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Or am I acting like Ryan, taking that decision away from him? Do I have any right to decide who Luke should be with? Do I have any right to stay away from him because I deem myself unworthy of his love? Shouldn't I let him make that choice?
No, he broke up with me. He already made it. Now, I have to survive, or not, without him. I have to survive, or not, with Ryan.
My acting coach comes back, and I run through the lines, my mind half-focused on Luke.
“Did that feel better?” she asks.
No, it felt worse. I don't want to get into all these details about my life, but I nod, yes, much better.
“What do you think your character was feeling?” she asks.
“She thinks she made a mistake,” I say.
“And?”
“And she's afraid there's nothing she can do about it.”
“That's good,” she says. “It's complicated. But you can't let your character's fear become your fear. She can be afraid to make a choice. You can't. You understand?”
I nod. I understand, and I ask for something about guns or murder or anything less painful than love.
***
I take a long shower, trying to scrub the thoughts from my mind. I blow dry my hair and pin it up. I apply waterproof eyeliner and mascara, just in case I can't handle this stupid party.
Why am I bothering to get dolled up? It's just another night of Ryan showing me off for the pathetic, divorced men he represents. The ones who leer at me, even when I am covered in a baggy coat.
Luke doesn't want me there. And why should he after the way I acted? If I can't even respect his desires one night, how am I supposed to respect his desire to live a happy life? Maybe I can still get out of this. Maybe I can claim I am sick, or I can get sick, from purging or drinking too much or taking one too many Ativan. I can claim Ryan gave me too much.
But Ryan is careful, and he would never make such a rookie mistake.
I change into the cocktail dress I bought for the occasion. It's a low-cut, girly thing in the softest shade of pink. I zip the dress and check my reflection. I am a vision of elegance, a vision of beauty and grace and exactly the kind of girl a rich lawyer should marry.
So, I'll never love Ryan the way I love Luke. I can still give him what he wants—I can still be the perfect trophy wife—a sweet, demure, young thing with nothing but smiles and compliments.
It's an easy role to play.
I read until Ryan picks me up. “You look gorgeous,” he says, the wheels in his head turning with all kinds of ideas about who he can make jealous.
We both know he wants to make Luke jealous.
We're both such immature, pathetic creatures.
Chapter 35
The party is at a restaurant on the water.
A charming, intimate place where soft, white candles illuminate softer, white tablecloths. It's a small thing, 30 people maybe, all of them laughing and drinking and popping appetizers into their mouths.
I squeeze Ryan's hand. It's supposed to make me feel better. It's supposed to make me feel safe and comfortable.
Are you really still believing that lie?
Ryan introduces me to a client and I slip into my role. I smile and bat my eyelashes and cling to Ryan's side. God, what would Luke think of me if he saw me like this?
Does it even matter what he thinks of me?
I excuse myself and order a tequila on the rocks. I don't mean to drink it so quickly, but I find myself with a fresh glass. Ryan drags me back to the social scene, introducing me to his friends from law school, his hand tightening around my waist. I try to find the comfort in it. I close my eyes and focus on the sensation of his touch, but it feels empty. I feel empty.
