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EXCERPT FROM THAT THING BETWEEN ELI & GWEN
chapter one
Tell-Tale Signs
Guinevere
That morning I should have seen the signs. They weren’t massive, but they were there. I had almost slipped and killed myself coming out of the shower…never mind, that one was a big, giant sign. But the others were pretty small. I couldn’t find the left shoe to my favorite pair of red heels. The pearls he had given me slipped off my neck and scattered all across my bedroom floor, some pieces never to be seen again. And when he did show up, twenty minutes late, Taigi would not stop barking at him… like my dog knew March 1st would be a day that would live in infamy for me.
Taking a seat in his brand new midnight blue Mercedes, he didn’t say anything as we pulled out of his Hampton beach house. His knuckles were almost white as he gripped the steering wheel. The back of his hand rested just under his lips, something he had done hundreds of times in our three years together, but only when he was either really worried, or upset.
“Bash?” I gripped one leg and he jumped as if he had forgotten I was sitting next to him.
Turning to me, his light brown eyes met mine. “Yeah?”
“Are you okay? You look like we're going to a funeral, not a wedding,” I joked with a smile. He shook his head and took hold of my hand.
“I’m fine.” He kissed the back of my hand. “Just work stuff. I’m hoping we can do our rounds and get out of there before it gets too late.”
Nodding, I looked back out at the beach as we passed it. Sebastian…or Bash as I called him, was the owner and founder of both Class and Rebel magazines. It was the reason we had met, actually. He had attended one of my gallery openings and loved my photography. I told myself I would never contract myself with any corporation or brand…I liked being a freelancer. I painted and shot what I wanted, what mattered to me. Yet there was just something about Sebastian Evans. No matter how many times I denied his request or bluntly ignored his emails, he never gave up. After all, no matter what Sebastian Evans wanted, he worked until it was his. Eventually, I agreed to shoot for their spring cover. It was only supposed to be that one cover, yet three years later, I was a contracted photographer and now his fiancée.
“Welcome to The Chateau Rouge,” the valet said when we pulled up to a gated mansion. As Bash spoke to him, I found myself staring at the decorated landscape…everything was in beautiful greens and blues. Projected on the pure green grass were the initials E & H, and around it was a small orchestra, just for the arriving guests.
Only when I stepped out of the car was I able to see what had to be the icing on the cake for me. As if these people needed to prove they had money, there were even peacocks walking around.
I looked to Bash.
“What?” He looked at me, confused.
I pointed at everything. “Really?” Was all I managed to say.
“You make it seem like you’ve never seen rich people before. And you should have worn the red dress I picked out for you.” He frowned, taking my hand as we walked towards the seats for guests.
This was another point at which I should have seen the signs, but again, I was blind to it. I can still remember how cold his hand was as I held it. As we mingled with the rest of New York’s elite during cocktail hour, I felt as if I were standing in the middle of the North Pole in a bikini.
“Wow, she’s beautiful,” I whispered as the bride with soft, honey-gold hair walked up the aisle, her makeup flawless to the point where it looked like her skin glowed. The strapless heart-shaped dress clung to her every curve. Her blue eyes filled with unshed tears, and she held her roses tightly, walking slow and steady.
I hope I look half as good as her on my wedding day, I thought, my eyes never off her as she made her way to the front.
It passed in a blur. One moment the pastor was saying something, and the next, Bash was no longer holding my hand.
“Hannah,” he called out, moving to the center of the aisle.
She looked toward him, looked to her groom, and then back at Bash.
My Bash. What…
“Don’t, Hannah.”
What…is…this...?
“Hannah,” Bash called to her.
Stop! My mind screamed.
But, to my horror, she let go of her groom’s hands and ran towards Bash.
I couldn’t breathe. I was up, knocking over my chair. “BASH!” I yelled.
