by Wendy Owens
I consider saying no, but with Christian gone for two weeks, I know I’ll have a lot of focus time to finish up the details. “I can stay the two weeks, but then I have to go.”
“Fair enough,” he says, a slight smile on his face. “Thank you.”
I nod in response. And that is it; by the time I wake in the morning, he has already left for Dallas.
Chapter Twenty
RUNNING MY FINGERS across the garment in my hands, I take a deep breath. That’s it; it’s done. My entire show is ready for the runway. I even managed to create the two alternate pieces I was certain I wouldn’t have time for.
Standing up and walking to the other side of the room, I place the dress on a hanger and slip it into the shipping box, before taping it shut. Anxiety floods over me again, my heart nervously fluttering for a moment. The idea of shipping a box of my garments—garments I’ve spent months working so tirelessly on—is a little overwhelming.
I take a deep breath, then push out all of the air from my lungs. I move on to another box along the wall. Pressing a couple stray fabric samples inside, I tape it shut. The last couple days have been a whirlwind. Part of preparing to return to New York, means shipping back all of the supplies we brought here. I’ve certainly rethought Henry’s suggestion about hiring a personal assistant.
Damn it, focus, Paige! I’ve been telling myself that for over a week now. It seems like I do anything but focus. For the past couple days, every time I call Henry, he either doesn’t answer, or is about to head off to some meeting and has no time to talk to me. Things feel unnatural, to say the least. I can’t figure out if it’s him, or if somehow I might be at the root of the issue.
Then there’s Christian, who, no matter how many times I tell myself not to think about him, in the end my thoughts seem to always end up settling on him.
“Hello?” Emmie’s voice calls out as the sound of the door opening fills the room. “Hey sweetie, how’s it going?”
“I feel like I’m drowning in boxes,” I reply honestly, looking around at the massive amount of work ahead of me. “But, on a positive note, I finished that last dress, and the entire show is boxed up and ready to go.”
“That’s awesome!” Emmie exclaims as she crosses the room to give me the awkward sideways squeeze-hug.
“Yeah, but now I have to start packing up all the other stuff to ship back. God, how in the hell did Henry get all of this stuff down to me? It must have taken him forever,” I remark.
“Well, I’m here to help. And then Colin can head over later and carry the boxes to the post office for us.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, thrilled at the offer.
“Of course, you’ve helped us so much over the past couple months between Olivia and the gallery, it’s the least we can do,” Emmie insists, immediately digging in and placing items from the work table in a nearby discarded box.
“You do realize you were the one who opened up your home to me and who has been feeding me every night since I got here,” I remind her.
“And you’d do exactly the same for us,” she replies. We both continue our work in silence until she asks, “Is Henry excited about you coming home?”
I mull over the question in my mind for a few seconds. Had she asked me only weeks ago, the answer would have been a resounding yes, but honestly I just didn’t know what was going on in his head anymore. “I suppose.”
“You suppose?” Emmie parrots, then laughs. “What’s with the melancholy? I thought all you could think about was going home.”
“It was. I do, I mean—” I stammer. “I don’t know. After Thanksgiving I was so sure about where I was and where Henry and I were, but now, every thing just seems screwed up.”
“What are you talking about?” she asks, setting down the scissors in her hand and walking over to face me.
I shake my head. “I just feel … confused.”
“Wait.” Emmie gives me her I’m-gonna-nail-you-with-tough-questions look. “Is this about Christian?”
“No!” I exclaim. “I—maybe. I don’t know.”
“Paige, what’s going on? When Christian left for Dallas you told me you were still certain you were going to marry Henry.”
“And I am.”
“Are you?”
“Jesus,” I huff, collapsing back onto a stiff metal chair. “See what I mean about everything being screwed up?”
“Do you have feelings for Christian?”
“I don’t know, maybe. Since he’s been gone I keep thinking about him. Why am I thinking about him?”
“Thinking about him how?” she pushes.
“All kinds of crap. At first I was upset. I don’t even know if upset’s the right word … annoyed, maybe. He pushes me to have these dates with him and explore my feelings, but then he turns around, and just before I head back to New York to marry another man, he leaves.” Retelling my frustration only seems to stir the feelings in me once more.
“I know it’s hard to understand, but Christian has been trying to get that contact for at least six months. The guy’s really important for plans he has.”
“But I’m not important?” I inquire.
“If you weren’t important he wouldn’t be rushing back early,” Emmie points out.
“How come every man I choose puts his career before me?” I ask, throwing my head back and huffing.
“That’s not fair, seeing as you haven’t chosen Christian; it’s not like you’re his girlfriend. And I thought Henry always put you first?”
“He does, I guess. It just seems like since I got back from Europe he’s always at the office.”
“You were barely home before you came down here, and I believe that was for your own career goals.” Damn it, she always has a way of putting the straight truth on me. I love her and hate her for it.
“You’re right,” I concede. “I think I’m looking for things to be pissed about when I’m really just pissed off at myself.”
“Why?” Emmie now seems as confused as I feel.
“I love Henry. I should have never agreed to those dates. All it did was confuse the situation.”
“Christian will be home tonight,” Emmie says. But I already know this information. I think that is why all of my emotions were coming to a head. “What are you going to do? He’s expecting that third date.”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you do. Maybe you don’t want to admit it. What’s your gut telling you to do?”
I close my eyes, clear my thoughts, and speak the first words that come to mind, “Marry Henry.”
When my eyelids lift, and I peer over at my friend, she looks a little sad. She always tells me to follow my heart, but it’s obvious my heart doesn’t align with her goals.
“Then you need to tell him tonight.” Her words are soft and gentle. I know she’s right. I nod, and we go back to work, making small talk about Colin and Olivia, and eventually, the wedding.
Chapter Twenty-One
A DAY I hoped would drag on for an eternity flies by. After Emmie helped me reach the decision about what needed to happen with Christian, I block him from my thoughts. I spend the rest of the day working along side my best friend.
I laugh harder than I’ve laughed in years as Emmie and I share funny stories of our time together as roommates in New York. Some of the things didn’t seem funny when we were living them, but looking back, they are absolutely hilarious.
One of my favorites is the story about William Stryker. Emmie had met this guy in a park, at the time she thought the meeting was just random, and had no clue he was a private investigator hired by her late husband’s father. After bumping into her, and some heavy flirting, she had agreed to go out on a date with him.
It had been perhaps the worst date of all time. To hear Emmie retell the events from her perspective put an entirely new level of hysteria on it. Em is nice enough to add special effects and voice over impressions of me at the part where I attempted to intervene, threatening this perv wit
h bodily harm. In that moment, I wish I could put her in my pocket and take her back to New York with me. However, I’m relieved she’ll be heading to New York soon after I return and will be staying with me until the wedding.
The evening air is actually quite cool, and I decide to go with jeans, riding boots, a long sleeve, form-fitting black t-shirt, and oversized gray cardigan for my date with Christian. I consider canceling, but then decide it’s only fair for me to share my intentions of following through on my marriage to Henry, in person. It seems like the least I can do, seeing as I agreed to this craziness in the first place.
“Paige, Christian’s here,” I hear Emmie’s voice carry up the staircase. I click the top button on my phone and glance down for the time. Eight o’clock on the nose. Apparently, punctuality is also something new and improved about Christian Bennett.
I stare at my reflection for a moment longer, then with a deep breath, I turn and make my way out of the room and down into the kitchen, where Emmie, Colin, Olivia, and Christian are all standing. Everyone stops and stares at me. I suddenly feel very self-conscious.
“You look incredible,” Christian says, smiling. I notice he’s wearing blue jeans and a button-up plaid shirt. I sigh a breath of relief to know I’m not underdressed for the evening’s plans.
“Thanks, shall we go?” I ask immediately. I want this date to get started, so I can let Christian down gently, and then finally be able to move on with my life.
“Oh— sure,” he says, a little surprised by my forwardness.
“You kids have fun,” Colin says is his best elderly voice, waving to us as we walk out the door. From the corner of my eye, I see Emmie give her husband a swift elbow to his ribs. They really are cute—almost annoyingly so.
“Everything okay?” Christian asks as we approach his truck. He opens the passenger door, awaiting my answer.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”
“Seemed like you wanted a quick exit back there. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I don’t know, I guess I’m just eager to get this show on the road,” I reply, climbing into the truck.
“Missed me that much, huh?” he says and then closes the door before I have a chance to reply.
He walks around and climbs into the driver’s side. I decide to attempt small talk. “So how was your trip?”
He smiles. “Really good, but I missed you like crazy.”
At his admission, I can feel the butterflies start in the pit of my stomach. Focus Paige, you’re going back to New York, and you’re going to marry Henry.
“Wow, nothing, huh?” Christian jokes, apparently surprised his comment doesn’t elicit more of a reaction. Knowing it will only encourage his persistence if he has any indication I might be struggling with our current circumstances, I don’t take the bait.
“Did you get what you wanted out of the trip?” I continue.
Christian looks at me, examining my face, but I simply stare straight ahead, watching the yellow road lines coming at us, one two-foot dash at a time.
“Something seems off, are you sure everything is okay?” he asks me again.
I laugh, trying to convince him that he is being silly for even asking. “Of course. I just wanted to know if you got what you wanted out of your trip.”
Christian furrows his brow, and then his expression shifts into one of acceptance. “Actually, I think the guy’s going to be able to help me out.”
“Oh really?” I prod, hoping to talk about anything except the hope he has of a possible relationship resuming between us.
“Yeah.” There’s excitement in his voice as he talks to me. “He was really impressed with the work I did for him, and he said he’d like to come and take a look at my project after New Year’s and see if he can help out.”
“What project?” I ask, realizing nobody has given me details about this big important thing Christian is working on.
“You’ll soon find out,” he taunts.
“What? Where are we going?” I inquire. I’d assumed we would be grabbing a bite to eat at Roadhouse, but it just registers that he didn’t take the turn he needed to a half-mile back. We’re going somewhere else, but where I don’t know.
“It’s a surprise.”
I’m starting to get frustrated. I planned on a quick dinner, letting him down gently, and being in bed early tonight. “No, please, no surprises tonight. I’m exhausted. I worked all day long, and I thought we were just going on a simple date.”
Christian doesn’t look at me—just stares straight ahead. We begin to slow, our headlights pulling to the left-hand side of the road. At last, they shine onto a gravel drive, and Christian breaks his silence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you’d be so tired. This is our last date, and since there’s a good chance you’ll be going back to New York for good, I wanted it to be special.”
Did he just say what I think he said? Perhaps Christian is starting to come to his senses. Maybe he realizes there’s no chance I’m ever going to leave Henry for him.
“I don’t understand, where are we going?” I ask.
He seems nervous. I have no idea where he could possibly be taking me. I look out the right window; the landscape is shifting, the trees increasing in density all around us.
“I thought it might be nice to have a picnic,” he says.
“At night?” I ask, staring at him, and then looking around again. “In the forest?”
“Eh— not exactly,” he begins. “Well, at night, and technically in a forest, but I like to think of it as a castle in a forest.”
“Christian!” I blurt out, frustrated by the lack of a straight answer. “What cast—” But before I can finish my thought, he rounds a corner, and a building comes into focus. At least what looks like it can be a building, eventually—a large portion still appears to be a shell.
When the headlights reposition to the front of the structure, I see plenty of construction gear come into focus, stones stacked to the left, and pallets of wood that are covered with tarps to the right.
“Welcome to my home sweet home,” he says. I sit there, speechless and confused. “Or at least it will be, if I can ever finish the damn place.”
“Wait, what?” I gasp. “You’re building this?”
“Every piece from scratch,” he boasts proudly.
I look back and stare at the structure. To the left are windows that reach from floor to ceiling, and extend all the way down the wall, leading to two oversized wooden doors. It’s obvious the doors have some sort of pattern carved into them, but I’m too far away to make it out.
“I can’t believe this.”
“Well, I guess I can’t say just me. Colin helps whenever he has spare time, and deals like the one I was trying to make in Dallas will help a lot,” he continues.
“What deal?” I ask, not waiting for him, but opening the passenger door, stepping out onto the drive, taking in the insane amount of detail around me.
“I need massive steel beams brought in, and one set into that giant oak tree back there for support.”
I squint, trying to see what he is talking about, the dark shielding my vision somewhat. Then it becomes clear. “Is the house built around that tree?”
“Yeah it is, pretty cool, right,” Christian says, barely able to contain his excitement. “But when we started working on the roof we discovered some logistics about the tree expanding. So I need to build an atrium around the tree in order to allow room for the trunk to expand through the years. I had to have a structural engineer come out, and it set the project way back. Everything seems to be getting back on track though.”
“This place is incredible.” I remark, walking up the flagstone steps.
“I thought you’d like it.”
“I can’t believe you never told me about it. I’ve been here for two months,” I mutter, reaching down and touching the stone steps as I walk by.
“I was nervous.”
“What on Earth would you have to be nervous ab
out?”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t like it. It’s important to me that you do.” There’s so much about his statement that frightens me. I decide to change the subject.
Climbing up to the front door, I stop and turn to look at him. He’s staring at me with a huge grin across his face. I feel my cheeks flush hot. “It’s so big. Won’t you get lonely all by yourself?”
“I didn’t build it for myself,” he answers, moving past me, and turning the knob to the large wooden door before pushing it open. As I take a step forward, the timer on the headlights clicks off, and I lose my footing in the darkness. Reaching out, I grab Christian’s arm and steady myself.
“Then who did you build it for?” I inquire. “An investment?”
He shakes his head, “I guess, in a way. One day, I hope to raise my family here.” The idea of him creating a family with another woman makes my chest ache, though I know a family is something he wants. “Here, hold onto the wall, and let me get the lights.”
Reaching out a hand and placing an open palm on the cool wall, I stand, waiting for the room to be illuminated.
“I wish I could see this place in the daylight,” I comment.
Christian doesn’t say a word; I can hear him fiddling with something in the corner. And in a second, the room comes to life before my eyes. A warm yellow strand of bulbs is strung back and forth throughout the room, across the large wooden rafters over our heads. A second later I hear Weezer start playing from a speaker in the corner. Instinctively, my hand shifts to my wrist, and I run my fingers over the tattoo of lyrics. He sees me.
“Does it bother him you have that?” he asks.
“He just thinks it’s an inspirational tattoo, but he doesn’t know the story behind it,” I explain.
“Why didn’t you tell him?” Christian asks me pointedly.
“I didn’t want him to hate something on my body. If he knew the story behind the tattoos, it would change the way he saw it.”
“It doesn’t seem right to lie to the one you love.” I’m annoyed by the judgment in his statement.