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My heart started, and I edged still closer, my dress almost brushing against the tuxedo of the waiter serving them miniature crab cakes.
Some hushed conversation that I couldn’t quite make out followed, and then, “the Bartletts, I believe…”
“Haven’t heard of them,” said yet another voice, one full of the creaking iron of an old battleship. Her tone turned musing. “Still, seems they’ve raised her right. I asked after her earlier and she’s so polite, so feminine, not like those young hussies you get nowadays.”
This was greeted with general sounds of agreement, then the original speaker’s voice rose over the others loud and clear. “Yes, those modern girls can intrigue a man for a time, catch his eye with their wild ways, but if a man of the world like Hunter Knox decides to settle down, you can bet it’ll be with a sweet old-fashioned girl like that one.”
My hand was trembling on the champagne flute.
My mother, lips pursed, shaking her head at me as she tossed my goth-style prom picture into the garbage can before sliding Paige’s pink princess one into a golden frame, to hang on the wall—
My high school boyfriend the night I brought him home for dinner, taking one look at Paige and instantly forgetting I was there, his hand dropping from mine as his mouth fell open—
Walking past the teacher’s lounge and overhearing my favorite art teacher: “Well, of course Ally’s got some raw talent, but nothing compared to what Paige—”
Somehow my champagne glass had become empty. I walked away as quickly as I could to keep from overhearing anything else, and grabbed another glass off a tray without looking. Had I been thinking something about taking it slow? What a stupid idea, I needed to take it as fast as humanly possible. There was no way I could do this event completely sober. I needed all the champagne in the goddamn world.
My shoulder bumped into something, and I backed up, already starting to apologize, “Sorry, sorry, so sorry—”
It was Ben Minister. He eyed me with concern. “Miss Bartlett, are you quite alright?”
I laughed, probably too shrilly. “I’m fine! Just fine! Just—it’s a little stuffy in here, and I—” Oh God, were those tears forming in my eyes? No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening! “I just need to get some air!”
I escaped as quickly as my high heels and remaining dignity would let me, trying not to let myself remember the dubious expression on Mr. Minister’s face before I’d made my excuses. This wouldn’t come back to bite me—this couldn’t come back to bite me—though it didn’t matter if it did, because I couldn’t have stayed—
I stumbled up the stairs to the roof, doing my best not to spill my champagne. By the third floor it got too hard and I downed the rest of it before setting it on the stairwell, an impressive feat considering that the whole world had started spinning.
I spilled out onto the roof, which was deserted, thank God. The evening air had barely a hint of a breeze, mostly muggy and humid, making me feel even more tipsy than I actually was. I felt like I was drowning in thick, wobbling Jell-O, each breath I took choking me, weighing me further down.
I was fine. I was fine. I was not drunk and seething with jealousy. I just needed to sit down for a bit.
Just sit. I wasn’t going to go to sleep. Even though it would be so easy to go to sleep, to just sit down and rest my aching feet and let all my problems melt away as I drifted off into slumber…
I watched the sun set over the city, the smog splintering its rays into paradoxically beautiful prisms of color, red and purple and pink and gold, a sunset straight out of a postcard from the board of tourism. I thought of the sunset over the lake at Hunter’s plantation, just as beautiful but somehow less showy, the colors deeper, more permanent.
Then I thought of Paige, some future Paige, watching that beautiful sunset with Hunter. I thought of him leaning in to kiss her, his eyes lit by that sweetly dying light. I thought of Paige’s slight gasp, quickly smothered by those soft, insistent lips, of her delight as she discovered those intoxicating kisses I already knew all too well, that scrape of his stubble, that taste that was him and only him.
A tear dripped down my cheek.
“Miss Bartlett?”
I hadn’t heard Chuck come up behind me. I braced myself.
Chuck. Just the very last person I wanted to see.
But he didn’t say a further word, just offered me his handkerchief.
“Thanks.” I scrubbed furiously at my face, then handed it back. “I’m fine.”
“Of course you are,” he said, his voice low and soothing as a lullaby. “You’re a strong young lady who can take on anything. You’ve really impressed me with your tenacity.”
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