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Oh dear, this situation is getting more complicated by the minute. I feel bad for Camila. What a tough position to be in. If I were in love with Walt, I would want him all to myself too. He has so little time outside of work as it is, and now she has to deal with this on top of everything else. I’d yank the ring off my finger and give it to her if I could, but well…I glance down at the blue diamond, shaped beautifully on my hand, fit perfectly for me.
My stomach tightens with anxiety.
I don’t think that’s true.
I’m not sure I would want to give this ring to her. At least, not unless I had to, and that seems to be the last thing I need to realize at this moment.
Now I’m the one rubbing my temples.
My day has gone from bad to worse over the course of one evening. I barely have the energy to drag myself out of the library and rejoin Walt’s guests a few minutes later. Fortunately, I’m on my second glass of champagne and the alcohol is doing wonders to dull my worries.
Even better than the alcohol is the fact that these people largely don’t want anything to do with me. Every now and then, I’ll get tugged into conversation, but mostly everyone is happy to leave me alone.
After their initial fascination, the group of wives along with Walt’s work colleagues have turned their attention inward, standing in a tight-knit group, talking over one another to be heard. I think they’ve forgotten I’m here.
Walt’s personal friends don’t want anything to do with me either, which makes sense, because Camila now stands among them. Every now and then, one of them will glance over at me with a look that says, Oh…you’re still here?
Walt stands in the middle of it all, near the fireplace. He’s been there for a while now, unable to break free from his spot because there’s a continual stream of people waiting to get a word with him. It’s almost like a scene from the first night of The Bachelor.
Who will Walt give his rose to? I wonder to myself, concealing my private smile in my champagne glass.
The dynamic is intriguing to watch—all of them vying for his attention—and I pay careful attention to Camila. Even she can’t hold out for too long. She joins his group, along with their friends, and I sip my champagne like a fly on the wall.
I can’t help but study Camila. My attention seems to snap back to her like a rubber band every time I try to distract myself with someone else.
She’s wonderfully beautiful with curly black hair that cascades down her back. Her burgundy jumpsuit is slim fitting through the bodice and hips with a relaxed fit around her legs. The deep V plunging neckline is paired with a tie at the waist, and it all looks so effortlessly sexy.
She’s older than me, and her age seems to be yet another source of refinement. I feel hopelessly childish in comparison, every bit out of my element in a room full of Walt’s peers.
More appetizers are passed, and a waiter steps right in front of me, breaking off my stare. I shake my head, declining the small tart, and then I wander over to the windows that encase the room, looking out onto the Manhattan Bridge. My afternoon springs back to mind as if the phrase “coffee shop art” was eagerly awaiting its turn to bombard my thoughts again.
Oh, yes. Hi, me again, your deepest fear that you’ll never actually make it in the art world and will have to give up and go teach toddlers how to paint at the local YMCA.
“What’s wrong?” Walt asks, stirring me out of my thoughts.
I immediately ease my angry scowl—the one I didn’t realize I was wearing until this moment.
“Nothing,” I say with an adamant shake of my head as I turn back to the dinner party crowd.
“I find that hard to believe,” Walt insists. “You always have a smile on your face, even on the day you were coerced into marrying me.”
The joke garners a small laugh, and Walt’s shoulders seem to sag in relief.
“I’ve just had a rotten day,” I say with a shrug. “Nothing to concern yourself with.”
He hums in understanding then turns so we’re side by side, perusing the room filled with his friends and invited guests.
“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” he says, tipping his chin toward the side hall. “Not if you’d rather make an escape.”
“Wouldn’t that look weird? Me leaving before dinner even starts?”
“Oh, I don’t know. This is all uncharted territory for me if I’m honest.”
I appreciate his honesty.
I tilt my head to glance up at him and chew my lip for a moment before admitting, “I heard you in your office earlier with Camila.”
