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“Oh, thank you.” Florence breathed a sigh of relief. “I tried to take one off a tray on the way in, but I was afraid someone spotted me, so I quickened my pace to the tent.”
“It’s funny how people don’t just come in here and talk to you,” Nick chuckled.
“Like you did?”
“Right.” He smirked and pulled his coat down at the waist to playfully show how powerful he was. “People obey the unspoken social agreements and miss out on great opportunities. Cleo didn’t think she’d have much of a chance to talk with you tonight, and yet here we are.”
“And what’s your burning question?” Florence asked before swigging down the glass of champagne in two sips. “Everyone always asks the same ones. I don’t mind answering them for you, though.”
“I don’t want to put you on the spot,” Cleo said, her eyes darting away. Nick hadn’t seen her this bashful before.
“Consider it a thank-you for the champagne, cheese, and crackers. Ask away. Is it about Marie and Charles? People always want to know if they went on to have more children. Or Abigail and her wild adventures. They ask if she will settle down someday.”
“Oh, my question was about you, not the characters. Is that okay?”
“I suppose,” Florence said with a shrug.
“You write the black sheep of the family in a way I’ve never seen done before. It’s so nuanced and cutting. The pain that comes from being on the outside of the one thing you should be deeply connected to. Sometimes you redeem them. Sometimes you don’t. But you always capture the pain so poignantly. How do you do that?”
“The only way one can,” she said, placing her glass down. “By experiencing it. I am from a family of medical doctors and therapists. High achieving souls who treat academia like it’s a religion. I was late to read. Had a terrible stutter. Failed most of my classes all the way through high school. I still can’t really sort out the tip on a check without worrying I screwed it up. And for years, that made me less worthy in my family. I didn’t understand the stories, and I couldn’t get the inside jokes. I was an outsider, and they never missed a chance to remind me of that.”
“But look at you now,” Nick said, his scrappy underdog element shining through. “You’re famous. Rich. Brilliant, according to Cleo, which is really saying something.”
“And I’d trade almost every award I’ve won and all the money I’ve earned to hear my father say he was proud of me. Something he went to his grave without ever uttering. And he saw my awards and the millions of copies I was selling, but to him, the arts were frivolous. Fiction was no better than scribbling in the margins of a notebook.”
“So you haven’t found your own redemption yet?” Cleo asked, her voice shaking with emotion.
“No,” Florence apologized. “That’s why I still write the character so vibrantly. I let the time run out. I should have faced it. I didn’t need to wait to hear him say something accepting. It would have been just as powerful to call him out and say my piece. I should have. All of them should have heard from me about the pain and the isolation that came from being different from them. Even if it didn’t change their hearts, it could have saved mine.”
“Excuse me,” Cleo said, dabbing at her eyes and disappearing out of the tent.
“Uh, you’re about to go up to read,” Nick said, checking his watch. “I know that we’re going to walk around with—”
“Stop talking and go get her. I’m an old woman you are not beholden to. That is the woman you love. Go find her and tell her everything is going to be all right.”
“How do I know it is?”
“Because it’s not about the circumstances, it’s about the company you keep in the face of the dark times. And that is something you can make sure will always turn out right.” She pointed. “Go. I’ll have enough champagne to mingle, and if my exit is not smooth and graceful, they can write about it tomorrow in the paper. I’ll be fine.”
“Thank you,” Nick said, unsure exactly where to lay his gratitude or what specifically it was for. He just knew this was a breaking open. The cracking of a shell that needed to be torn away. Even if it was messy and a little painful, it was the only way forward.
“Don’t let her wonder if she’s too different for you to love. That’s the pain she hasn’t healed and the wound you need to ensure you don’t make deeper.”
Nick pushed aside the draped fabric of the large tent and stepped out to the now bustling party. He had to find Cleo and let her know she was not an outsider to him. She was the person he wanted to be closest to in the world.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
Cleo
She’d never had a panic attack, but this had to be one. The breath she was trying to drag into her mouth couldn’t seem to reach her lungs. Sweaty palms made clutching the railing outside the front of the hotel difficult. Surely she looked like a freak, clutching and choking in her party dress. But no one stopped. No one asked if she was all right. It wasn’t until Nick put his warm palm on her bare upper back that she could even see again.
“Come on,” he said, ushering her away. “I’ve got you.”
She wanted him to rescue her, but she also knew the truth would change his desire to. And as she steadied herself on the nearest wall, she brushed his hand away. “You should go. I’m fine. I just need to walk.”
“Then we should walk together.”
“No, I finally see things clearly, and we need to stop this. It’s ridiculous what we’re doing. Jumping out of an airplane with no parachute, just waiting to smash onto the concrete. I can’t do this.”
