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I chuckle. “It’s your birthday. If you need me to sneak you an extra slice, I’ll be happy to do it.”
Mimi holds my hand and smiles. “Thank you. Though, dear, if you want to please me, you know, I would like to become a great-grandmother before I go. What with Jessie’s career driven lifestyle and—”
“We’re working on it,” Beck says, and lifts up his hand as if to mean he’s got the problem taken care of.
An acidy sensation spills into my stomach and spreads fast. I see Mimi and Beck exchange some more words, but I don’t hear them. My heart is beating fast in my ears. We’re working on it, I repeat to myself the same line he’s told her. Why would he give her false hope? And if it was real hope, why wouldn’t he talk to me first?
My stomach lurches to the floor, and a sense of trepidation comes over me. He’s made all these decisions without checking with me… just like he chose to end our marriage. Or ask me to come back for convenience’s sake.
Mimi walks away from us, mumbling something to her caretaker about how many drinks she’s allowed on her birthday.
Beck nudges my elbow, lifting his eyebrow. “Are you okay?”
I suck in a breath. I should wait until we go back to the room at least, but there’s this fire brewing in my chest and I can no longer contain it. I grab his hand and usher him out of the living room, walking out to the terrace and far enough so no one could hear our conversation.
“What is it?” he asks when we’re alone.
I let go of his hand, and smooth my palms down my dress to wipe off the cold sweat. Did he notice it? Shit. “What do you mean when you told Mimi, ‘we are working on it’?” I say, cutting the bullshit.
He rubs his hand in a soundless clapper, a confused expression crossing his face. “It’s her birthday. It’s just something you say.”
I cross my hands over my chest, unsure if I believe him. Why couldn’t he brush it off like the other day? He didn’t have to say we were working on it. Because that white lie didn’t hurt Mimi, but it hurt me. “The other night you apologized for her comment, and today, you encouraged it by lying.”
He frowns, then leans closer. “Is it a lie? I mean, why can’t we try again?”
I step back, then lift my hand to keep him at bay. “If we were to try again, don’t you think I should be the one to discuss it with? In what world should we talk about babies when we never even came to an understanding about us lasting longer than this weekend?”
“How can I talk to you about anything? You told me you didn’t want to discuss the past.”
“Making a brand new baby sounds like the future,” I say, unable to keep from sounding bitter.
A measure of regret flashes in his deep green irises. “And telling you I loved you last night is the present.”
Frustration knots my throat. My heart rate skyrockets at this point. “It’s not fair to bring that up now.”
“Why not? You don’t want to discuss the past, the present or the future. How are we supposed to ever move forward, Eliza?”
Past, future? I thought our deal was to have sex this weekend. A trickle of surprise drips down my spine. My head is buzzing. I feel so out of my depth. “I didn’t even know that’s what you wanted.”
“Because I couldn’t talk about it,” he says, pacing in a small circle in front of me.
“So now it’s my fault?”
“No. When I told I loved you last night… a part of me wanted to hear it back.”
A part of me wanted to say it. But the mistrust from what just happened lurks around us, and I’m still confused. Is he telling me what I want to hear right now because of how mad I am? An invisible cold bucket is splashed right on my face, and I shake my head. I need to get my shit together. I need to think. “Beck… this isn’t aboutyouright now. I… I need some space. Don’t come after me,” I say, before spinning on my heels and getting the hell out of the terrace.
11
Beck
“Where’s Eliza?”Jessie asks, walking up to me as most of the guests have gone to bed.
I drain the rest of my whisky, and set the tumbler on the side table. “She had a headache and went to bed. Too much wine,” I say, using the same excuse I did for the last two hours as a couple of people asked. Thankfully, she left after dinner, so it wasn’t a big deal. Not to anyone but me.
“And what’s the real version?” Jessie insists, her eyes searching for mine.
Damn her. “A disagreement.”
