He lifts his chin, signifying, I assume, that he’s willing to accept my request. Sliding one hand into his pocket, he walks away.
I burst into the ladies’ bathroom like a whirlwind, wishing I could splash my face, my entire body, in cold water.
But it will ruin my makeup.
I grip the sink and fix my reflection with a hard stare.
Get your shit together, Diana. You do not crumble under pressure.
I need a drink. Two. Maybe three. Anything to numb the awkward pain of this scenario, and the booming voice of my inner critic that’s rearing her head like a nasty little bitch.
He doesn’t want you. He didn’t kiss you back.
But he didn’t push me away.
I give myself a five-minute time-out to calm down, and then I head into the party, grabbing a glass of champagne on my way in.
The room is decorated with pink balloons and streamers, and eight circular tables are set for ten. The tablecloths are pale gold, and the chairs are gilded too. It’s all so pretty, but I can’t appreciate it. I don’t feel worthy of my invitation. I’ve betrayed Lizzie in the worst possible way, accepting her generous hospitality while harbouring secret feelings for her dad. Not only that, but acting on them too, and now here I am, celebrating with her?
I feel terrible.
I try to focus on the decor, the music, anything but Rafe and the feel of his lips on mine.
It takes me all of ten seconds to search the room and locate him, standing with Lizzie and Henry. He has his back to me, but simply staring at him from behind makes me feel a myriad of things I shouldn’t. I love how broad his shoulders are, and the way his dark hair is a little too long at the nape. I want to twist my fingers into it.
I take a long gulp of my drink, and then another. There’s no way I’ll be able to get through tonight without it. First Dad showing up out of nowhere, and then Rafe going all protective, and then me kissing him like some kind of love crazed school girl.
I’m an idiot.
I gulp down my first glass of champagne and swap it for a second from a passing server. I’ll be drunk after glass two. That’susually how it goes. But I don’t care. I’m still staring at the three of them when Lizzie catches my eye and beckons me. I cannot go over there. No way.
Henry and Rafe follow her gaze, and now they’re all staring, that little furrow between Rafe’s brows nearly as deep as it was after I kissed him.
I raise my glass in a toast, hoping I look relaxed and sophisticated, rather than anxious, regretful, and like a woman quickly trying to get drunk to distract herself from the unpleasant—and inappropriate—mix of feelings swirling around her insides.
Steeling myself, I pace towards them, but as I do, I notice Henry waving another woman over, ushering her towards Rafe. She’s wearing a bright blue dress, and her dark hair is chopped in a severe bob. She looks sophisticated. Older, but not too old. Maybe thirty-five? She’s gorgeous.
Is she here for him?
And then I remember Julian had arranged a date. This must be her.
My head feels dizzy, and my steps falter, but somehow, even though I’m heading straight for an emotional car crash, I manage to push through the sensation.
I reach the group just as Henry says, “Melanie, we’re delighted you could join us.”
Rafe doesn’t glance my way as he greets the woman, and Lizzie hugs me, yapping in my ear, but I can’t focus on what she’s saying. Something about being excited about her trip, and wanting me to meet the guy she fancies who’s also going.
My attention is split, and it takes all my restraint not to turn and stare at Rafe being introduced to this beautiful older woman.
She looks like his perfect match. She’s who he should be with. She’s the one who should be kissing him.
Not me.
Never me.
I drain the rest of my glass and let a passing server top it up again.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Melanie put her hand on Rafe’s arm. She smiles, eyes twinkling at him like he’s the most interesting person in the entire room. He says something I can’t hear, and she laughs. She fucking laughs. The sound is gilded and ladylike, and it scratches at my brain like fake nails. I want to scream.
