
“Oh my god, you’re getting married,” she says changing the subject back to a happier one. “When do we head to London?”
“How about Friday?”
We sit for a while and reminisce, enjoying the company of the other. When I check my phone, I have several missed calls, most from Damien, from Emma, and one from my mother.
I forget how quickly time passes by. We’ve been in the coffee shop for almost two hours. We pay, rush out, and hug each other before we part.
Chapter Twelve
BRIA
I scan my surroundings and realize I am only a few minutes away from Sarah’s office. I need to talk to her about my birthday video and the wedding. I step inside her office, where wide windows oversee the lake. A colorful flower arrangement gives life to the white furniture flanked by golden mini statuettes and artwork hint of sophistication, creating a refined and calming ambiance.
Her assistant, Clara, smiles when she greets me, and I ask if Sarah is busy. She picks up the phone, giving me an approving nod. I find her sitting at her desk, facing me, wearing a red pencil dress and a white blazer, her stylish black, thick-framed glasses slide on her straight nose, her greenish eyes with speckles of brown narrow at me.
“Hello, Bria.” I close the door behind me and approach her.
“You seem surprised to see me.”
“I am.” She gestures toward the corner of the room where a round table surrounded by two plush armchairs awaits. “Coffee?” I decline and opt for tea instead. While Sarah prepares the drinks, I sit down, and the silence rings loud.
“You didn’t come to the party. Was it because of the video footage?” I ask, and her finger halts on the tea machine. She places the cups of hot tea on the table and takes her seat facing me.
“I’m aware I organized a farewell party, but I hoped you would tell me, let me inside,” she pauses, and her inquisitive eyes bore into me. “I saw the pictures, and I thought, how is it possible for someone to undergo such a drastic transformation? Until then, I believed this was how you were. It gave me quite a shock.”
“Sarah . . .” She raises a finger, stopping me from offering any explanation.
“No, you wanted to know, let me tell you.” She bends forward, her palms outstretched, and adds, “For years, I watched you hide in the background, keep your distance. Well, except for Alex. I called him your human shield in my mind.” Accusation lingers in the air, but before I can delve more, she continues, “With time, it became obvious to me you came back for Damien and for no one else. I watched you and him, the stolen glances, the fleeting agony in your eyes whenever he brought someone with him, the straining of him whenever you were near, but also the agony when you left. You always ended up circling each other. I intervened because I believed you needed a push in the right direction.” She leans against the back of the armchair, one leg crossed over the other, taking a sip of her tea. “I found him at a party hunched over the terrace, your name spilled out of his mouth, telling of so much sorrow. I never heard someone utterly broken. He gripped his head in his hands, repeating ‘when will it be over, why can’t I forget about you.’ And then I caught how you glimpsed at him, thinking no one saw. The longing . . . I didn’t want to lose a friend, wherever you would have gone, and I doubted I would see you again.”
I fight with my tears while emotions run rampant, and I place my hand over hers.
“Thank you.”
Surprise flickers across her face, and I ask, “How are things going with your business?”
“Great, why?”
“I’m getting married.”
She splatters the tea, and I suppress a smile.
“To whom?”
