by Leigh, Tara
Their protests silenced, Tucker turns his back on his parents and faces me again, an enormous diamond ring appearing in his hand. “Poppy Whitman, it’s about time we start building a life together. Will you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”
The restaurant is quiet. Not just our table, but the entire room. Horror is gusting my way from the other side of the table, but I’m still processing the contentious exchange that just happened between Tucker and his parents. More importantly, the fact that Tucker stood up for me. He was calm but firm, and he didn’t back down an inch. Now Tucker’s smile is wide and encouraging, though it falters a bit as I hesitate.
I feel like an overblown balloon, my skin stretched so tightly that I’m in danger of splitting apart. I’ve only imagined this moment with Gavin. Had pictured him doing something like hiding a ring inside a deck of cards, or proposing during a hike through the nature preserve back in Sackett. It would be just the two of us, and he would tell me all the reasons he loved me, all the reasons we were meant to be.
“Tucker, I—” The diamond shoots a prism of light at my unbandaged eye, blinding me. For a moment, I’m back in that hospital room, waking up naked beneath a sheet. Overwhelmed by terror and pain and confusion. But then the light shifts and I see Tucker’s face again. He’s spent every moment since that awful morning making up for his mistake. I forgave him the night we walked along Fifth Avenue, snowflakes dusting our eyelashes as we took in the magic and wonder of the holiday window displays. We made our own magic just hours later.
Tucker is as comfortable and confident in a bunny suit as he is in his lacrosse uniform or custom-tailored tux. And now he’s offering me exactly what I’ve craved since I saw it captured so perfectly in the pages of a magazine.
They look so… perfect. Meant to be. Like nothing bad has ever happened to them. Like nothing bad ever will.
I thought Gavin and I were a perfect couple. But he’s not here. He left me.
Tucker is here now. He is my future.
With Tucker, I’ll have an elegant life, a beautiful home, and the security of knowing I belong.
And with his ring, Tucker is promising something else. Forever.
A lifetime with a man I can count on, a true partner who won’t ever leave me. A man who just showed me that he’ll always be in my corner, even against his own parents.
That night, his mistake, isn’t a reason to refuse Tucker’s proposal. If anything, it’s a reason to accept. I’ve seen Tucker at his worst. I am part of his deepest regret.
In a very strange, and maybe even bizarre way—it’s almost like insurance. Because one day, I am bound to hurt him, to disappoint him. To prove I am not perfect and maybe even unworthy. But Tucker will have to forgive me. He’ll have to give me a second chance.
Just like I did for him.
My answer is suddenly at the tip of my tongue, as if it has been there all along. “I will.”
Chapter 31
New York City
Three Months Later
“You’re meeting with the wedding planner today, right?” Tucker asks, his eyes automatically scanning my outfit.
And your mother. “Yes. What do you think, do I look okay?” I shift anxiously in my Jimmy Choo shoes, as beautiful as they are uncomfortable, watching his face for any sign of disapproval.
I haven’t forgotten his parent’s unequivocal objection to our engagement. And although I understand their perspective—their only son proposing to a girl they barely know, in front of the girl who’s already like a daughter to them—but it still chafes. I am determined to win Mrs. Stockton over.
My dress is probably the least of my concerns though. After all, Tucker bought everything I’m wearing and most of the clothes now hanging in my closet. Not long after we moved in together, he’d insisted on reenacting that scene in Pretty Woman—the one with Julia Roberts trying on clothes and Richard Gere either approving or rejecting each outfit.
It’s not as much fun as they made it look. I felt like a mannequin Tucker was dressing up in clothes that fit my body, but didn’t fit me. Maybe that was the point though. Because Poppy Whitman doesn’t live in a Tribeca loft and she certainly can’t afford to shop at Saks.
But Tucker’s fiancée, Poppy soon-to-be-Stockton, does and can. And that’s who I am now. Because of Tucker, I’m becoming the woman I’ve always wanted to be.
I wear pretty dresses to glamorous parties.
I live in a home filled with beautiful things.
I drink coffee, not wine, from a mug without a single chip.
I am building a life with a man who loves me. A man who will never abandon me.
And… when the director of TeenCharter called with the news that they were expanding into New York City and looking for a programming coordinator, I was able to give notice at the marketing company where I was in the management training program and take a significant pay cut to do something that actually makes a difference in people’s lives.
Now, Tucker’s lips curve into a smile and he brushes a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my neck. “You look beautiful,” he says. I kiss him as a wave of relief washes through me. Not quite enough to drown my nerves, but enough to propel me out of the closet and into a cab.
I want our wedding to be above reproach. So perfect that no one will have any excuse to criticize Tucker’s choice of bride. Which is why I asked his mother to help plan our wedding. The best way to silence someone’s objection is to make them a part of the process. Cecelia immediately hired Xenia, Manhattan’s premier wedding planner. She arrives at the Stockton’s townhouse in a cloud of perfume and poise, wearing a floor-length fox coat despite the warm weather.
We sit in the formal dining room, though the trays of finger sandwiches and assorted crudités arranged on the sideboard go ignored.
“Let’s discuss locations, shall we?” Xenia’s voice is vaguely European, although I can’t pinpoint the country.
I’ve been poring over bridal magazines and stalking wedding websites. I have a notebook full of notes with me and a Pinterest board ready to show them. “I was thinking maybe Central Park. Or the Rainbow Room at Rockefeller—”
Cecelia interrupts. “My son will be married at the Metropolitan Club, of course.”
My face flushes with embarrassment. How could I be so stupid? I hadn’t even considered the private, old money social club on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Sixtieth Street, originally founded in the late 1800s by J.P. Morgan and a few other prominent industrialists, whose names are well known to this day. Vanderbilt, Whitney, Roosevelt.
According to Tucker, the men of his family have been members of the Metropolitan Club for over one hundred years. When he brings me there, it’s easy to imagine a time when elegant horses would have trotted along a cobblestoned Fifth Avenue and turned onto Sixtieth Street, coming to a halt outside the Sanford White designed building. With its tall Corinthian columns and intricate wrought iron gates, it’s a throwback to a different era, the kind of place I never would have known existed if not for Tucker.
Not just anyone can have a wedding at the Metropolitan Club. Exclusive and elegant, it’s the perfect place.
Thank God Cecelia is here. Who knows how many mistakes I would have made on my own?
Xenia makes a note in her Hermes portfolio. “Of course. Any thoughts on the menu?”
“Oh. Um, yes, I—”
“I’ve already arranged to have a private tasting with the chef, but we’re thinking lobster, Kobe beef, and duck as the proteins.”
“Lovely. How about the date?”
“Tucker and I—”
At this, my future mother-in-law turns to me, her hand hovering over my forearm. “I’m sure you both believe a long engagement is best, right?”
I nod shakily. At this point, I don’t trust myself to say my own name. And if Tucker takes issue with it, I’ll tell him the delay is due to scheduling rather than his mother’s insistence.
She flips throug
h her calendar, murmuring things like “that’s the month we’ll be in Gstaad, we’d hate to miss the Grand Prix in Monaco, we’ll be on the yacht for much of the summer.” Finally, she taps a manicured fingernail on a page at the very end of her agenda, eighteen months away.
“What do you think, dear?”
I swallow the heavy knot of uncertainly in my throat. “That’s perfect.”
Later, when I share the wedding details with Tucker, he only frowns for a moment at the far off date before looking at me with open admiration shining from his eyes. “Come here,” he says, pulling me into his arms.
I exhale a relieved sigh, nestling into his embrace.
Tucker lowers his mouth to my ear, his breath sending a shiver down my spine. “I can’t wait to make you mine, forever.”
Chapter 32
New York City
One and a half Years Later
It’s been ten years since I first met Gavin. A decade since I went for a walk in the woods and was startled by a beautiful boy with wild tawny hair and wide bee-stung lips and a fading bruise beneath his left eye.
A lot has happened in that time. Laughter and love, tears and heartbreak. I went from a child to an adult, from a girl to a woman. Next week, I will be a bride, then a wife.
But whatever maturity I’ve gained, the experiences that have informed my composure…
All of it is ripped away from me in an instant, as if it had never been there at all.
Stolen by the one man who will always hold a slice of my heart in his hands, a piece of my soul in his stare.
Gavin.
At the sight of him, leaning oh so casually against a marble pillar in the lobby of my apartment building, the blood drains from my face, a ripple of awareness cartwheeling down my spine. Holy shit, Gavin. The struggle to process my shock is compounded a thousand times over by an instinctive, unfiltered, undiluted joy.
When my footsteps slow, Gavin closes the distance between us until we are so close that I can see the stubble dusting his jaw like the fine-grained sand. So close that his cerulean gaze cuts right through me. So close that the magnetic pull between us draws me even closer.
Silence stretches out as I force myself to stand my ground. I cannot waver, cannot be swayed by the yearning that flickers in the contours of his face, by the suggestion of a smile chased away, too soon, by his wounded scowl, by hands that almost, almost, reach out for me.
I’m so sorry, Gavin. So sorry that I’ve done this to us.
“Is it true?” he finally blurts, his voice leaden as he pins me with a broken stare.
“Is what true?” I finally manage to say, although what I want to do is throw myself at Gavin’s feet and beg his forgiveness. To leap into his arms hold on tight.
To find out if Gavin still smells like clean laundry and pinecones. If our hearts will still sync to the same rhythm.
I want to go back in time, to the way we were, to the place we fell in love, to the people we used to be.
I want…
“You’re getting married.” Gavin’s eyes drop to my left hand, not a question but a statement.
“I—” Words fail me and I look over Gavin’s shoulder, as if I can make sense of everything that’s happened to keep us apart. I don’t find an explanation, but I do catch the interested stare of one of the building’s security guards. “Let’s not do this here. Will you come up?”
I immediately regret it. Not because I don’t want to talk with Gavin privately, but because I know Tucker will be furious if he finds out. I should have suggested that we go to the Starbucks around the corner, or for a walk.
But Gavin gives a terse nod, and I lead him to the bank of elevators at the back of the building, the guard’s disapproving stare penetrating the thin fabric of my blouse. We stand facing front, the subtle chime as we pass each floor emphasizing our awkward silence.
“Can I get you something?” I ask as soon as we get inside. “Soda, water? Something stronger?” Isla, the housekeeper Tucker hired, was here this morning. Every pillow has been fluffed and puffed, the edges perfectly straight. There is not a speck of dust to be found on any surface. And the airs smells of lemons and bleach.
“I’m fine,” he replies.
I drop my purse on the console table and walk to the couch. Gavin follows, taking a seat in the adjacent chair. “I’m sorry. I—” My voice falters and I look down at my hands, fighting the urge to twist my engagement ring around my finger until the sparkling diamond is hidden. Not that it matters, Gavin has already seen it.
“When’s the big day?”
I clear my throat. “Next week.”
Gavin leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “Poppy, are you sure about this?” His eyes make a quick sweep of the room before landing back on me. “Is this really what you want?”
The disapproval in Gavin’s tone reminds me uncomfortably of Tucker’s parents, and I bristle at the implication that my marriage is merely a ploy to get a nice apartment. Which isn’t true. And even if it was, what difference would it make? I’ve made my decision. Too much has happened, I can’t go back now. Gavin deserves to move on, too.
“Yes. I’m happy.” I reach for Gavin’s arm, stopping myself just in time. I can’t bear to know if I’ll feel the impact down to my bones.
Because Gavin wouldn’t say Tucker’s name, I emphasize it now. “Tucker makes me happy.” The apartment, the clothes, the ease that comes from financial security—all of that is window dressing. Tucker makes me feels safe. Truly. We’re building a life together. Gavin needs to know this.
“No.” Gavin shakes his head. “Poppy, I don’t know what lies you’ve been feeding yourself but there’s no way—” He breaks off, his eyes dragging over my body. But his gaze isn’t adoring, it’s anguished. As if looking at me physically hurts. “For God’s sake, have you been eating? What has he done to you?”
I don’t have to look in a mirror to know I look different than I used to. These days I wear designer clothes that have been tailored to fit my body perfectly. I don’t buy secondhand clothes or throw my badly cut, tangled hair into a messy ponytail. My makeup is artfully applied, my hair blown out and pin straight. I’m thin, but not nearly as thin as I could be, as thin as Wren.
Anger wells up inside me, and I embrace the searing warmth that floods my body. It is infinitely preferable to the doubt and uncertainty that are my usual companions. I don’t need to explain myself to Gavin. How dare he come back into my life, acting as if I’ve betrayed him by moving on and forging a life of my own—after he left me?
“Get out,” I say flatly, pointing at the door. “Get out and don’t come back.”
Gavin doesn’t move. “You can’t answer me, can you? You don’t even realize what he’s done. This… plastic person he’s turned you into.”
“He is going to be my husb—”
Gavin cuts me off. “I was supposed to be your husband!”
I stare at him now, slack-jawed and dizzy. Gavin’s words have knocked the wind out of me. I fumble for something to say, something to do. And maybe because I’m light-headed and off-balance, my thoughts become disordered and nonsensical, my imagination taking me to a place that doesn’t, cannot, exist. A future—with Gavin—that is impossible to achieve.
But, for a moment… No, longer than that. A lifetime, condensed into the span of seconds, I see what we could be, feel the life we could have as if I’m holding it in my hands. My heart swells with happiness, and I’m warmed by the glow of the white light that accompanies a near-death moment. But instead of actual memories, I’m flooded with sparkling, mystical glimpses of a path not yet taken. Memories that have yet to be made.
“Poppy?” Gavin’s voice cuts into my consciousness, bringing me back to reality.
I open my eyes, blinking away the fantasy even as it slips through my fingers, evaporating in front of me. It’s not real, and I’m not in some faraway future. I’m here, in New York City. In Tribeca. In the apartment I share with Tucker.
; If it wasn’t for Tucker, my mom would still be in jail, or maybe even dead. If it wasn’t for Tucker—I couldn’t spend my days helping kids thrust into the foster system, as lost and aching as I once was.
I turn my gaze back to Gavin. This sight of him hurts. Oh God, how it hurts. His soldier’s body is tense and taut beneath his simple clothes, his face the embodiment of nobility and steadfastness. Life with Gavin would be simpler, maybe even easier. But making the choice to diverge from the path I’ve taken is not at all simple, not at all easy.
I accepted Tucker’s proposal; I have promised him my future. I won’t abandon him. Not even for Gavin.
The waxed, parquet floor has turned to mud beneath me, sucking at my heels and squishing between my toes, but I know what I have to do. The past ten years have taught me that not all risks are rewarded and reckless decisions always come with consequences. Harsh, corrosive consequences.
I’ve learned my lesson. I am taking the safe road, clinging to the highest ground.
Gavin abandoned me once before, and I will not give him the chance to do it again.
Which is why I have to cut the cord between Gavin and I once and for all. I have to, for us. If there’s any hope of keeping our memories intact, of not ruining our beautiful past with the bitterness of our current reality.
My body is a vault of sadness, filled with nothing but heart-breaking, soul-crushing loss, invisible atoms of wrenching pain tearing me apart. I would give anything to avoid it, to spare Gavin from it, but this is our path. And it ends here. It has to.
“No, Gavin. We were just kids, daydreaming. You don’t even know me anymore.”
“I do. I know you and I want you and I love you. Come with me, Poppy.” He reaches for my hand. “Come with me, we’ll—”
“No!” I wrench away from him, gathering all of my resolve to say what needs to be said. “I don’t love you anymore, Gavin. I’m sorry.” Shit. Shit. No, don’t believe me. Please, don’t believe me.