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CHAPTER21
Depleted,sweaty, and generally over it, Sylvie packed her empty containers into her cart. At least she didn’t have to lug any of the equipment or coolers back with her every day thanks to overnight security and tent locks. There was one bright light in her crappy existence.
“Oye! King of Pastries! Come join us!”
Sylvie clicked the padlock at the bottom of her stall closed. As she stood, she turned toward the man who’d called out to her. With all the booths covered in their roll down canvas shades, there was no way to miss the party in the main tent at the end of the aisle.
She knew she should decline. It was already after midnight and she had to be back early to have her booth ready for a twelve hour shift. Combined with the weight of her axis-shifting secret, it was too much to juggle.
Before she could slither away, the middle-aged man from the Argentinian booth approached. Sylvie allowed herself to be persuaded, despite knowing just how much she’d regret it in the morning.
Inside the main tent, music blared and drinks flowed. Whoever had leftovers from the day shared them. Dozens of vendors found their second wind as they mingled with the handful of famous chefs that stayed after the festival. Sylvie sat at the bar circling the stage where the speakers blared and a few people danced.
In minutes, Sylvie had two tequila shots and a short rib taco. Her coiled muscles eased for the first time in the days since she’d found out that her entire life was a lie.
Swaying to the Spanish ballad that spoke to her soul, Sylvie accepted a shot of ouzo. And then another.
Sylvie slid off the stool on surprisingly wobbly legs. Pulling off her sneakers, she dug her toes into the warm sand and danced.
Unsure of how to get on stage, since her hazy brain wasn’t cooperating, Sylvie started climbing on the stool. Her intention was to get on the bar and leap to the stage. It didn’t seem that far, though to be fair, it was hard to judge distance when the room wouldn’t stop moving like they were on a boat.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
A warm hand clamped around her calf as she stretched one knee onto the bar. Sylvie’s head snapped to the side. She saw the hand first and the face next.
“Leave me alone Lauren. I’m dancing,” she slurred, wishing she didn’t sound as messy as she felt.
“I can see that, but maybe don’t try to add death defying tricks to your moves, ay?”
Lauren’s arm was strong and sure as it wrapped around Sylvie’s waist. With surprising gentleness, Lauren supported her body and helped her off the bar.
When Sylvie’s butt landed on the stool, she crossed her arms over her chest. A move more petulant than she intended. “What do you want?” She tried to speak crisply.
Judging by the exaggerated concern in Lauren’s gleaming, dark eyes, her words came out soggy despite her effort. “What’s going on with you?”
Sylvie cocked her head to the side. “Am I the only person not allowed to have fun?” She gestured around the breezy tent where everybody was dancing and having a good time. “I can’t be the only person who’s had a drink or two, Lauren. Why don’t you go policing them?”
Lauren remained, annoyingly, a foot away from her, her face still awash in unnecessary concern. “Because I don’t know them,” she replied simply.
Holding Lauren in her gaze, Sylvie shook her head.
You don’t know me either.
“It’s not just the drinking. All day you’ve been—”
“And why shouldn’t I drink, Lou?” Sylvie blurted. “It’s not like anything matters. Everything. Everything. E-ver-e-thing we know is meaningless.”
Lauren’s pretty, dark eyebrows knitted together. “What are you going through? What the hell is going on?”
The sober part of Sylvie’s brain signaled for her to shut the hell up. She was thinking and feeling and now saying too much. She needed to go home.
“Leave me alone,” she insisted, hearing the petulance in her tone but she was powerless to stop it.
“Are you kidding?” Lauren scoffed. “I can’t leave you like this. You’ll break your neck and blame me somehow.”
Sylvie slid off the stool and grabbed her sneakers from the sand. “What do you care?” She sounded more wounded than she intended. She needed to cover up her vulnerability with a jab. “Why don’t you worry about your girlfriend?”
Oh, crap. That’s worse.
