by Unknown
Turns out this visit and overnight trip was all because she wanted to tell me—or Bryce and me —about this in person. She wanted some reassurance. My mom wants me to affirm her. I never thought that day would come. So I do. I assure her that everything will be great, and marriage is hard but I wouldn’t trade it for the world, and love is everlasting, and she’ll never regret being married if she loves Adam.
None of what I tell her are lies.
Marrying Bryce was one of the best things I’ve ever done.
I wouldn’t trade what our marriage once was for anything in the world.
I don’t regret marrying Bryce.
What’s really true is marriage is hard. Harder than I ever imagined or was prepared for.
What I don’t tell her is I think I pushed my husband too far, that I shut him out a little too long, and that I’m more lost than I’ve ever been. That I hurt, and it hurts too badly to hurt with him, so I hurt him by doing it alone, and now I am alone and I have no real clue what to do about it.
Nicole is who I call when I go shopping. She’s the friend who will tell you when your butt looks too flat in jeans or if a color washes you out or when you look downright doable. Unfortunately—or fortunately for her—she’s in Miami, planning some socialite’s bachelorette party. But thanks to the internet, I’m saved. I’ve already texted her I need her fashion sense, and she picks up her Facetime, showing off her Tom Ford sunglasses, bikini-clad body, and sun-kissed skin.
“You look amazing and like you’re having so much fun,” I say with a pout.
“I told you to come. You’re your own boss. You could be right here next to me, throwing back tequila sunrises,” she teases.
“That sounds so tempting, but I am not allowing myself any vacations until I get this book done. I may end up being the waiter serving those if nothing comes to me soon.”
“You’ll be fine, you always are. So what are we dressing you for?”
I tell her about the representation offer and where we’ll be having dinner, and she listens intently. Fashion is serious for her, and she takes in every detail like a doctor listening to a patient describing symptoms.
“Well, congratulations, honeybun!” she says with the enthusiasm only she could pull off without sounding insincere.
“Thank you, Nic”
“I’m so, so proud of you. Is Bryce going with you? Do you need to complement what he’s wearing?”
I shake my head. “No, it’ll just be me and the agent.”
She takes off her glasses and gives me a serious look. “Isn’t it weird for you guys to be meeting for dinner? Wouldn’t lunch be more appropriate? What all could you possibly have to talk about? Are you doing all the courses? What if the conversation is stale and awkward?”
I give her the look Kelsey and I give her when she’s being overly critical and negative.
“Forget what I said,” she says cheerfully. The Miami sun and drinks have made her much less argumentative. “It really doesn’t matter what you’re wearing. They’re impressed with your writing, so you could waltz in with overalls and you’d be fine.” I know she’s had more than a few drinks, because she’s never said it doesn’t matter what you’re wearing in her whole life.
“I don’t want to go in with overalls,” I tell her pointedly, watching as she downs another tequila sunrise. I must be killing her beach weather buzz by standing in a room where my husband didn’t even sleep. I wonder if she can feel the chill from here. “I want to look nice. He’s this big shot from New York, and I’d like to impress him a little.”
She sits up as if I have her attention. “How old is he? Is he cute?”
“He looks about our age, and he’s handsome. I’m sure he could turn a couple of heads.”
She raises an eyebrow at me. “What did you say his name was?”
I tell her again, and our Facetime call pauses. I sigh and roll my eyes. I’m sure she’s googling him now.
When she comes back, she says, “You bitch! Turn a couple of heads? More like the entire room’s head. Necks would break from the stares this guy would get.”
She’s so overdramatic.
“Of course you don’t notice things like that. You’re immune, since you get to look at Bryce whenever you want.” She sighs.
“If it turns out he’s single, how about I drop a mention of you?”
She perks up. “Okay, so are you going for sexy and ‘so sad for you, can’t touch because I’m married’? Or ‘you better get me big deals because I’m hot stuff’?”
“Uh, the second one I guess.” I laugh.
“Okay, open your closet.”
I show her several dresses, most of which she refers to as grandma-ish. She only approves of one. It’s grey and form-fitting, only showing a “peakage of cleavage,” as she calls it. She tells me it’s perfect.
“Thank you, hon. I think it’s perfect. I’ll make sure to bring you up.”
“Only if it’s natural, he has big hands, and he smells fantastic.” She winks and blows me a kiss before ending the call.
I get butterflies in my stomach as the Uber pulls up to the restaurant. I couldn’t bring myself to reach out to Tiffany by phone. Like a coward, I sent her an email with the contract and a lame apology regarding my behavior at dinner. Like the sweetheart she is, she told me I had no need to apologize, how excited she was for me, and gave me the okay after looking it over.
So I shouldn’t be nervous. I shouldn’t be. Davien and I’ve already pretty much agreed it’s a go and really just a free meal. Who turns down a free meal? Not me, especially at one of my favorite restaurants.
When I walk into Maestro’s, I’m engulfed by the smell of delicious food, and the live band beats along with my heart. I’m almost transported back to the days when Bryce and I came here. The creep of nostalgia becomes clouded with bittersweetness, and I push the feeling to the bottom of my stomach. I’ll drown it with a glass of wine. Not too many, of course. This isn’t the typical dinner, and I want to remain as sharp as I can.
I check in with the maître d, and he informs me Davien’s already here and waiting at the bar. The bar is more crowded than I thought it’d be on a Monday night, but it’s easy to spot Davien. I walk up and tap him on the shoulder. He turns toward me, and I remind myself to swallow.
“Chassidy!” His voice is husky and smoother than it sounded over the Facetime call.
“Davien Marx.”
He’s in black slacks and a dark blue collared shirt that’s rolled up to his elbows. His eyes aren’t as dark as they seemed on our call, but grey, almost pale. His skin is perfectly tanned, as if he just left the beach. His hair is long but not messy, perfectly in place, and a dangerous line of stubble crosses his jaw. His shoulders are wide and broad, not slender as I thought from our video call. Those butterflies in my stomach have returned.
“I hope you haven’t been here long.”
“Only about fifteen minutes, but there’s never too much time at the bar.” He laughs, and it’s rich like it comes right up from his belly. “I’ll go let the hostess know we’re ready.”
He stands and squeezes through the sea of people. He returns quickly, following the hostess, and she leads us to our table. I go to sit, but Davien’s quick to pull out my chair.
“Thank you,” I say, noticing the goose bumps breaking out on my arms. He smells amazing, which isn’t surprising since he looks as if he just stepped out of an Armani ad.
Our table is in the quieter, and frankly more intimate, section of the restaurant. The lighting is dimmer, and looking around, it seems as if most of the patrons are couples out for a romantic meal. I swallow hard. I wonder if that’s what we look like to the outside eye. I wish I had made it a point to tell Bryce about this. He knows so many people and if someone spots me, they could misconstrue this meal.
“Is everything okay? Would you like a different table?” he asks.
My discomfort must be blaring on my face. “Oh no, this is completely fine.”
/> “Are you sure?” he asks, with an amused grin.
I must be rather unconvincing. “No, totally. I just… I don’t remember if I locked my door at home. I’ll call the maintenance guy in a little while.”
If he isn’t convinced, he’s a much better actor than I am. He gives me a million-dollar smile and says, “So, welcome to the family.”
“Thank you.” I pick up the water glass and let it lubricate my dry throat.
The man is gorgeous, and as I sit across him, I enjoy a firsthand view. His hair is dark, almost black, and he has the kind of thick long lashes that women pay for. His dark hair and light eyes are an odd combination but almost perfect. He’s handsome in such a different way from Bryce and my cute next-door neighbor. There’s something alluring about Davien. He has a presence that is large and consuming, and I realize that it may not only be his killer negotiation skills and good taste in literature that make him so successful. The right glance from this man could make a woman sign her life away.
His eyes watch me as if he’s waiting on something. Oh of course, the papers.
“I have something for you,” I tell him, pulling out the Kate Spade file folder Kelsey bought me for my birthday last year.
I take out the papers, and his grin stretches into a magnificent smile. He looks through them quickly, searching for my signature, and when he’s satisfied, his attention turns to me.
“Looks like we’re official.” His voice is naturally deep, the kind of voice that could be on radio, but his face is too beautiful for that.
The waitress appears, tells us the night’s special, and asks what we’d like to drink. I order a glass of white wine and he asks her for the bottle. The waitress seems entranced by him, but I can’t blame her. I wonder if he knows the effect his eyes and smile could have on a woman. He has his own atmosphere that could easily suck a woman in. A single woman, that is. When the waitress disappears, I take another sip of water.
“So tell me what your author bio doesn’t.” he says, putting his elbows on the table.
“Um, well, I…” I draw a blank. What does my author bio even say?
He looks amused, and I feel myself blush. I probably seem like an idiot right now and he’s only seconds away from rescinding the contract.
“Are you nervous?” he asks.
I’m a little taken aback. You don’t ask a nervous person if they’re nervous. “Maybe a little.”
“It astounds me when such beautiful, talented women become nervous around me.”
My mouth falls open a bit. Did he just say that?
“I shouldn’t have said that?” he asks, displaying a boyish grin. I’m unsure if the question is rhetorical. “You have to forgive me. If I didn’t make my agency so much money, I’d have been fired a long time ago.” He says it casually, his confidence bordering on cockiness.
I tell myself not to let my eyes go to his mouth, which makes me do exactly that. Is this how all New Yorkers are? Confident, casual and saying whatever’s on their mind?
“I’m sorry, it’s just been a long day,” I tell him, demanding the degree I spent a lot of money on to take effect on my verbal skills. At this point, I’d settle for my eighth grade diploma to kick in.
“I think the solution to that is arriving,” he says with a grin.
The waitress approaches with the chilled bottle of wine and pours me a glass. As she attempts to do the same for him, he covers his.
“I thought you said you liked being at bars?” I ask.
“I don’t go to the bar for drinks.” He flashes me a flirtations grin. “Probably shouldn’t have said that either, huh?”
This time I laugh because he’s funny, not out of nerves. I can tell the waitress is suppressing a smile as well. He winks at her, making the poor girl blush.
“So what should I have?” he asks me, giving me his full attention again. Those eyes lock on my face, his head slightly tilted, looking at me as if I’m the most interesting thing in the world.
I clear my throat. “Their steak is magical. Bryce loves the lobster. Everything I’ve had here is fantastic.” I perk up at the thought of the delicious food I’ll soon be having.
“Well, who can turn down magic?” he says, his eyes sweeping over me. He bites his lip before he orders a steak done medium well.
I order the same, cooked medium.
“And for your sides?” the waitress asks, trying her hardest to keep her eyes off my dinner companion.
“How is the lobster mac?” he asks, and I laugh imagining it.
“Sinful.”
“Definitely won’t turn down a little bit of sin,” he says, and I swear his voice sounds raspier than it was.
“They’re large enough to share,” our waitress adds.
“What do you say?” he asks.
I swallow harder than I intend to. “Why not just go crazy and have two?” I giggle like I do when I’m nervous, but it’s better than when my laugh is inappropriately loud.
The waitress takes our menus and disappears, leaving us alone. I’m curious about what will come out of this man’s mouth next, but I’m almost afraid of it too.
“So what do you see for your career?”
That makes me relax a bit. My career is a mildly tame subject, though I’d pay to see him have this conversation with an erotica writer. I tell him that I’d like to explore different genres, that I’d love to have my books translated into different languages. If I could see my book in stores, that would be a dream, but it’s not a priority.
“You’re too easy.” He laughs, and I smile nervously. “What about the New York Times list, a Today Show spot, your characters coming alive on the big screen?”
If I hadn’t already signed the contract, I’d think he was selling me. He speaks with such passion and conviction.
“I mean, all of that would be fantastic,” I say cautiously.
“I can do that for you.”
“Great!”
“Do you trust me?” he asks, and I think that’s an odd question.
“Well, I’ve already signed the papers.”
“So tonight we celebrate.” He lifts his glass of water.
I pick up my wine, and we clink. “To celebrating.”
3 years earlier
“You really ready to get married, man?” Jax asks as we sit on his parents’ yacht while he smokes his self-confessed last joint.
“I was ready six months ago.”
He shakes his head at me for the fifth time since I’ve told him I’m going to propose. “I mean, Chas’s great, beautiful, a sweetheart, and I know she loves you but…”
“That’s the thing, there are no buts,” I say, waving the smoke away. I haven’t smoked pot in about two years, and I forgot how disgusting really good pot smells. Jax only grows the best. “She’s the only person I want to be with.”
“Yeah, right now.” He coughs a bit and passes the joint to me.
I pass it over to Tiffany.
“I think it’s amazing, Bryce. It’s so mature and magical,” she says before taking a puff.
I appreciate her encouragement, but she’s high out of her mind right now. “It is magical, Tiff. Jax, when you find the right person, it won’t seem so crazy to you.”
“I don’t know, man, the same girl year after year after year?” he says in the most depressing, confused tone I’ve ever heard him use.
“Forever,” I finish for him.
“You make it sound like a bad TV show that stays on too long,” Tiffany says with a pout.
“And why are we listening to Christmas music?” I ask as the chipmunks sing about Christmas. “It’s the middle of June.”
“It helps us relax,” Tiffany says. She and Jax burst into laughter.
“I could probably do it if I could smoke every day,” Jax adds, staring into the sky.
“Can I see the ring again?” Tiffany squeals.
I take it out and hand her the ring I’ve saved up four months for. I’ve had to restrain myself from
giving it to her every day I see her. It’s a princess-cut diamond with pink sapphires. Not too showy but eye-catching, just like my girl.
“So what if she doesn’t say yes?” Jax asks.
Tiffany reaches over me and swats him.
“You’re really negative on the herb, man,” I say, annoyed. He seems like he’s picking up more from Kira every day.
“She’s going to say yes, and you guys are going to have tons of cute kids and a farm.”
“Who said anything about a farm?” I ask.
“You need a farm for the kids.”
“No, pigs, I think you’re thinking of pigs,” Jax tells her. “You know Kira thinks it’s creepy that you want to propose on the yacht. She said if she says no, you’re going to push her off, like that guy did his wife on their honeymoon.”
“If I were proposing to Kira, I’d throw myself off,” I tell him.
“Kira’s not so bad.”
“Dude, you can do so much better.”
We both look at Tiffany in surprise. I knew she had some disdain for Kira, but she’s never said it outright.
“You don’t like Kira?” Jax asks.
I stand and pull them both up. “Okay, I’ve got to get everything ready for tonight, so if you two could kindly finish this conversation in the house, that would be great.”
The weather is perfect, and the crew Jax hired is excellent. I wanted everything to be perfect for her, and I even picked up food from her favorite restaurant. It was all planned—then I got the phone call that she has the flu.
Her mom answers the door with the same suspicious look she’s had every time she sees me. Even though I’ve been with her daughter for over a year and half, she always looks at me as if I’m a con man. “Hello, Bryce.”
“It’s always good to see you, Evelyn.” I flash her the smile that’s made every other girl’s mother swoon, but Evelyn just glares.
“She doesn’t want to see you. She looks terrible,” she says dryly.