by Emily Snow
“I won’t.” I dig into the meal on my plate—spaghetti Bolognese—and I’m thankful Dad’s next comment has nothing to do with Bennett or the Delaneys or side jobs. It’s about the cable company. He’s ecstatic that an overpayment left us with a credit on our account. Relaxing, I follow his lead, and we spend the next hour talking about everything from cable to Paul, the guy that lives above us.
“If he plays that “Break Your Plans” song again at two in the morning, I’m going to turn on my own music.”
Dad is fully aware that “Your Body Is A Wonderland” is the title of the song. I wipe my napkin over the corners of my mouth and waggle my eyebrows. “It’s his bedroom playlist,” I say, attempting to sound outraged at his suggestion, “you can’t ruin his good time by retaliating with ‘Sara Smile.’”
“That song is a classic.” Then he winces. “And please, kid, never use the phrases “bedroom playlist” and “good time” around me again. I’m already trying to get used to the idea of you and … him.”
My blush burns my entire face. “Dad,” I groan.
“Yeah, I know. I’ll get over it, I promise, just give me some time.” He switches topics again but after he pays the check and we start the walk back to our apartment, he glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “What does his mother have to say about it?”
My heart drops to my stomach, and my voice is tinny—so damn small—when I ask, “What?”
“Monica.” The tone he uses could give Graham and Cain a run for their money; it’s dripping with vitriol. “She’s not a pleasant woman, so I imagine she’d have something negative to say.”
“No,” I breathe. “She didn’t say anything.”
He lets out a low whistle. “That’s a surprise, but I’m glad. If she does, you let her know to eat shit. Don’t ever let that woman talk down to you, do you understand?”
I bob my head and pick up my pace, lengthening my stride. My father keeps up easily, but it’s starting to get dark out, so he doesn’t witness me curl my fingers into the front of my tee shirt.
And when he repeats what he said about not letting Bennett’s mom belittle me, he doesn’t see me swallow the lump in my throat before I mumble, “sure,” either.
Because if he had, he would’ve realized that Monica Delaney doesn’t know shit about her son and me.
Two days after I sign the contract with Bamberger, Rachel calls me an hour after my shift at Ellerby’s ends. There’s a smile in her voice while she informs me that Giulia Alfonsi—of the Alfonsi fashion house—is requesting a meeting with me at her new husband’s home in Greenwich, Connecticut.
“She’s only in the states for a few days, but you’re exactly what she has in mind for her spring bridal campaign. The shoot is going to be incredible. Two days in Italy, Veronica. It-a-ly.”
“Italy,” I squeak, and Charlotte, who’s laying across my bed and thumbing through my copy of Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Gray, pops up.
“Who’s going to Italy?” she mouths, and I cover the receiver to whisper, “It’s Rachel calling about a designer.”
“Holy shit, V!” She claps one hand over her mouth, but a grin crinkles the outer corners of her eyes as she gestures anxiously for me to get back to the call. I grab a pen and paper from my desk and jot down as much as I can—Rachel’s talking so fast, excitedly.
“Come by the office in the morning and we can discuss how this will work before you make the trip. I’ve got a couple appointments, but just ring Louisa when you’re on your way, and I’ll squeeze you in.” She takes a breath. “We won’t know until after you’ve met with Giulia, but I feel confident about this. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 12
BENNETT
“Greenwich?” My mother asks when she invites herself into the doorway of my room and demands to know why I’m getting dressed in such a hurry. Leave it to her to wake up early the one day I’m running late. “Why are you going there?”
She makes it sound like I’ve told her I’m heading to Reno. That’s where she’s from, but she likes to pretend she’s never stepped foot in the “biggest little city in the world.”
I shrug my arms into my shirt. “For the scenery.” She tapers her blue eyes as tight as possible. It’s not far considering she spent all last night moaning about getting her new Botox technician’s license suspended for fucking her over. She’s in recovery mode now, nursing a glass of Scotch at half past ten. Lifting it to her lips, she taps her slippered foot impatiently.
“I’m taking Vero to meet with some fashion designer,” I force out.
“Veronica?” She says the name sluggishly and accentuates each syllable like she’s a kid learning to read for the first time.
I hook the last button on my shirt and massage the bridge of my nose. “You know, tall, pretty blonde. Her mom was our—”
“I know who she is, dammit.” She polishes off most of the liquor in one gulp and shoots daggers across the room at me. “What I want to know is why you’re taking her?”
“Because it’s a two-hour bus ride and a two-hundred-dollar taxi fare.” I can tell she’s about to toss out a smartass retort, it’s all in her lips. They’re mashed into a white slash. I throw my hands up in frustration. “And because I want to.”
Vero hadn’t asked, but I volunteered to go the second she mentioned taking the bus. I want to be around her. I need it.
“You’re not involved with her, are you?”
Her tone is so nasty, I almost break my promise to Veronica right here and now. Fuck, yeah, I'm dying to tell her with a grin, we’re involved. Vero is mine. I’m hers. Instead, I grind my molars and grab my wallet from my desk. “She grew up with us. If she needs someone to drive her to Greenwich, I’m going to drive her to Greenwich.”
She rubs at the neck of her gold satin robe and gives me her best attempt at a laugh. It comes out sounding forced and rattled. “I was just checking, Bennett. After all, you did grow up with her—getting involved with such a close friend would ruin your relationship.”
This, coming from someone who hates ninety percent of her friends. She turns her body to the side as I brush past her and out the door. Something stops me, that old childhood emotion I know she’ll never truly return, so I lay a stiff kiss on her temple. She hollows in her cheeks.
“Relax.” I swipe the glass from her hand and hold it over her head when she tries to grab it from me. She stares longingly at the ice cubes clinking around the bottom. Taking it from her is really a waste of time, she’ll just make another the second I leave. “Go take an ibuprofen and a nap. I’ll be back tonight.”
I leave the glass on the center island when I pass by it. Mom’s feet drag behind me and she calls my name. I don’t turn around.
“Bennett, did you hear me?” she snarls once I reach the elevator. “You never gave a direct answer to my question.”
The cords in my neck twitch. “Why does it matter?”
“Because it just … does.”
I glance back, then turn all the way around. There’s something about the way she’s looking at me that rubs me the wrong way. It’s a fucked-up mixture of disgust and anger and worry—brows furrowed, hands stiff, and posture pulled taut. “I heard what happened between you and Judson,” she says.
I don’t even want to think about how and where. The motherfucker has it bad for my mom—for any woman willing to spread her legs for him. Knowing his track record, and the fact my father’s out of town, he probably heard it in the Scotch-scented comfort of her bedroom. “He’s a prick and deserved what he got.”
“You hit him because of Veronica.” She wrinkles her perfect nose and winces at the pain of too much facial movement. “Are you involved with her?”
Veronica.
Her.
Monica’s contempt for the girl who gives me fucking reason is like poison in my throat.
“You say her name like she’s a disease,” I say in a fierce whisper. She recoils, but then she recovers, squaring her s
houlders and lifting her chin like she’s the goddamn queen of Manhattan. “But no, I’m not. Happy?”
“No. I haven’t been in years.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I could remind her of everything she has. How lucky she is, but she won’t care, and I’ll be a hypocrite. None of it matters to me either. I step inside the elevator. “I’ll see you later.”
My mood is garbage up until the time I arrive at Veronica’s apartment in Queens. Then she comes down to meet me on the curb and every shit feeling churning inside of me disintegrates like it was never there.
She’s dressed all in white—a simple dress that kisses her creamy thighs as she jogs down her front stoop and a pair of white, lace-up sandals. Her hair is gathered away from her face in a ponytail that swishes around her shoulders. The second she’s close enough for me to touch, I tug the elastic from it.
“Bennett!” I remove the distance between us, anchoring my hands on her tiny waist to draw her into me. She holds on to my forearms. “I did it like that for a reason, you know. Now I’ll have to redo it.”
“Don’t.” I guide my touch higher and cup her neck, stroking a lock of blonde hair between my fingers. It's so soft. She's so soft, and I'll never get enough of touching her. She tilts her head back to gaze up at me. “You look beautiful this way.”
“You’re only saying that because you screwed up my hair.” She can complain all she wants, but she’s the one lifting her lips to mine and balling her fists in the front of my button-up. On the flip side, I am leaning in to her. I sound like I just finished a marathon because being this close to her undoes me.
“Are you ready to go?” she asks.
“Can I just … look at you for a second?”
“You’ve seen me before.”
“Then let me see you again.”
Veronica. My Veronica. She knows exactly what she does to me with the way she drags her teeth on the corner of her bottom lip. I can’t resist claiming her mouth, so I crush her to my chest. My brain goes crazy at the frantic, hungry sounds she makes. Exploring her has become my favorite thing because there’s always something different. Like today. Our tongues slip and slide together as our lips and teeth tug and demand, but she tastes like coffee. She doesn’t seem to give a fuck that we’re on a crowded sidewalk either.
It’s just us. The way it should be.
She pulls away, mumbling something under her breath. My muscles clench as she rubs her palms anxiously over my chest. She stays this way for a long time, then clears her throat after I trace my thumb over the center of her mouth. My cock springs to life at the flick of her tongue.
“We really should get going.” She sighs. “Rachel will kill me if I’m late.”
“But, Veronica, you said so yourself—she thought your just-fucked headshots were stunning.”
Opening her gray eyes to thin slits, she scowls. “She won’t if I don’t get there on time.”
“Then I guess I should be a good chauffer and not take your panties?” I open the car door, and she stumbles inside. I start to close it. Then I notice her dress has rode up to pool around her hips. “I’m going to warn you, though, you’re really pressing your luck.”
“It doesn’t take much.”
She’s nervous during the ride, alternating between leafing through the book she brought along and tugging at her earlobe. After the gate guard lets us through, I park in the lot at the designer’s sprawling home on the Long Island Sound. Veronica stares straight ahead, looking terrified. I grip her trembling hand in mine and link our fingers one at a time.
“You’ll do fine.” I turn toward her. She pants out a broken exhale. “And if she doesn’t want you, fuck her and her dresses. But I guarantee she’s going to fall in love with you.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re obligated to.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and gives me that smile. The one she does after I've made her come and she's still trembling around me. “But thank you. I mean it. For bringing me here, for this summer, for—”
I interrupt her with my mouth because she doesn’t need to thank me. She grips the collar of my shirt, grasping me closer and asking for more. Between kisses that make my dick hate me and skimming her lips with my teeth, I tell her to take everything. She whispers that she’s being unprofessional. I lick the corner of her mouth. She says she’s afraid she’ll go inside looking flushed and rumpled. I squeeze her thigh and tell her how wrong she is.
In fact, when she gets out of my Supra, I decide this is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen her. I can’t take my eyes off of her because she fits the part. White dress. A blush tinting her cheeks. Just before she steps inside to follow the man who opens the door for her, she whips her gaze around and zeroes in on me. “I love you so hard.”
Emotion, brutal and painful, punches my chest. “I love you, too,” I mouth back.
The wait is excruciating. Ten minutes turn to thirty and then an hour. I’m half-tempted to go in after her, just to make sure she’s okay, but then she staggers out. Her face is as red as it was when she went in, so I climb out the car to meet her. I expect the worst and try to come up with some way to make it up to her.
Leaning against the bumper, I wet my lips. “What happened?”
She stops a couple feet away and rubs her hand over her chest. I hate waiting, and she puts me through the ringer while she catches her breath. “She said she’s going to call Rachel this afternoon to discuss particulars.”
“Does that mean…”
She dances closer and a smile cracks her features. “That she wants me. Me, Bennett.”
“Why do you sound so surprised?” I wrench her to me, carving my hands through her hair. It’s still loose from earlier, but she’s gathered it over her right shoulder. “You should’ve known she’d want you.”
I just want her.
She shrugs. I decide I love her even more. “She spent the first thirty minutes giving me that same face your Mother does, but then she asked me to stand in their garden and look like I was in love.”
I search her gaze. “I’m guessing it worked.”
“She said I looked like a virgin bride,” she laughs, shaking her head. “That I would do her collection justice. I didn’t even know what to say.”
I grin. “A virgin bride, huh?” I release her and take her hand in mine, leading her around to the passenger side of my car. I laugh at the look she gives me, like she’s challenging me to point out the reality, but I hold up a hand in defense. “You are the picture of a blushing bride, Veronica.”
I help her into the car and drag her seatbelt across her body to hook it. She stops me halfway through, leaning over to kiss the side of my hand. My Adam’s apple drops at the slow, slow way she raises her eyes to peek up at me from beneath her lashes. “Today has been … incredible.”
“Your wildest dreams?”
“My wildest dreams are graduating college, teaching a bunch of middle schoolers why Shakespeare is a badass and then you. With, I don’t know, two and half kids.”
I instantly know she didn’t mean to say it. She wouldn’t be looking at me like that, gray eyes suddenly too big for her face and her bottom lip sucked between her teeth, unless it was an accident. “Bennett, I—” she starts.
“Don’t. I mean it—don’t you dare apologize for saying that.”
Despite my warning, she starts up the second I’m behind the wheel. “It was still the wrong thing to say. Really stupid on my part.”
“Why?”
“Because.” She gazes down at the backs of her hands in her lap. Her pale hair falls around her face, so I push it back. I want to be able to see her. “No guy ever wants to hear that kind of thing.”
She’s so wrong, it physically aches. Like everything else between us, it’s bound to happen. I knew after that first night there would be no other man for Veronica. Not while I’m still breathing. While she talks about shooting in Italy for two days, and all the places her new agent has told her she’ll end u
p going in her career, I hang on to her every word. My insides, though—my gut and my heart—are at war. I don’t doubt anything she says.
That’s what makes the thought of losing her so real.
She’s going to take off. At some point, I know that’s going to happen because she’s already seconds, minutes, hours from booking the job in Italy. What will be next? It’s selfish of me. Selfish and dickish. Still, I don’t want to be without her. The three-hour distance we’ll face in January will be shit enough.
“I want to come with you to Italy,” I say, interrupting her mid-sentence about some photographer the gown designer told her about.
She rotates her attention to the side of my face and hesitant laughter slips through her lips. “Rachel hasn’t called to confirm.”
“She will.” When that happens, I need to make sure Veronica understands just how deep into this I am. “I want to be with you. Not just for the summer or on the weekends or when we’re on break. I. Want. You.”
Her hand slides across the center console to tuck into mine. “You have me.”
“Marry me, Vero.” I don’t know where it comes from, why it comes out, or what the fuck I’ll do if she tells me no, but I don’t regret it. The only part I regret is the deep frown that creases her brow.
“What? After you graduate Harvard or—”
“Now. Today. Tomorrow. Any time in the near future because I don’t want you to go away without the world knowing you’re mine.”
She doesn’t say shit. That scares me, and there’s not much that does that anymore. I pull off onto the first exit to stop at a convenience store. She snatches her hand back to link her fingers together, twisting and squeezing them over her flat stomach.
“Isn’t this happening a little fast?” She’s hoarse, so she clears her throat. “Your parents don’t even know about us because—”
“You didn’t want them to know,” I say through gritted teeth. “You wanted to keep it a secret.”