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Carrie’s taken just as much care with her appearance tonight as I have. Her dark red dress has billowing long sleeves and a short hemline. She saw it in hanging on a mannequin in the window at Free People two months ago and since she couldn’t afford it, she went home and mimicked the design herself. Tonight is her first time wearing it, and I wonder if she’s hoping Thomas will be in attendance. I’ve seen him at these things before.
Of course, I could just ask her, but it seems tonight there’s a silent understanding that it’s best to tiptoe around each other’s hearts.
She fusses with her short black hair, and I tell her she looks great just before the elevator doors slide open and voices swoop in to greet us.
We’ve arrived.
Ryan steps out of the elevator first, extending both of his elbows to us. There’s a crooked grin in place when he explains, “Seems like if I’m going to crash a dinner party, I might as well do it with two beautiful women on my arms.”
It’s smooth, especially coming from Ryan, and I find myself genuinely glad to have him here with me. I might have originally invited him on a whim as some juvenile attempt to prove to Derek that I’ve grown up and turned into a woman men want, but there’s another layer to it, something innocent and pure. Ryan truly was someone I saw myself dating. For months, I had a crush on him. In the two weeks since Derek has returned to town, he’s been thrown onto the back burner, but that’s not quite fair. I owe it to myself to see if I really do have feelings for him. In fact, I desperately want to have feelings for him because when we step into the living room, where guests have already started to amass, I find Derek engrossed in conversation with a group of people, a beautiful woman by his side.
She’s no stranger. Nadine has been a manager in the Entertainment Department for the better half of a decade. She helped train me for my role as Princess Elena. Tall, dark-skinned, British. There’s not one bad word you could say about her unless it’s that she’s too polite. You know those type of people. Their entire existence is one big apology. Oh, am I in your way? Oh, here, you go first. Oh, please, take mine.
They look handsome together, standing side by side, much closer in age than he and I are. I doubt she has ever sent anyone embarrassing emails inviting them to dinner, and if she has, they probably tripped over themselves to send back a quick reply, their fingers popping letters off the keyboard.
Thomas stands in their circle, a fact Carrie doesn’t miss.
To save us both, I head in the direction of the bar, where Cal stands behind the counter, uncorking wine for his guests. He spots me and smiles, pulling the plug on a bottle just as we join him.
“Ah, perfect timing,” he says, filling the glasses lined up in front of him. “Whitney, I barely recognize you. You look radiant.”
“Are you saying I don’t always look radiant?” I ask, knowing full well that half the time I show up for our weekly dinners wearing yesterday’s jeans and a loose t-shirt, hair knotted up on top of my head.
“I’m merely suggesting that tonight, especially, there’s an air about you.”
“Carrie dressed me. That’s probably it.”
“Well then, Carrie, you’ve done a fine job. How are you?” He greets her with warmth. I’ve brought Carrie over to Cal’s plenty of times. They get on well, and she’s an easy addition to our dinners.
Then Cal’s eyes cut to Ryan. “Ah, and you brought another guest.”
“Ryan Culver, sir,” Ryan says, extending his hand. “I work with Whitney.”
Cal nods and I’m sure he seems perfectly pleasant to everyone else, but I can tell he’s not too keen to see Ryan here. He’s made his feelings about him perfectly clear to me. Still, he tries.
“Any friend of Whitney’s is a friend of mine. Welcome to my home. We have wine and cocktails here. I used to hire a bartender, but I find people are usually adept at making their own drinks if you give them the chance. Dinner will be served at half past seven.”
With that, he shoots me another glance before moving around us to greet someone else.
“Holy shit.” Ryan exhales with a laugh once the three of us are alone. “I just talked to Charles Knightley! I’m inside his house!” He’s wiping his palms on his pant legs. “Do you think that painting over there is by someone famous?”
I don’t have the heart to tell him it’s an original Cézanne. Instead, I hold up my wine glass for a toast.
“Here’s to an interesting night.”Chapter NineDerekWhitney is here, and she made quite an entrance. I think the entire room stopped to watch her and her friend walk in.
