by Piper Lawson
My muscles tremble when my feet hit the floor. I brush my hands off on my pants. “Well, there’s no point hiding it. Ben and I broke up.”
Their faces fill with empathy.
"I'm so sorry," Kendall says.
"You don't understand. We weren't really together." My hands work on my gear as I explain how Ben needed a girlfriend, how it was easier to land Vane as a client by acting. “I apologize for pretending in front of you, but it seemed easier."
They don't look mad.
"Let's go talk," Rena says.
"I should get to work on an assignment," Lil says, but I grab her.
"Stay."
Her eyes brighten, and I wonder how much I've kept her out of the messier parts of my life for wanting her to see me as having everything together. As if her knowing the truth might mean she’d turn her back on me like Vi did.
The four of us take seats on the benches in the foyer of the gym.
Kendall says, "You realize the only people you were fooling were yourselves."
"You knew?"
"That you and Ben were crazy about each other?" Rena says. They exchange a look. "Yeah, it was obvious."
I pull my knees up to my chest. "I've cared about him for a long time, but I never thought he was into me. But sometime this month, that changed."
Ben saw me, wanted me, and for the first time, I knew it was real. I could picture a future with him as more than the naive dream of an infatuated college kid dealing with questions about life and abandonment and identity.
My chest tightens at the memory of the gala. "It's been a rough week. I learned that Vane's not going with Closer for his resort business, so I've been trying to get that back on track too."
"You will," Kendall says.
"And we'll help," Rena adds.
"Me too." We turn toward Lil, who shrugs. "Come on, you guys must need some economic models or something?"
Their support loosens the tightness in my gut, the weight that feels as if it’s been lodged there all week.
“To be fair, the guy’s name is Dick Vane.” Rena crisply enunciates each syllable. “We should’ve known he had a douche streak.”
Lily laughs, Kendall shakes her head and even I can’t stop the smile. “That’s true.”
"You're a badass. We love you. We look to you. We want the best for you," Rena says firmly.
A tiny sliver of hope edges in. Maybe there’s something good on the other side of this.
"And Ben loves you too,” Kendall says. “He's not running from you; he's running from the feeling."
I glance toward a group of climbers heading past us for the gym.
"Thank you guys,” I say. “There's something I need to do."
I go home and pull out the postcard.
It's minutes or hours before I write a response.
Vi,
Do you remember when you went on that school trip and I refused to go because I couldn't line up a ride home? You broke your ankle running and blamed me after.
It felt awful being on the receiving end of it. But not bad as it feels to give it.
I've been blaming you. I've blamed you for being yourself, for how people perceive you, for making me feel as if I wasn't enough.
I hate the way you left. And I was going through some shit at the time, and I wished you were here.
But it's not your fault. I had this idea for how life was going to play out. The fact that we're different and grew more different as time went on isn't your fault.
I love you, and I always will.
I hope you have people you can love the same way.
I take the bracelet that’s been sitting on the corner of my desk all week and tuck it into an envelope before sliding it into a drawer with photos.
The bangle always felt like security before, like assurance. But without it, I feel lighter.
I’ve been afraid to love Ben the way I want to—honestly, fully—because I’ve been afraid he’ll leave.
But I won’t be afraid anymore. And no matter what he does, I won't think less of myself, I won't hide my feelings, and I won’t ever think I don’t deserve love.
I finish writing the letter and, for the first time, drop it in the mailbox.
29
"Hey, Ben. It's Armand calling from London." My former colleague's voice is smooth and cheerful when I reach across my bed to answer the phone Friday. "I know it's early your time, but I wanted to give you the heads up. We'd like to offer you that job we talked about when you were here last month."
"The job," I echo as I shift up in my bed and rub the sleep from my eyes, pushing away the half-empty pizza box keeping me company under the sheets.
"Yes. The compensation is incredible. But the best part is there are no limitations. As the head of tech, you go where you want, when you want. Basically no oversight."
Phone pressed to my ear, I shift out of bed and stretch.
I cross to the windows to open the curtains.
On my way, I step on something that makes me jerk my foot back with a hiss.
“You okay?” he asks, concerned.
I lift Jet and glare at him. “Fine. Keep talking.”
It would be easy to pick up and leave. Not answer to anyone.
I could leave this awful feeling behind too. The betrayal. The hurt.
But as Armand talks through the details, all I can think of is what it would feel like to have Daisy with me in London. To play tourist, take a double-decker bus, get a flat in a killer neighborhood. I’d wake up next to her, love her until she was awake, then she’d drag me to a nearby restaurant where she’d study people over breakfast until I was so fucking rapt I had to leave cash on the table and drag her home and show her how damn perfect she was.
“I think that’s it,” he says once he’s finished. “You don’t have to answer now. But soon.”
My phone vibrates with a calendar notification for my first meeting. “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”
After I finish my shower, I head down to Cara’s restaurant.
Yves is waiting by the door when I arrive, and we shake hands.
“This is decent of you,” he says.
“I felt it was the right thing to do.”
I knock on the back door and moments later, Cara steps out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Thank you for opening early to see us,” I tell her.
“Anything for you.” She smiles fondly at me.
“I appreciate you taking the time to talk with us about you and your son’s experiences with the mental health care system.” I look between them. “Yves, like I said when I called, I reviewed your expansion strategy and it would be stronger if you had deeper connections to mental health at the community level.”
Yves nods, obviously enthusiastic.
The three of us talk, Yves peppering Cara with questions and scribbling notes in a notebook. He also presses on issues he feels strongly about. I like his interest, and his willingness to take feedback without compromising the strength of his vision.
“Thank you. Both of you,” he says after we finish.
“Say hi to that lady of yours,” Cara says before I turn for the door. “You don’t smile for business the way you smile with her.”
“Wow! You look…different,” a junior associate declares as I get off the elevator.
Maybe it’s the week’s worth of facial hair, or the fact that I’ve lost five pounds despite failing to work out in days.
I lean in Tris's door, and my brother's face creases in surprise. “Where’s Holt?”
“Think he’s with Xavier. Why?” Tris comes out the door as I head down the hall. “Shaving hasn’t gone out of style, you know.”
“I’ve had other priorities.”
“There’s pizza in your beard. Got you,” he goes on as I rub a hand over my coarse face. “Lying on the couch consuming carbs like normal mortals once they’ve had a breakup is a fascinating development.”
“I haven’t been lying on
the couch.” I turn, grabbing Tris’s shoulder. “We’re taking Mom for lunch tomorrow. You're coming.”
His brows draw together. “What? Why?”
“Because I treat her like a burden, and I shouldn’t.”
I continue to the conference room without waiting for him to respond. I walk in without knocking, and Xavier and Holt look up in surprise.
“Benjamin. What are you doing here?” Xavier asks.
“I spoke with Yves. The CEO of the healthcare venture we passed on,” I go on at Xavier’s blank look.
Holt rises from his seat, his face a thundercloud. “You can’t do that. I’ve been dealing with him on behalf of the firm.”
“Including telling him we couldn’t fund him right now because of the tech deal I put in front of us.”
I drop the folder with my notes, and Holt opens it, thumbs through.
“He agreed to revise their strategy to include mental health—links to existing programming as well as complementary services. Not only will it integrate more fully with the medical system, but he—and therefore we—would make twice the return we would’ve before.”
“Why would you do that now if you knew all along?” Holt demands.
“I didn’t know all along.” I stare at him. “And I didn’t bother looking closely because it was your idea, and what mattered was beating you in the race to become Xavier’s successor. It mattered even more than the firm.”
Xavier’s gaze is different than Holt’s—studying, assessing.
“I was wrong,” I tell Holt. “And I’m fixing it.”
Xavier nods at Holt, who slides him the folder.
“I’ll give you the time you need to review this. If you both agree, then Holt, you should be the one to do the deal.” I head down the hall without a backward glance.
“I should leave more often. My condo is better than when I left it,” Mom declares over her salad at Cara’s. “Your cleaner took good care of it while I was away.”
"Glad to hear it." I reach for my coffee, wishing it was something stronger.
We’re sitting at a beautiful table outside, and Mom was delighted when I invited her and picked her up myself.
“You know,” I start, clearing my throat, “Entertainment Weekly had an article rumoring there could be a reboot of your show.”
Mom beams in delight. “I didn’t know you read that, Benjamin.” She leans in. “Between us, there may have been a couple of conversations this week.”
“Seriously?” Tris asks, looking between us.
“Mhmm. Daisy helped me read through the script. She made a very dashing Salvatore.”
Tris shakes his head ruefully. “She’s one in a million.”
My brother rises, making the excuse of needing to go to the bathroom.
“Wait a week before telling her.”
My best friend's suggestion comes back full force.
The words stick in my throat but I force them out. Each one feels like a blade, slicing at my tongue and lips.
“Mom, Daisy and I aren't dating anymore.”
I wait for her to demand to know what I did wrong. To my surprise, she pats my hand. “I’m sorry, Benjamin. You’re proud and suspicious and think conversation is a full-contact sport. But you love her.”
“I don’t want to.” I set down the mug and rub a hand through my hair, tugging on the ends. Even that reminds me of her. “I’ve seen what love does to people. It never ends well.”
“Never? There are plenty of couples who don't end up like your father and me. And even if I could go back, I wouldn’t change it.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“Some of life is pain. You can’t have the beauty without the awfulness. Your father didn’t want the same things I did. I’ve made my peace with that. What’s a shame is when two people want the same things but are too afraid to take them.”
I think of my best friend, the times she’s had my back, how it felt to have her by my side and in my arms and thinking of her. I want her there. Because now that she’s gone, everything is empty.
My bed, my thoughts, my heart.
Mom’s mouth purses, my pain reflected on her face. “You have a soft heart. Don’t be afraid to share it with the right person for fear of it being broken. Hearts don’t get stronger from being protected. They get stronger from being used.”
After I drop Mom off, it’s Tris and me in the car.
Tris lifts his wrist, the watch from our dad. “I know you think I was on Dad's side growing up. Before he left, he said, 'Don't worry. You have your brother.'"
My gaze flies to him.
"You want to prove you’re a better man, taking care of Mom, of me, becoming more successful than he ever was? You are. You don't have to take his place to make it true. You deserve to be happy, and so does Daisy.”
Over the past few days, I’ve been replaying that night all those years ago. The fact that she lied to me hurts, but what hurts even more is that I think some part of me knew it was her. But I wanted it to be her so much, I was afraid to believe that was possible.
I never stopped to think about what it was like for her—that night, and the days and weeks after. To be mistaken for her twin only for Vi to leave. Daisy was hurting that night. It’s part of what drew me to her in the first place.
I wanted to help us both by pretending we were dating, but I made things worse.
We were kids, trying to deal with the world. God knows I made mistakes then too. I’m still making them. Daisy kept quiet because she didn’t want to lose me, and because she didn’t want to hurt me.
We messed each other up without even meaning to.
My hands tighten on the steering wheel—with resolve, not desperation. “I was offered a job in London this week. One with complete freedom to do what I want.”
“Huh.”
“I turned it down.”
“Why?”
I rub a hand through my hair, tugging hard enough it hurts. “Freedom isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
She’s my best friend, the woman I love, and the one I have to trust with all I am. The one I choose to trust with all I am. If the price of her love is opening myself up to the chance of being hurt, I’ll pay it.
I don’t want to go through life angry and alone when I could go through it with her.
That’s why I’m going to get her back.
By the time I drop off my brother, I’ve decided exactly what I need to do.
30
Most wedding planners would consider a sunny day fortuitous.
I vow to see it that way.
When I get out of the shower, I’m startled to see my little sister, in pajamas, waiting for me.
“You look great,” Lil tells me, holding out a cup of coffee. “Go slay.”
I hug her. Even though this week has been brutal, I’m glad she's here.
The venue is the Vanes’ most iconic property, an art deco hotel.
Just because this PR gig wasn’t the lead-in to a long-term deal with Vane doesn’t mean I won’t see it through. Aiden was right on that.
The magazine crew comes at nine to set up, and I spend the first few hours bustling around, ensuring everything is in place.
They take some opening shots of the space before I take them up to the suite like Camila and I planned. On the way, I spot Aiden pacing in one of the halls.
My knock on the bridal suite door is answered immediately. “Come on in!”
I stop two feet inside. “You look incredible.”
Camila’s dark hair is swept back and plaited down her back. The gown hangs on the rack, while the bride is dressed simply in a white satin robe. “Thank you. My bridesmaids are taking care of some details downstairs.”
I turn to the camera crew. “Why don’t you start with some shots of the room and dress?” As they comply, I step behind the bride in the mirror. “You good?”
“As long as it’s normal to wonder if you’re making the biggest mistake of your life.” Her voice is so
low, there’s no chance of the crew overhearing.
I glance over at her dress on the rack, the delicate lace at the top of the skirt. “I think you should trust what got you here. And the do-or-die moment is always scary.”
She laughs loudly enough to pull the attention of the crew, sparing them a glance before turning back to me. “Do-or-die. More like I-do-or-I-die.”
My eyes widen.
“It was a joke. Of course I can back out. But”—Camila lifts her chin in the mirror, tilting her face so the light skims over her impeccably made-up face—“I’m not going to.”
I want to ask about their relationship, but it’s not my place to question it and it’s definitely not the time.
I can’t resist saying, “If it makes you feel better, Aiden’s nervous.”
Her smiles fades, and she looks younger all of a sudden. “Really? I’ve never seen Aiden nervous as long as I’ve known him.”
That clearly unsettles her, though I can’t tell if she’s pleased underneath.
“I got the concepts you sent for the resort promotions,” she says. “They were great and I actually wanted to use them for something personal.” Her lips curve mysteriously. “You’d be compensated.”
“Of course. I’m thrilled you can get some utility from them.” I’m curious what she means, but before I can ask, the camera crew descends on us.
When guests filter into the hotel, it’s a five-hundred-person-strong A-list of New York society, old money and new, all of it on display.
The wedding is breathtaking, and emotion wells up in my throat. I didn’t bring tissues. I didn’t think I’d get emotional at this.
His face is stoic. The only hint of what’s underneath is the way his finger twitches before he clasps his hands behind him.
I can’t help but think of the man I’d want waiting for me down that aisle if I ever took that walk. In less than a week, I miss the hell out of him. Miss his laugh, his smile, his mind, his touch.
God, I got used to his touch.
I love Ben more than I thought I could love anyone.