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ChapterThree
ELSY
“Everything is going as planned,” Oliver says as he waltzes right into my bedroom. At least the one I stay in when I’m back home with the Walkers. They’ve kept my childhood bedroom a time capsule. I both love and hate this room. There are so many memories and most of them make me think of Keaton.
It didn’t matter that I’d taken down all the pictures of the two of us or shoved that debate trophy we’d won freshman year to the back of my closet so I didn’t have to see it. This room always reminds me of him. At first a memory will pop into my head, and I’ll start to smile before the stark reminder comes to me that he’s gone from my life.
“I could have been naked.” I’m not, but I was enjoying my last few moments alone. Oliver dramatically rolls his eyes because I have nothing he wants to see.
“Someone needs to see you naked.” This time it’s me that rolls my eyes. He gives me his typical kiss on the cheek before he wiggles his brows. I’ve known Oliver for a month now, and you’d think I’ve known him my whole life with how he talks. “There’s still time. I know a few men I could invite.”
“You’d do that? Change up the guest list?” I gasp in horror. Oliver might be all fun and games at times, but when it comes down to the details, he’s not messing around.
“It’s not a sit-down dinner. It would be fine.” Still, he pulls at the collar of his shirt.
“Don’t. You’ll mess up your bow tie.” I smack his hand away.
“You like it?” He turns to the mirror hanging over my dresser and straightens it.
“I do, but I don’t think anyone else could pull it off.” Oliver has a style all of his own.
It’s not shocking. He is an event planner, and the whole backyard and the entryway to the house has been styled for tonight. You’d think this was a wedding. A giant tent has been raised in the backyard, and the last time I peeked inside, they were hanging chandeliers in there.
I think my parents are making up for all the times I’ve said no to parties over the years. I hadn’t wanted a sweet sixteen or high school graduation party or even a party when I graduated from college with honors last month. When they asked to throw me a party for my twenty-first, I couldn’t say no. Not when they both had such hopeful expressions on their faces. They’ve done so much for me that at the very least I can do this for them.
“No one’s going to notice my bow tie when they see your dress.” He grins like a Cheshire cat.
“I’m scared.” A hesitant laugh bubbles out of me. Oliver went over every detail of this party with me even when I didn’t need or want to know all that was happening. The man misses no details, but he hasn’t uttered a peep about the dress beyond taking my measurements.
I’m not used to getting dressed up because I avoid it at all costs. I even skipped prom my senior year to get out of it. Besides that, I always wore school uniforms until college, and then it was shirts, sweaters, and yoga pants with sneakers. Whatever was most comfortable.
When I was accepted to Bryn Wellesley College, I almost fell over. It’s an all-female campus that has fewer than 2000 students enrolled each year. None of us ever gave a crap what we looked like, and it was kind of nice. We all knew what a privilege it was to be there, so we weren't going to parties on the weekends. In fact, we were fighting over claims to open lab times on the weekends.
My first thought when I’d gotten the letter was that I wanted to tell Keaton. Then again, I wonder if I would have applied there if he’d still been around. I bet we would have applied to all the same schools, not that a Lone would really have to apply to college. I think that's the kind of name that gets an automatic acceptance with a full scholarship.
“Don’t fear the dress. Put it on and own that shit like it was made just for you. Because it was.”
“You know I’m not great in heels,” I remind him.
“I’ve got you.” He snaps his fingers, and two women come rushing in with an array of items. “There.” He motions toward my bed for them to lay them out. Once they’re finished, they disappear as quickly as they’d appeared. “Sit,” he orders and points to the chair in front of my vanity. I do as I’m told because it’s easier not to fight Oliver, and as I sit down, more people appear. “I want to keep her natural. She doesn’t need to be overdone.”
“Her bone structure is perfect,” one of them says.
“Thanks?” I say, wondering if that’s a compliment.
“There are a few single men on the guest list. I might have done a little research on them too.” Oliver's fingers slide up and down the tablet in his hand. I’m sure he’s checking over final details.
“Honestly, I’m not sure who my parents invited.” The last I heard it was around a hundred guests.
“The Lones are coming,” Oliver says, and I tense. Everyone knows who the Lones are, and I’m sure seeing their name impressed even Oliver, who throws parties for celebrities.
I’ve seen Shelly in passing a few times over the years, but I’ve only seen Dr. Lone in news articles about new advances. I had to read a lot of his research in college.
They both have always been friendly with my parents, but that was before. I’ve heard nothing about Keaton, but I stopped trying after that last attempt when I showed up at the gate begging them to let me see him. Dr. Lone told me if I came back again it would be trespassing and that if Keaton wanted to see or contact me, he would.
He never did. Hell, he didn’t even show back up at school. I heard whispers that he went off to a boarding school in Europe, but I didn’t believe it at first. As time passed, I started to question what I’d seen that day.
“I haven’t seen them in a while.” I bite the inside of my cheek as I recall my parents being pretty upset with how things went down. They hated to see me cry, so since then, I learned to hide it and pretend I didn’t care.
“It says three guests for the Lones.”
“Three?”
Oliver glances up from his tablet, and I know it’s because of the high pitch in my voice. “Yes, three.”
I swallow. I’m sure it’s a friend, or maybe Shelly’s sister is in town. There’s no way it would be Keaton. I hate the spark of hope that tries to light up, and I smother it down. It doesn’t matter if it is Keaton. He can go fuck himself at this point.
It’s been years and nothing. My broken heart still hasn’t healed even though I wish I could say it has. I’m not going to lie to myself, but it’s not sorrow or denial I have anymore. I’ve moved past that and right into anger, where I’ve been simmering for a long time.
Protect the queen. I’ll never forget those words. It’s the one and only time I can ever recall Keaton being full of shit.
