CHAPTER 37
I leaned heavily against the bathroom counter, my heart pounding furiously in my chest, hammering against my ribs—the blood racing through my veins. I managed a shaky smile, invigorated by the spasms of happiness and pleasure the cocaine gave me. I needed this. There was no way I could act the chipper, ever-helpful bridesmaid all day without a bit of help.
I sucked in a quivering breath and stared at myself in the mirror, wishing Charlie could’ve stayed to help me get ready. The hairdresser had done my hair up in a loose French knot. There was an actual tiara in my hair, perched on the crown of my head, glinting in the bathroom lights. My dress was on in all its pink, sequinned, crinoline splendour; my shoes resembled real ballet slippers, tied up with pink ribbons and all.
This was happening. I was a full-blown ballerina.
I wished Grey could see me. He wouldn’t believe it.
I forced the wave of sadness away. I couldn’t think about Grey again; I didn’t have time to fix my makeup. Instead, I ran around the room in shaky cocaine acceleration, taking care of last-minute details, helping Whitney with her shoes, fixing Marie’s hair. When we were finally ready, we crossed the hall to Marcy’s suite where she was getting dressed with my mother’s eager, helpful hands. Dad was sitting in the living room area, dressed in a stiff dark blue suit, his hair neatly combed and gelled. He looked nervous, flicking randomly through the channels on TV. He ignored me.
Marcy was a sight. I stopped in my charged walking and just stared at her.
There was a flush of nervous excitement in her cheeks, her eyes twinkling happily as she looked in the mirror. Her hair was dark and sleek, straightened in a perfect bob, a simple veil pinned in her hair with tortoiseshell combs. Her dress fit to a tee, accenting her narrow waist and toned arms. A turquoise tear-dropped silver necklace emphasized the neckline of her gown and brought out the perfect evenness of her tan. The wedding dress cascaded around her frame in layers of silky white and sparkling embellishments, pleasing to the eye.
A few emotions flitted through me at that instant—happiness, jealousy, sadness. I stood there, resigned. Never in this lifetime could I ever compete with Marcy. I would always be second, no matter what.
“What do you think, Mac?” she asked me carefully. We hadn’t really spoken since the big fight. She was still guarded around me—actually, they all were, like I could just fly off the handle at any moment.
I smiled quietly, reconciled to the fact. “Marcy…you’re perfect.”
I made it through the ceremony without tripping or fainting or anything else that might ruin a wedding. My bouquet of creamy white peonies shook violently while I made my way up the aisle, unaccustomed to all the eyes on me. The room was packed with people dressed in suits and gowns—at least three-hundred of them filled the wooden pews. The church was gorgeous and old, with stained glass windows and dark, impressively carved wood. Lit candelabras hung from the ceiling, giving the sanctuary a soft glow, a romantic feel. White flowers were everywhere, lining the aisle, overflowing the stage, hanging from the archways.
People may have been looking at me, but it didn’t last long. The moment Marcy stepped into the flower-strewn aisle, all eyes were on her. Mom was on one side of the blushing bride, looking regal and stately in a dark blue dress suit, her dark hair curled perfectly. Dad was on the other side of Marcy, absolutely beaming in his pride. The pianist was playing “Pachelbel’s Canon,” and the beautiful song floated softly in the air as they walked slowly toward Blake’s love-soft face.
I could do nothing but stand by and watch while Marcy married Blake-the-dick.
It was a thankfully short ceremony. I couldn’t stand all the love talk, the sickeningly sweet glances Marcy and Blake were giving each other, the tears in my mother’s eyes as she watched them kiss.
Afterward, the wedding party piled into an awaiting stretch limousine. Whitney popped open a bottle of champagne from the stocked bar inside while Marcy and Blake sat together in the back, holding hands and kissing and giggling in their newlywed bliss.
I chugged back my champagne and hurriedly held out my glass for more .
Jake always managed to be irritatingly close to me. He kept smiling my way, waiting for my resolve to break, certain of my eventual surrender to his arrogant charms.
“You make a beautiful ballerina.” He commented in the limo, the corner of his mouth lifting as he took me in. He reached out, tugging gently on a curl from my hair, lacing it through his fingers.
“I have a boyfriend, Jake,” I reminded him, pulling away.
“Right… Look, you’re going to feel really embarrassed when you realize I’m perfect for you.” He grinned. “I’m just trying to save you the trouble.”
I shook my head, trying to ignore him.
“If I were him, I’d never let you out of my sight.” Jake continued, lowering his voice, his languid gaze crawling over me. “Trust me. If he really cared, he’d be here.”
I felt my stomach sinking and turned towards the window before my tears gave me away. “He’s just busy. He can’t help it.” I insisted bravely.
Neither of us were convinced.
The limo slowed as we pulled up in front of The Windsor Hotel. A bellman opened the door for us, and I could see my parents waiting eagerly outside. Whitney and Marie went first with their escorts, then Jake got out and turned, pausing at the door, waiting for me. I sighed and took his hand, avoiding his gaze, looking out at the front of the hotel as he helped me down.
There was a red carpet leading up to the grand glass front entrance. Huge golden letters were perched atop the awning, spelling out The Windsor in gilded extravagance. The building was made of impressive beige stone and stretched imposingly up sixty floors or more. I took in the sight with awe, but then, as I looked, my eyes fell on something—or someone, rather—I hadn’t expected to see.
He was leaning against the granite wall off the side of the entrance, looking uncomfortable as he smoked a cigarette, his arms crossed against a crisp black suit and tie.
I honestly had no idea how to react to him. Grey turned his head towards us, and his perfect lips curved into my favourite smirk when he saw me there. I just stared at him, stunned. He looked at me for a moment, and then his expression changed, his eyes narrowing like he was angry.
I realized Jake was still holding my hand. Abruptly, I pulled away from his grasp, hugging my arms around myself, taking a deep breath in as I went to meet Grey .
I approached him cautiously, nervous. After all of the doubt and suspicion and uncertainty, I didn’t know what to do, how to feel. As I neared him, tears began to sting my eyes. God, I loved him. It’d been easier to ignore, easier to try and forget when he was far away and out of sight. But now he was standing before me, and the sheer force of the love I felt for that man was nearly overwhelming.
“Who was that?” Grey asked me when I was close enough, his voice accusing, his blue eyes suspicious. He looked past me back at Jake, who was standing by the limo, watching us.
“He’s no one.” I shrugged.
“He was holding your hand.”
“He was helping me out of the limo.” I corrected, icily. We stared at each other a moment. Grey looked so good in his suit. He was freshly shaved, his dark, messy hair carefully gelled, his blue eyes piercing as he looked me over. His familiar, sweet, masculine cologne wafted over me, and my knees threatened to buckle at the scent.
I shut my eyes and tried to stay strong.
“You don’t seem happy to see me.” Grey realized.
“I don’t know how to feel,” I admitted with a shake of my head. “Grey…what are you doing here?”
“What do you mean? I came here to surprise you.” His handsome face turned hard. “Why, did I crash your date or something?”
“No, of course not.” I bit my lip. It was all so confusing—his weeks of complete disregard, his sudden presence here. “You…you came here to surprise me? Why?”
“Why?” He looked taken aback by the question. “Because…because I…” He ran a hand through his hair, struggling for words. “Because I missed you.”
“You missed me?”
“Yeah, I missed you.”
I didn’t know what to say. I looked away from him, away from the startling blue of his eyes. My voice was thick with threatening tears.
“Well,” I scoffed, “you sure have some way of showing it.”
Grey just looked at me, confused, contemplative. “What did I do?”
I shook my head at him. Were guys really that dense? Could he really not know? I thought back over the weeks of torment and utter heartache I’d suffered at his total lack of concern. My chest burned with indignation.
“Grey, I haven’t heard from you in weeks.” I glared.
He shook his head. “I know…I’m sorry, we’ve just been…busy. ”
“I know you’ve been busy.” I scoffed again, my voice low and angry. “I heard her voice on the phone.”
“What? Whose voice?” Grey’s face fell as he considered my words. “What are you talking about?”
“Her voice. The girl. I called you one night, you were at a club or something, and I heard her, Grey. I heard her flirting with you, asking you to dance.”
“That was you on the phone? Why didn’t you call me back?”
“I’d already heard enough.” I could see my parents from the corner of my eye, watching from the entrance. Mom had her arms crossed in disapproval, staring at us. I ignored her, turning my gaze back to Grey. I looked up into his gorgeous face and waited for his answer, his explanation. Our whole relationship hung on it.
“Mackenzie.” His face softened with concern and he grasped me by the arms. His touch on my skin was enough to make me tremble, and I could feel all the pain and all the anger start melting away. I grasped at it, trying to remember, trying to hold on to the hurt and the anguish like I knew I should, though every bone in my body was screaming to forgive him. Aching to forgive him.
“Mackenzie,” Grey repeated. “That was nothing. I promise you. We met one night after the studio, and we danced a couple times, and that’s it. She’s nobody. Please, look at me.” He lifted my chin with his hand, forcing me to stare into his gorgeous blue eyes, deep and sincere. “You have to believe me. I told you I wouldn’t screw this up. I would never…I could never…”
“I want to believe you,” I admitted breathlessly, daring to hope. But I had no proof. Only his word. I stared up into his face—so honest, so innocent and concerned—and my eyes burned with fresh tears. I loved him enough that suddenly, none of it mattered. Grey’s expression told me everything I needed to know, restored to me all the hope that had been lost.
Maybe someone stronger, someone better than me would’ve held out, would’ve demanded some proof, more of an apology, a better explanation.
I just didn’t care anymore. I wanted him too badly.
Wordlessly, I stepped into his arms. The moment I felt them wrap around me, I knew I was exactly where I needed to be. He kissed my hair as I nuzzled my cheek against his hard chest, letting his warmth and his scent envelop me. I could hear his heartbeat through the soft fabric of his suit, and I shut my eyes, savouring the sound.
“I’m sorry.” He spoke softly in my ear.
“I missed you,” I whispered. “So much. ”
“Ahem.”
Regretfully, I opened my eyes. My father was standing near us, his arms crossed impatiently. “The reception’s about to start, young lady.” His tone was thick with disapproval. I just nodded at him. I didn’t want to leave the strength and comfort of Grey’s arms for him or anybody.
But then Grey pulled away from me, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Hello, sir,” he stretched his hand to my father. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Grey Lewis.”
“Grey.” Gruffly, Dad shook his hand. “We really need to get going.”
Completely unaffected by my father’s obvious displeasure, Grey and I followed him through the grand marble foyer. Grey’s hand held mine; my fingers laced through his. Every now and then, I’d look up at him cautiously and smile like I couldn’t believe he was there, like he was too good to be true. He’d smirk at me, just like I loved, and squeeze my hand as if he felt the same way.
“So, that’s the great Marcy, is it? The one in white?” Grey wondered quietly as we approached the rest of the wedding party waiting outside the ballroom.
“Yeah, how’d you guess?” I smiled. “Pretty gorgeous, huh?” I couldn’t keep the sour note of jealousy from leaking into my voice.
To my utter amazement, Grey just shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess so. She’s definitely pretty, but she doesn’t do it for me.” He looked pointedly my way. “I don’t think she even compares to some.”
I looked up at him, surprised. “You don’t mean that.”
“The hell I don’t.” If it hadn’t been for his eyes, smiling and sincere as they studied me fondly, I never would have believed him. I found myself beaming at his words, moved by his sentiment, by far the sweetest thing anyone had ever said to me.
“Mackenzie.” My mother’s sharp voice interrupted my bliss. “They’re waiting.”
“Sorry. Mom, this is Grey.” I introduced.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Taylor.” Grey held out his hand. Mom stared at it a moment, as if it might bite her, and then hesitantly shook his hand.
“Nice to meet you.” Her voice sounded like it was anything but. “You’ll be joining us then? Come, I’ll show you to the table.” Her voice was brisk and clipped. “Mackenzie.” She warned.
“Okay, Mom.” I rolled my eyes at her, flashing Grey an apologetic smile, trying to compensate for the obvious lack of welcome shown by my parents.
“I’ll see you in there,” I promised.
Grey nodded and turned to follow my mother, who was already rampaging ahead.