The hotel is a mob scene. Wall-to-wall photographers and reporters with blinding lights and video cameras pack a red carpet rolled out at the entrance. I have to physically drag Stephen away from the step and repeat. Once we’re inside, we’re shepherded through the lobby with a horde of other revelers and funneled into a sprawling ballroom. Tuxedoed servers mill about passing hors d’oeuvres while a ten-piece band loudly covers pop hits from decades past.
Every time I turn around, I run into someone I know: fellow staffers, members, lobbyists. Stephen and I manage to link up with a group of our coworkers and check in before deciding to circuit the room and get the lay of the land. Only a couple of minutes have gone by before he clutches my arm in a death grip and whispers hoarsely,“Bradley Cooper!”and suddenly, I’m alone. I look around, wondering how I’ll even find Ben in this bedlam, when the crowd parts and there he is.
In a tux. Dashing and devastating. He’s James Bond, but I’m the one who’s shaken. His broad shoulders can barely be contained within the confines of his jacket, making every man in the vicinity look puny and undersize in comparison. He’s like a Disney prince on steroids. Sexy with a whiff of danger. Prince Charming meets Gaston.
But it’s not quite the fairy tale I envisioned because when I look closer, I see he’s with Corinne.
They’re deep in conversation, his head bent close to hear her over the music. Of course she looks stunning, even taller than usual in sky-high heels and with bloodred lips I can see from across the room. A toned, tanned leg peeks out from a high slit in her black gown, and she’s looking at him like he hung the moon.
At that exact moment, he turns and catches me staring. He starts, like he wasn’t expecting to see me and doesn’t know how to feel about it. He must read the dismay on my face because he casts a guilty look at Corinne. I lift a hand in a halfhearted greeting, then weigh my threshold for humiliation. If I sprint out of here, how much worse would it make things, really?
Before I can decide, he leans over and whispers something in her ear, then heads toward me, fighting his way through the crowd. I dimly register the sour look on Corinne’s face before the crowd swallows her up and I don’t see anyone but Ben anymore. I notice he’s gotten a haircut and feel a pang of self-doubt.While you were home crying, he’s been going about his day, business as usual.Not a good sign.
I smile nervously as he stops in front of me.
“Hey.” He leans over to kiss my cheek and my stomach does a somersault. “You look beautiful.” He hasn’t taken his eyes off my face.
“Thanks, so do you. Guess you finally found time for that haircut.” I reach up and brush my fingers through his hair before I remember:He’s not yours.
“What do you think? Not too short?” He palms his nape self-consciously.
He looks mature and polished, not like the ruffled teddy bear I’m used to. I can’t decide which Ben I prefer. Both are exceptional to look at.
“No, not too short,” I manage, swallowing the lump in my throat. “So how’s Corinne?” I can’t help my inflection when I say her name. It just... naturally does that.
His mouth twitches. “Probably pissed that I left her back there.”
“Oh.” I realize I’m not being very nice, so I add, “Shoot.”
“Your concern for her is heartwarming,” he says dryly, then glances behind him. “Well, I should probably get back to my date.”
“Yourwhat?!”
“Wow, you havecompletelylost your sense of humor.” He grabs my wrist as if to take my pulse, then checks his watch. “Time of death: eight thirty-seven p.m.”
I shake off his hand, then immediately wish I hadn’t. “I’m glad one of us is having a good time with this,” I mutter.
He sobers. “I’mnothaving a good time. Just trying to bring back your smile.” There’s concern in his eyes. “How have you been doing? Since...”
I’ve already decided: There will only be honesty going forward. As pathetic as the truth might make me look, I’ll never lie to him again.
“Not great.”Understatement of the century.“Pretty miserable, actually.” I feel a pricking at the back of my eyelids.Do not cry.
“I gathered as much.”
“How? You haven’t checked on me.” I hear the accusation in my voice and wince. “Sorry, forget I said that.”
His eyes flick over me uneasily, like I’m a ticking time bomb. “Of course I checked on you.” He starts to say something else, then thinks better of it.
I should have known.“So Stephen’s been your mole this whole time. I knew it.”
He half smiles. “I have a vast network of spies.”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. I’m having the same problem. I’m desperate to touch him but can’t, and since my dress doesn’t have pockets, I have no escape hatch. We stand there awkwardly, neither of us able to achieve the proper ratio of body language to words for small talk.
What are you waiting for, Kate?
“Listen, do you think we could talk?” I blurt.
