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“I have a girlfriend,” Anderson reminds her.
“In America.”She grimaces, as if the word leaves a sour taste in her mouth.
“For now.She’s agreed to start splitting her time between the States and here with me.”
“Really?”I turn my wide eyes on Anderson.“Nora’s moving here?”
He beams, excitement oozing from every inch of him.“I asked her this past week when I was in New York helping her get settled into our new apartment.We agreed it was time to take the next step.Next time I go see her, she’ll be returning with me.”
“We’ll see about that,” my grandmother remarks under her breath as she retreats, not even trying to hide her animosity toward a woman she’s never met.
In her mind, she doesn’t have to.Not only did Anderson choose someone who’s not from Belmont, but she’s also poor, at least according to our grandmother’s standards.As if my brother doesn’t have enough to worry about with his MS treatment, now he has to stress about how Nora will adapt to this life.
And how our grandmother will treat her.
“Don’t worry about her.”I give his arm a squeeze.“I’ll do everything I can to make the transition as smooth as possible.”I hesitate.“Although it might require more alcohol than this country currently has on hand.”
He playfully nudges me.“I knew I could depend on you.”
“Always, dear brother.”
“It’s my understanding that come August, you’ll have a plus one, as well, won’t you?”he whispers.
I inhale a sharp breath.“What are you—”
“Creed told me he’s retiring once he’s eligible.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”I take a long sip of my champagne.
“You don’t need to pretend around me, Ezzy.I know.Truth be told, it was pretty fucking obvious.”
“Because he’s retiring?”
“He’s also been less moody.And you haven’t been shooting daggers at each other whenever you’re in the same room.Pretty sure I actually noticed him crack a smile when we arrived and he saw you.”
I glance over my shoulder to where Creed’s standing guard.While he’s trained to look everywhere other than at Anderson, or me for that matter, he briefly breaks protocol, his eyes meeting mine.
It only lasts a few seconds, but with that stolen moment, he tells me everything I need to know.That he loves me.That he hates not being on my arm.
That one day, he’ll never leave my side.
“I’m happy for you,” Anderson whispers, pulling my attention back to him.“For both of you.”
“Thanks, Anders.”
“Anything for you.”
The lights flicker, signaling the performance is about to begin.Anderson offers me his elbow, and I set my empty glass down on a nearby table before looping my arm through his, an attendant leading us from the reception room and into the seating area of the royal box.
As with everything in our lives, this is a performance as well.I plaster a smile on my face, waving politely to the other attendees as the lights dim.
I start to sit, but as I do, my eyes sweep over one of the boxes on the opposite side of the theater.I instantly freeze, my legs unable to move.It feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the air, my world spinning around me.
I’ve spent the past month convincing myself he’s not real.That he’s just a figment of my imagination.The result of a traumatic experience.
But how can he be a figment of my imagination when the man with a scar is in this theater?
And he’s looking directly at me.
