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The woman he was with earlier is walking toward us. Suddenly, a pang in my stomach comes out of nowhere. In closer proximity, she’s even more beautiful than from across the room. I have no right to be jealous, so why am I suddenly trying to pick her flaws, of which I’m unable to find any.
“Andy, sweetheart, I’d love for you to meet Mrs. Davenport. She runs a high-profile modeling agency, and word is she just fired her top photographer.”
Andy’s eyes fall to where she touches his arms, then, slowly, his head lifts to meet my gaze.
“Work calls,” is all he says. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
I stand in the same spot as they walk away, and whatever this woman is saying catches his attention for him not to even turn around to look at me, as if I’m a stranger.
Yet how can I blame him? I chose to move on and abandon the life I knew in the States. Leave my best friend behind without considering his feelings. All my actions were because I lived in fear, running away from everything that scared me.
It would be easy to blame being young, but all of this was only two years ago.
As a waiter walks past, I quickly down my champagne and request another. If I have to get through this night, chances are it won’t be sober.
The MC requests all guests to take a seat. Even at the table, Benedict is busy talking to the person beside him. The night begins with speeches, then to dinner being served. I find myself without an appetite, staring at my plate in a daze.
My mind drifts to the blue eyes watching me from a few tables away. Then, suddenly, my skin breaks out into goosebumps again as if I can feel his touch all over me. With a hard swallow, I shake my head to clear my focus and reach for the champagne rather than the food.
“You haven’t touched your food?” Benedict mentions beside me. “Is something wrong with it?”
I force a smile. “It’s fine. I’m just tired because Bentley kept me up last night.”
“Oh, right.”
His response sparks anger within me, especially since he’s never woken up to take care of Bentley in the middle of the night. The one time I asked him to help me, he rolled over and said to call the nanny.
“I mean, it wouldn’t hurt for you to help on occasion.”
“Jessa, I have a stressful job and need to be in meetings all day long. I can’t wake up and do what exactly? Mother hired Eliza to help you,” he insists, his tone cold and stern. “I think it’s about time you accept her help full-time.”
My blood boils, and no doubt, the several glasses of champagne are fueling this argument. Our differences on raising our son is creating a lot of tension between us, but for some reason, right now, I pick an argument.
“When my sister, Sienna, was born, my father would wake up and feed her so Kate could sleep.” The memory is all too clear, all the times I’d come into the kitchen at some early hour, and Dad would be walking around with Sienna in his arms trying to put her to sleep again. “My Uncle Lex, he would take my cousins, Ava and Andy, and me to soccer practice twice a week. If you think your job is stressful, I’ll argue and say Uncle Lex and my dad’s jobs are ten times harder.”
Benedict presses his lips flat. “Right, of course, I forgot how rich your family is. Billionaires.”
“That has nothing to do with it. My point is all the men in my life have always put their children first.”
I throw my napkin onto the table, grab my purse, and head to the restroom to splash cold water on my face. My skin feels red and heated, a mixture of the champagne and our spur-of-the-moment argument.
But I stand by what I said.
Never have I ever felt neglected by my father growing up, and the same goes for Uncle Lex. He treated me like his own daughter, just like he treated Andy like his son.
Andy…
I quickly exit the restroom and head back to the ballroom, my eyes scanning the room to see where he is. There are too many people, some of who are moving toward the dance floor. I slowly make my way back to the table, take a seat, and bite into the food. My appetite is less than par, the food cold and bland. Eventually, I give up and go back to the champagne.
The music is a familiar melody, soft with a tune my head hums along to. I find myself gazing at the couples, and then I see Andy dancing with the woman. They’re having a conversation and laughing again, all of which rubs me the wrong way.
You have no right to be jealous.
I turn to face Benedict. “Let’s dance.”
Oddly so, he agrees, reaching out for my hand. We walk toward the dance floor, then he brings me in as I rest my hand on his shoulder. His scent invades the air around me, reminding me he’s my husband, who I chose till death us do part.
“Jessa,” he begins with, but this time his tone is soft. “Let’s just enjoy tonight, okay?”
