by Ellie Danes
I noticed he hadn’t brought up our meeting with Derek, and for that, I was grateful. Still, I could see him giving me the occasional look of concern. I wanted to tell him I was okay, even though I was a mess inside.
“Ashley, is that you again?” Manda’s voice, still as high-pitched as usual, came from down the hall.
I turned and gave her a wave. Gwyn was walking alongside her. “Hi, Manda, hi, Gwyn.”
“I’m surprised you chose to do painting,” Manda said with a smirk when she caught up with us.
Weston stiffened beside me and he turned an impassive face to Manda. Gwyn shrank back, but Manda plowed right ahead, oblivious.
“Just, funny you’d choose to do art of any kind. I remember some of your vases in ceramics class.” She winked at Weston. “Very phallic in nature, if you know what I mean. Finally, the teacher encouraged her to try a different elective.”
“Good thing we’re no longer in high school,” Weston said. “I’m glad we don’t have to act like we are, either.”
Manda’s and Gwyn’s perfect eyebrows furrowed as she tried to work out whether she’d just been insulted.
Arm in arm, Weston and I walked past them and into the banquet room of the hotel, which had been transformed into a room full of easels and art supplies. Jess had signed up for the event, too, and she was already at work at one easel, painting an odd-looking animal figure.
Weston took up a spot at a painting station and I went to the one next to him. On the table in front of us was an arrangement of fruit so we could paint a still life. After a few minutes of feeling like everyone was going to start laughing at me for how bad my art was, I began to actually relax. Someone came by with a pitcher of sangria, and after one glass, I was feeling pretty loose.
But that just made me think of what had happened the night before, yet again--just when I was thinking I’d gotten it out of my mind. You cannot let that happen again. You shouldn’t have let it happen the first time, I thought as I tried to draw a pear without making it look like a cactus. But in the back of my mind, I knew that I really, really wanted it to happen again. I wanted even more than that--I wanted to see what actual sex with Weston would be like.
I’d figured that a guy like him, who was hot and confident, had probably had more than his fair share of experience, so I shouldn’t have been surprised that he managed better than any of the other guys I’d been with. But there was something about the way he’d gone about his attempt to get me off that was even more important than the result. He’d worked at it, not just pounding away at me or mauling my clit, but getting me good and relaxed first and taking his time. When he’d finally gotten to fingering me, he’d kept it up--in the back of my mind, I’d realized that he was testing my reactions, finding out what I liked.
I’d felt so good, so strangely overwhelmed by sensation, that I couldn’t believe the way my first several attempts at sex had gone. I couldn’t believe that they’d been so mediocre in comparison to what had happened with Weston.
You’re only together another couple of days, and then you’ll never see or hear from him again, I reminded myself, even as I felt the heat building up between my legs. I shifted in my chair, trying to shake off the physical symptoms of my own arousal. That was another thing: it wasn’t like I’d never been turned on before, but it had never felt the way it did as I bantered with Weston. My whole body was like a simmering pot, right on the edge of boiling.
“Are you two going to the dinner tonight?” someone asked, pulling me from my reverie.
I looked at Weston and begged him mentally to say no. As much as I was enjoying myself--for once--I could see that it was going to be a major trial to be around people I barely had anything in common with for much longer.
“I think we’ll do dinner on our own,” Weston said.
“As long as you take me somewhere yummy, West—Stone,” I said, catching myself on the edge of calling him the “wrong” name. I need to back off of the sangria.
I got a glass of water and caught a knowing look from Weston, who’d only had one glass of the wine punch before moving on to water himself. I took advantage of the moment to look at his painting. It was, as he’d promised, pretty terrible, and I felt weirdly comforted by the fact that there wasn’t yet another thing that he was just effortlessly good at, showing me up as a person and a student.
“They really should have done a nude study for this,” Weston told me in a low murmur. “They could’ve gotten you to pose.”
“They absolutely could not have gotten me to pose,” I said, nudging him playfully to cover my instinctive panic at the idea.
“I could get you to pose nude, though,” Weston countered, grinning at me.
I raised an eyebrow and realized that we were talking just loud enough for the person seated next to him to hear.
“You could only get me to pose nude in private,” I said, nudging him again.
“Oh--that’s a great idea,” Weston told me, grinning.
I shook my head and danced away from his attempt to ensnare me with his arm, giving him a pinch that I hoped at least looked playful.
“I think I’ve just about reached my natural limit as an artist,” I said, looking over my pitiful still life. I showed it to everyone and they laughed--but it was, as Weston had promised, the good kind, punctuated with everyone else showing their terrible attempts in sympathy. Even Manda and Gwyn didn’t seem to find anything horrid to say.
In spite of how turned on I was just from being around Weston, and the fact that I was starting to get tired of pretending to be his girlfriend, I was actually having a good time. He’d been right about that. I would never admit it to him, but I could admit it to myself without risking my pride too much. But I would be happy when we were alone again, even if it was just for the sake of vegging out in front of the TV for a few hours. I had almost--almost--reached my limit, and I was glad that Weston hadn’t suggested we go to the big group dinner tonight.
There was movement at the other end of the room. I heard Gwyn’s loud laughter, and Manda’s high-pitched voice. Dread filled my stomach, and I felt just like I had in high school.
There was Derek, with Manda holding one of his arms, and Gwyn holding the other. As I watched in horror, they dragged him over to me and Weston.
“We’ll just leave you two to talk,” Manda said, stepping back. “Stone, maybe you should come with me.”
“I’ll stay with Ashley, thanks,” he said, in a voice that didn’t sound thankful at all.
Manda pouted, but walked away with Gwyn.
“Sorry to interrupt you two,” Derek said with a weird smile on his face. “I’ll just go.”
Weston’s hand shot out to grab Derek’s shoulder. “Curious why those two brought you over,” he said.
“They want to stir shit up,” Derek said.
“Obviously,” I said. “So, let’s get this over with.”
Derek rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought I owed you an apology, but it looks like I did you a favor, way back when, by breaking up with you. Because look who you have now—a billionaire—”
“Let’s go back a little to that apology,” Weston said.
I shot a confused look to Weston while Derek cleared his throat.
“I broke up with you for a stupid reason,” Derek said.
I stared at him. His green eyes, which I’d thought were beautiful back in high school, now seemed full of uncertainty and remorse. He looked…insecure. I never would have seen it if I hadn’t met Weston, who oozed self-confidence and an easiness in his own body.
“And that reason was…?” I prompted.
“I was a virgin,” Derek said. “You were out of my league, and I was embarrassed.”
“I—I was out of your league?” I asked. “All I wanted was to go to prom and have a good time.”
“You don’t understand, there’s all this pressure on guys.”
“Oh, cry me a fucking river,” I said. “You don’t know shit about pressure.�
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He shrugged. “It’s the truth. I felt like I couldn’t live up to what you expected of me and I just…I got scared. I told you it was stupid. Still, I’m sorry.”
He held out his hand. I didn’t have to forgive him—I could walk away right now and leave it all behind me.
But instead, I wanted to be a better person. That was why I’d arranged for Weston to accompany me here—I wanted to be better. So I shook Derek’s hand.
He grinned. “Besides, all’s well that ends well. I mean, look, this Stone guy—this is a face I’ve seen in magazines.”
He sounded so certain. Weston just gave him a steady, expressionless look.
“Right, well, I should go,” Derek said. “Bye.”
I watched him leave. Despite the few classmates who were still in the banquet hall, everyone else had given us privacy, and I was grateful for that. Surprised, too, but grateful.
It was weird how Derek thought he knew Weston—and Derek wasn’t the only one. What was Weston hiding from me?
“You ready to get out of here?” Weston asked.
“Yeah.” I allowed him to take my hand and lead me from the banquet hall.
Once outside and away from the prying eyes of my classmates, I took my hand away. “What aren’t you telling me? What’s going on here?”
“It’s not really a conversation we should have right now,” Weston said, his voice low.
“Then when?” I asked.
Then it hit me—never. It would never be a good time, because what Weston and I had wasn’t even real. We’d part ways and that would be it.
Weston just shook his head.
“Fuck this,” I said, and stomped back to our room. I was fed up after Derek, and now I had to deal with Weston’s half-truths, too.
“Ashley, wait,” he said. “We still have to go to dinner.”
I spun around and faced him. He was right. I certainly didn’t want to break up with my “perfect” boyfriend during the reunion. I hugged my arms around my waist. I didn’t know what to think anymore, I didn’t know what to do.
“Come on, let me take you to dinner,” he said.
He reached for my hand. Perhaps against my better judgment, I allowed him to lead me out to the car.
Chapter Eighteen
Weston
We’d decided to go to a restaurant apart from the hotel, a little ways down the road; it was windy and cold, but apart from the airport and the area around the town, most of the streets were navigable. The weather report had said that there was no real way out of the town, and Ashley’s parents’ house wasn’t accessible either. It was something about the snow ploughs or some issue with trucks.
“Aren’t high school reunions normally in summer?” I wasn’t sure if I’d made that point before, but as we sat down at an Italian restaurant--classic red sauce fare, with all the overworked dishes you would expect--I was curious again. It seemed weird to have a reunion in the middle of winter.
“They’d planned to have one in the summer, but everyone had other stuff to do, and it wasn’t all that well organized,” Ashley said absently, as she read over the menu.
Something was bothering her, and I wasn’t sure exactly what. My money was on her suspicions of me. I had to come clean, but I wasn’t sure how.
It was a relief to be away from her former classmates for a little while, and away from the chance of running into Ashley’s ex. They weren’t bad people, and I’m sure in smaller doses I’d be able to handle them much better. But it was a strain to pretend to be Ashley’s loving, committed boyfriend, and keep my story straight, and chitchat with people who I didn’t know or care about.
“The painting was fun,” I said, trying to break the tension between us.
“Yeah, it was.” Her eyes were glued to the menu. Yeah, she was still pissed.
In the back of my mind, I was still preoccupied with what I’d managed to search for the night before. I was still certain that the information I needed would be on the database that Ashley had access to, and I was itching to search through the rest.
I was so close to finding answers.
“Welcome to Buonasera,” a waiter said, coming up to our table. “Did you know what you wanted, or do you need a few minutes?”
I looked up from my menu and looked at Ashley to see if she was ready.
“Do we want an appetizer?” Ashley asked.
“I could eat part of one,” I said, glancing down at that section in the menu.
“I guess the arancini would be a good thing,” Ashley suggested.
“Sounds good to me,” I agreed.
I ordered a chicken piccata and Ashley got one of the chef’s specialties which had penne, grilled chicken, spinach and fresh mozzarella. She let me choose the wine. We made some small talk while we waited for our appetizer and wine to arrive at the table, and things were starting to feel less tense. Maybe she was forgiving me for not being open and honest with her.
I knew that forgiveness would only last so long. Soon, I’d need to come clean.
When our arancini and wine came to the table, the idyll busted. A couple of people that Ashley recognized from her graduating class came in, probably seeking to get away from the crowd like we had. I couldn’t blame them for that, but it irritated me nonetheless. At least the couple sat down a few tables away from us, and at least they weren’t interested in having some in-depth conversation with us; apart from a quick hello and a comment on how nice Ashley looked in her sweater-dress, they didn’t really engage us. But it did mean that we had to start acting at least a little bit like a couple again, and to my surprise it was actually easier than I thought to just fall back into the little roleplaying game.
We got through the dinner and headed back to the hotel as soon as we could. There was some kind of movie night event going on, but Ashley and I both agreed we didn’t feel up to going to it--we just wanted to stay in.
Once again, we ran out of luck, when we ran into Manda.
“You two look so good together,” Manda, said in a falsely sweet voice. She was with two other women, all three of them working on the setup for a movie night, and they’d caught us on the way to the elevators up to our room.
“I do try to only date guys who make me look good,” Ashley said, glancing at me with a mixture of playfulness and sarcasm.
“It’s not hard to make you look good, babe,” I pointed out.
“I just can’t believe that the two of you went to an amusement park for your first date,” one of the other women said, shaking her head. “It’s such a weird, sweet thing.”
I looked at Ashley sharply. I hadn’t said anything about an amusement park--she must have.
“Wait, I thought you said the first date you took her on was to your friend’s restaurant,” the other said, pointing to me. I vaguely remembered that conversation.
“It depends on which date you think of as our ‘first’ date,” I said quickly. “I guess you don’t think that dinner at Luciano’s restaurant counts,” I added, giving Ashley a playful poke.
“If I remember right, you didn’t actually ask me out on a date with that one,” she said, picking up where I was going with our cover. “You said it would be good to get dinner with someone and your friend Luciano’s restaurant had just opened.”
“Oh, come on--that’s an obvious date,” Manda protested.
“Technically, he hadn’t finished the contract with my company, so it better not have been a date,” Ashley said, giving me a mock-severe look.
The three women laughed, and the elevator chimed to announce that it had arrived, saving us from the stress of the moment.
“We’ve got a date with a movie of our own, and I think Ash needs a good, hot bath,” I said, herding Ashley onto the elevator with me. As soon as the doors closed, I sighed with more than a little relief that we hadn’t managed to get caught out at a moment like that.
“That was close,” Ashley said, and I nodded.
We got to the room and I saw that the hou
sekeeping staff had been in and straightened everything up, but left behind the non-perishable parts of the bottle service we’d ordered the night before. Apparently, we’d earned the right to keep the bottles, by paying so much.
I sat down on the edge of the bed and watched as Ashley kicked off her boots and took off her coat.
“We should talk,” I said, reaching over to the cart and picking up the bottle of vodka. It was still more than half-full, and while I didn’t normally drink every night, I thought it might spur things forward a bit.
Ashley froze, a frightened look on her face. “Why’s that?”
I mixed us each a vodka and tonic, then took off my own jacket and shoes and settled onto the bed. “I haven’t been completely honest with you, that’s why.”
“So?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s not like we’re really dating.”
“Come on,” I said. “The more we know each other, the easier it is to get through slip-ups like the one just now about our first date.”
It was a stretch, and I wondered if she’d go for it.
She held my gaze for a moment longer. “Okay,” she said. “We can talk. But I don’t want any half-truths. You want to talk, then we’re really going to talk.”
I handed her the other glass, and she settled next to me on the bed.
“Do you want to tell me about Derek first?” I asked in a soft voice.
“No,” she said. “I really don’t.”
I’d expected as much. I held my drink in one hand and grabbed her hand with my other. I wasn’t sure how she would react to what I was about to say, and at the same time, her touch was comforting.
“There’s a reason I’m in town,” I said. “I’m not just some random guy passing through.”
“You’re really some billionaire in disguise,” she said with a laugh. “All that talk about vacation homes in Martinique and penthouses in the city…really, Weston, it’s too much.”
I swallowed what I knew I should tell her about the vacation homes and money, because there was something more important I needed to say first. “Ashley, this has to do with why I want to see records from your agency.”