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He nods, but he doesn’t seem upset or surprised by the confession. I’m more than a little relieved. I wasn’t sure how he’d take me eavesdropping on him, even if it was just an accident.
“Is she your girlfriend?” I press.
He looks down at his drink. “The closest thing to it, I suppose.”
He sounds a little worn out by the topic, and I’m not surprised given the argument I heard.
“Is she angry I’m here?”
“Yes,” he admits with a sigh. “This whole situation has been hard on her. She doesn’t understand it.”
“That makes two of us.”
He smiles and glances over at me, catching my gaze.
“Does she know I’m living here?”
He looks away again. “Yes. That was…what did you say a second ago? A rotten day.”
“I could talk to her. Make it clear to her that I’m not…” I struggle to finish the sentence out loud because the notion is so preposterous. Still, I trudge on bravely. “Competition.” When he doesn’t immediately respond, I tack on an exaggerated “Obviously.”
I turn beet red from head to toe.
Oh my god. Say something!
“I appreciate you wanting to help,” he says, “but it’s not as simple as that.”
“Right. Well…I’m happy to leave if it would make it easier for you and your situation with Camila.”
Please don’t ask me to leave.
“No,” he replies curtly. “I insist you stay. It’s going to be a great dinner. C’mon, it looks like it’s time for us to take our seats.”
He motions for me to lead the way, and as I step forward, his hand presses lightly against the small of my back. I jerk in surprise and glance down to see him take his hand away and curl it into a fist.
Neither of us mentions it as we trail the others into the dining room to sit down. Camila takes her place on the other side of Walt and glances over at me with a tight smile.
“Elizabeth? I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Camila, Walt’s friend.”
“Oh, yes. Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”
Up close, she’s even more beautiful than I realized.
“I really like your outfit,” I say, trying to show her that I’m not the enemy—or at least I’m not trying to be.
She chuckles under her breath, and the disdain is evident to anyone listening closely. Oy.
I decide the only way I’ll survive dinner is to play a little drinking game. Every time I feel awkward, I take a sip of champagne, and boy are there plenty of occasions to drink during a dinner party that’s been planned in honor of a sham wedding, attended by half a table of guests who expect to see a happy newlywed couple and half a table who knows we’re not one.
When Camila asks to see my ring and I’m forced to hold my hand out in front of Walt, I drink.
When I catch her placing her hand on his thigh under the table and then watch as he gently removes it, I drink.
When one of Walt’s colleagues insists on standing up and giving a toast on our behalf, I drink.
When another guest asks Walt what attracted him to me, I drink, and I listen very carefully for the lie he’ll tell.
After all, lies are often based in truths.
Walt’s gaze slides to me, and he seems to think for a second as he assesses me. God it’s taking him forever.
“Oh come on,” a guy taunts. “It can’t take you that long to come up with something nice to say about her.”
I blink away the tears that suddenly spring to the corners of my eyes. How embarrassing. I wish I could leap to my feet and leave the table.
“Her eyes,” Walt says emphatically before turning back toward his guests.
The women at the table—sans Camila and her friends—all sigh sweetly.
The men joke and nudge shoulders as if knowing that can’t possibly be the real answer.
“And what about you, Elizabeth?”
“Oh.” I force a laugh. “What attracted me to Walt?” I ask in clarification.
“Yes! C’mon, we gotta know what you saw in the cold bastard,” the man across from me says with a laugh.
“His…um…”
I feel Walt’s gaze on the side of my face, and I fidget in my chair.
“Butt.”
The table erupts with laughter, and I glance over at Walt from beneath my lashes to find even he’s smiling slightly.
“My butt?” he teases.
I shrug playfully. “It’s nice. What can I say?”
Camila scoots back from the table suddenly, shooting to her feet. “Excuse me for a moment.”
Her napkin falls to her chair, and Walt and I stand at the same time, as if we’re both going to follow after her.
It’s funny considering the two of us are likely the last people she wants to see right now.
I sit back down after Walt shakes his head, just once, before excusing himself from the dining room.
To say the tension around the table hits an all-time high after that is an understatement. It’s clear to everyone now that there’s something odd going on, and without Walt here, I’m left to endure the whispers and side conversations all on my own.
