by Sara Celi
The desk attendant clicked through a few screens on the computer monitor in front of him, then walked us through the final plans for the weekend. We had a few hours to explore until the rehearsal on the lawn at five thirty, followed by cocktails at six, and dinner in the pavilion gallery. The wedding will start at four thirty tomorrow, with an hour of drinks immediately following the ceremony, and the reception afterward.
In all, it was a rather elegant weekend, but I expected no less. The Colony Hotel carried a four-and-a-half-star rating, and the property was steps away from some of the most expensive shopping in South Florida. My aunt and uncle wanted every one of their guests to understand what they could afford, and they could afford a lot.
I sent up another silent thank you to God that I hadn’t shown up to this wedding dateless and desperate. I had James with me, and he’d be my safety net if—when—I needed one.
“Wonderful,” the desk attendant said when it became obvious that we didn’t have any questions about the schedule of events. “Now, I have you checked in to room four sixteen, a beautiful room with an ocean view, spa bath, and king-sized bed.”
I faltered. “But, I … I’m sorry … I … I know I booked a room with two queen beds.” I reached for my purse. “I have a confirmation email right here and—”
“Since you’re part of the wedding party, we’ve upgraded you to one of our premier rooms. Everyone got one. It’s our way of saying thank you for having your event here.” The man blinked at me a few times. “Is there a problem with this?”
I gulped. Of course, something like this would happen to me. And an upgrade would normally be a good thing, but … I darted my gaze to James. We hadn’t talked about sleeping arrangements for this trip. I had just assumed it wouldn’t be a problem. “Well, I—”
The desk attendant typed a few more keys on his desktop. “I’m afraid we can’t change this upgrade in our system, so”—he picked up the keycards for the room— “are you taking it?”
“We’ll take it. The room sounds amazing,” James said. “There’s no issue at all.”
I turned to him. “Are you sure?”
“No issue.” He winked at the clerk. “Thank you.”
“It’s our pleasure. We want our guests to have a wonderful time while they are here on the island.” The man then gave us some final information about the room before we took the keys and headed to the elevator, then the fourth floor.
When we arrived at the room, I turned to James.
“So, here we are.”
“Yep. Luxury upgrade coming right at us.”
I took a deep breath then slid the keycard in the lock and opened the door to what could only have been described as one of the most beautiful rooms I’d ever seen. Pale green carpet, a sky-blue bedspread, a four-poster king-sized bed, wide view of the ocean, splashes of palm fronds, and some red throw pillows all set the tone for the room. Somehow, the bright colors of the decor had a flow, and the setup certainly said, welcome to vacation.
“What do you think?” I asked as I walked into the room. I placed my carry-on bag in the rattan chair opposite the bed then put my suitcase on the floor next to it.
“It’s … well, it’s overwhelming.”
The laugh I’d been holding inside escaped my lips. “It’s also very Julie. Trust me. She’s a little over the top.” I surveyed the room and then realized that, while it might have been an upgrade, the room also didn’t have any extra space for a rollaway bed or a pullout couch. “So … we … um—”
“I’ll sleep on the floor if you want.” James opened the closet and put his luggage on the top shelf. He turned back to me. “After all, I’m your guest. Your last-minute tagalong. You’re the one with the championship at stake.” He laughed. “You’re going to need your rest if you want to win.”
I snickered. “No, no way. You can’t sleep on the floor.” I glanced at the bed again. “That would be awful considering the—”
“Good.” He crossed the room and sat on the fluffy comforter. “Because this is a nice bed, and I have a bad back sometimes.”
I studied him for a breath. Who was this guy, and why in the world had he dropped into my life? Most men I knew didn’t act like him. They weren’t gentlemen, and they didn’t make jokes. They weren’t nice. Worse than that, they didn’t do anything kind without wanting repayment in return. I only had to think about my ex-boyfriend, Nick, to remember that fact.
“I can’t figure you out, James.”
“What’s to figure out?” He shrugged.
“It’s just, all this”—I gestured between us— “you’ve known me for like three weeks, not even a month. And you’re so nice.”
“Maybe I’m just a nice person?” He made a throwaway gesture. “And I’m here to have a good time with a good friend.”
Friend.
Right. The dreaded word. I drew in a thick breath. Okay, there it was—the specter I’d still felt lingering around our interactions. The loaded word that meant death to any hope I had about a pending romance with this guy. We were friends. Friends did nice things for each other. Friends helped each other out. Friends worried about each other.
Friends also don’t kiss.
But sometimes, they did things like this—they accompanied each other on dates so the other person wouldn’t feel strange or awkward.
Fine. Fine. Fine.
If he wanted to be friends, we’d be friends. People could always use more friends. Including me.
I looked at my watch. “I’m hungry, are you? We haven’t had any lunch, and it’s after one.”
“Now that you said something, I am.” He rubbed his stomach. “Where do you want to get something to eat? Here at the hotel?”
“No.” I glanced out the window at the ocean. “It’s such a nice day. Why don’t we head to Worth Avenue? There are some restaurants there, and we can get some fresh air.”
He agreed. I grabbed my purse, fixed my hair, and switched my grey sweater for a short-sleeved T-shirt that hung long enough over my leggings to cover my butt. We made our way to the lobby and had almost exited the hotel when we heard someone calling my name.
I whirled around at the sound of Julie’s shrill, nasal voice. “Julie. Hi.”
“Oh, come here, you.” Her northeastern accent rang across the lobby. She rushed across the lobby and yanked me into a tight embrace. “You look like you’ve lost a few, curvy girl.”
My toes curled. There it was—the first punch, a backhanded compliment about my weight.
I struggled out of her embrace. “I have lost some weight. Thank you.”
“How much?”
“Err—a few pounds.”
“How many?” Julie pressed.
My mouth went try, and I glanced at James. “Thirty.”
“Wow.” Julie’s eyes widened. “That many?”
“Yep.” I looked at James again. I hadn’t come close to telling him about my weight issues, which had plagued me since middle school. And it wasn’t just him. I didn’t like talking about it with anyone.
“Well, just think of it. Now you’ll look perfect for my wedding photos, so thank you for that,” Julie said. “I mean, you’re still curvy, but in a good way.”
She smiled as if I should consider that a compliment. I didn’t. Who considered a size-six dress curvy?
Only her.
Bitch.
“Did the dress fit?” Julie asked. “I wondered if it might be tight.”
“It was fine,” I replied through gritted teeth.
A pregnant pause fell over our group. This conversation had gone from normal to awkward in a nanosecond.
“So, ugh … yeah … so … this is James Newhouse, and he’ll be attending the wedding with me,” I said, deciding to change the subject.
Anything to keep from talking about my appearance or hers, which had grown more exaggerated since the last time I saw her. In preparation for the wedding, Julie had dropped at least one dress size and fluffed her brown hair with extensions
. She also sported thicker eyebrows and a pair of lashes that had to be fake. She looked good, but the kind of good that could also be construed as “trying too hard.”
Not that Julie would have listened if I’d brought that up to her. Or cared.
“Pleased to meet you, James.” She held out her right hand, which sported a pair of red manicured nails. “Julie Hampton.”
He shook her hand. “The soon-to-be Mrs. Knowles, right?”
“Less than twenty-four hours. I can’t believe it is almost happening. All of the preparation …” She let out a small exclamation of delight. “So, listen, we haven’t heard much about you, beyond the fact that you were coming to the wedding. What do you do?”
“I own a gallery.”
Julie lifted her eyebrow. “Oh, really? You do?”
“James is the owner of one of the most successful galleries in Cincinnati,” I quickly said. Anything to bolster James’s standing in her mind. Julie was the type who saved up little facts she could use against people later. “They curate some of the most high-profile shows in town.”
“High-profile for Cincinnati? Or—”
“In general.” I added a tight smile to hide my cringe. “High-profile in general.”
“Is that so?” Julie looked at James. “Well, you’ll have to open up a second office in New York, then.”
“Why?” James asked.
She recoiled a little. “Because it’s the center of the art world. All the best galleries are there. Don’t you want to be among the best?”
“I like my chances in Cincinnati.” James stepped closer to me. “Business is very good there.”
“What a surprise.” She glanced at both of us. “But I really wouldn’t know. We don’t make it to the Midwest very often.”
“You never make it to the Midwest,” I said, a little louder than I intended. “Don’t kid yourself.”
I could throw punches too.
Julie scoffed. “You never invite me.” She turned back to James. “She never invites her family to Ohio.”
“Perhaps she should.”
“Regardless, you really do need to consider opening a gallery in Manhattan. It’s the center of the universe. Everyone who is anyone has to make it there.”
I cleared my throat. Not only did I feel my stomach rumbling, I wasn’t sure I could stand any more time talking with my cousin, who still wanted to one-up me in any way possible, even if it meant embarrassing my pretend boyfriend. “We just got into town, and we haven’t had any lunch.” I motioned to James. “And we were just about to head to one of the restaurants.”
“I won’t keep you,” Julie said, and tossed James a winning smile. “I’ll see you on the lawn in a few hours for the rehearsal.”
We said our goodbyes and made it out the front door, down the steps, and toward the Worth Avenue shopping district. As the sun hit our faces, I turned to James. “Sorry about her. She’s a snob.”
“That’s one word for her.” He laughed. “She seems like the queen of the backhanded compliment. I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone deploy them so well.”
I shook my head. If he even knew the half of it, he might dislike her so much that he’d refuse to attend the wedding. “I don’t want to think about her right now,” I said as we made the turn onto Worth Avenue. “I want to actually have fun this weekend. We’re in Florida.”
“That’s fine. I agree. Let’s have fun.” Then he eyed me. “By the way, thirty-pound weight loss though, huh? Impressive.”
“Yes.”
“That’s basically the size of the average three-year-old. Ever think of it that way?”
“No.”
As we walked along the street, I clutched my purse closer to my stomach, which still had a few “problem areas” that I disliked whenever I looked at myself naked in the mirror. “It took about six months to lose. I called it my stress diet. Started when I began working at WCIN.”
He narrowed his eyes and studied me for a moment. “I’m trying to envision you that way. The before.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” He shrugged. “I bet you didn’t look much different than you do now.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Don’t think about it. It’s not worth it. Trust me, I was a mess. I spent most of my life hating myself and trying to make up for it by being funny and cool. It didn’t really work.” My gaze met his. “And I’ll admit, I’m terrified I’ll gain it back and then some.”
“Understandable,” he said. “But if you remember why you had it in the first place, you’ll keep yourself in check.”
I scoffed. “Coming from a guy who looks like he belongs on a magazine cover.”
“What?” He stopped walking and turned to me. I followed his lead. We stood by a large palm tree and a crisp white bench, but neither of us sat. “I don’t look like I belong on a magazine.”
“Yes, you do,” I said. “You with your perfect man-bun, your exceptional taste in shabby-chic men’s clothing and you … well, you know.”
“I don’t know.”
I sighed. “You’re hot, and you know it. I’m sure you’ve never had to worry about things like your appearance.”
He cocked his head. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Margot.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”
“When I was fifteen, I was in an accident at my grandfather’s restaurant in Canton. Too much grease near a hot stove and not enough paying attention. I burned my hand.” He held out his left hand and I noticed the scars for the first time, mixed in with some moles and the natural wrinkles of his skin. “And part of my face.” He moved closer to me and ran his finger along a few light scars that I also hadn’t noticed before. “See? Right here. It looks like acne scars now, but it’s not. I had extensive work done on this. A lot of surgeries, including plastic surgery a few times. It was a painful process. And yeah, people noticed at first.”
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “I had no idea. I wouldn’t have realized unless you said something.”
“All thanks to the best surgeon at the Cleveland Clinic. They worked on my face four times, all in an effort to make it look ‘natural.’ So, to answer your question, I do know something about being sensitive about how I look.”
I struggled to find something to say in return. Now, I felt like an asshole, especially for getting so upset about Julie’s non-compliment about my looks. It was shallow, and I knew it. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I was an idiot.”
“No, not an idiot.” He smiled. “Just a person who makes a lot of assumptions.” He rubbed his hands together. “You said there’s a restaurant around here, right? Let’s eat.”
The more time I spent with Margot, the more I liked her. She had a feisty personality. Even when she tried to hide that, it didn’t work. And I also liked how she seemed to fumble through life, despite her best efforts to act smooth, calm, and collected. I found that endearing.
I found her endearing.
And that had been my reason for accepting her invitation to this wedding in Palm Beach. I needed a break after months spent focused on opening the gallery, and a weekend away with her had felt like just the right thing. So far, I was glad I’d showed up—given her family seemed more than a little dysfunctional. Especially Julie, who epitomized the definition of a mean girl. I never understood why some women didn’t leave that behind once they graduated high school.
“We’ll have another round,” I told the bartender at Taboo.
After my revelation, she’d led me to this restaurant, where we found two spots at the end of the long bar and ordered margaritas. Halfway through the drinks, we put in a request for flatbread too.
We’d been sitting there ever since.
“I still don’t get you,” she said. A goofy grin decorated her face. “I really don’t.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s like you’re perfect, and I keep going back to that.” She slurped the final sip of cocktail out of her glass and set it back on the bar. �
�Do you have any character flaws?”
“Plenty.” I sipped my own drink. “Everyone has them.”
“What are yours?” She studied me. “Like, what would you say is your biggest flaw?”
“That a tough one.” I considered her question. “I’m a bit of a wine snob. I don’t like cheap wine, or cheap cheese either.”
She laughed. “That’s not a flaw. That’s a trait.”
“It’s a flaw when it negatively affects your bank account.” I played with the long black straw in my glass, pushing it back and forth around on the ice. “Like I told you earlier, I took on a substantial debt to open Gallery 29, so my wine and cheese habit had to be put on hold for a while until I saved the money I needed. It was a hard habit to break.”
“I guess so, but that’s still not a bad quality.”
“What are you looking for, Margot? Like a closet full of dead bodies or an out-of-control drinking habit? Something like that?”
“Maybe.” She studied me. “Something big. A secret. Something you want to hide from people.”
I thought about it. “Can’t come up with anything.”
She blew out a puff of air. “Everyone has secrets.”
“What are yours?”
She opened her mouth to reply, but then the flatbreads we’d ordered arrived.
As the bartender explained our food and asked us if we needed anything else, I studied Margot again. It had been a long time since I’d met anyone as naturally funny as her.
Maybe I’d sworn off women for long enough.
After all, the gallery was on its way to success, the new exhibit had opened to wide acclaim, and I felt confident enough to relax for the first time in over a year. My social life could afford something new. Someone new. Someone who thought I should have been on the cover of a magazine. Someone who somehow managed to deflect her cousin’s claws when directed at me yet took them all on the chin when directed at her. Someone quirky who made me laugh.
Someone like Margot.
I took a deep breath, appraised my reflection in the bathroom mirror, and smoothed the skirt of my green dress one more time. We had only a few minutes before we had to be downstairs for the wedding rehearsal, and hot waves of nerves pulsed through my body. Not only did I want to show my family that I was still the successful TV journalist they expected, but I wanted to strike a good note with James. Our afternoon lunch had only strengthened my growing attraction to him, something I hoped to act upon by the end of the weekend.