Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
I hear talking, then yelling. The floorboards creak. I’m lying down now. My heart is racing, and my eyes are closed to keep the room from spinning. I don’t feel drunk, exactly—but what else could it be?
“Are you OK?”
I open my eyes to see Bradley kneeling beside me, Jesse watching like I’m a moderately interesting TikTok, and Grace, further away, no longer paying attention to me at all.
“What the hell happened?” Bradley asks as I put my hand to my chest. My heart is racing like I’ve been sprinting uphill.
“She had two cocktails and then threw up in the vase,” Grace says.
“Two cocktails! We were gone for less than ten minutes.”
“She’s a student. I didn’t know she’d be such a lightweight.”
“Grace!” He clicks his tongue. “She’s nearly thirty. I don’t think she was going to frat parties.”
“Oh, I completely forgot.” She laughs—a false laugh, though it seems to work on the men. “How could I be so foolish? Brie, will you forgive me?”
I consider the possible replies. Grace pressured me into shooting two impossibly strong cocktails, but I’m a grown woman. I can hardly blame her. More than anything, I’m embarrassed.
“Of course.” My saliva tastes metallic, like I’ve been sucking on dimes. “It’s OK.”
“Happens to the best of us, Grace,” Jesse says.
Bradley nods in agreement. “It’s not your fault.”
I can’t believe it. Within a minute, the sympathy in the room has shifted to Grace. I can feel her eyes on me.
“How are you feeling?” Bradley asks.
“Just a little woozy.”
“I’m not surprised.”
I try to sit up, but he stops me. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t lie on your floor forever.”
“You can’t go home yet. Not till you’re sober.”
“I am sober,” I insist. “I just felt a bit sick.”
“Take her upstairs.” Grace sounds annoyed, as if I’ve intentionally disrupted her cocktail party. “She can rest in the spare room until she’s able to make it home.”
I feel Bradley bristle at Grace’s harsh tone, but he mutters agreement. Before I can say anything, he’s looped his arms around my back and legs.
“Look at this hero,” Grace says, as Bradley lifts me like a child.
“Very impressive,” Jesse murmurs.
“Who says all those hours in the gym were just vanity?”
“Shut. Up,” Bradley grunts.
Jesse’s laugh follows us to the stairs. Bradley pauses, then begins to climb. I wonder if he can manage it—I’m not as much of a waif as Grace—but I also don’t feel like climbing the stairs myself. When we reach the landing, he puts me down and curses.
“Can you make it the rest of the way?”
I nod, then feel a wave of dizziness and instinctively lean on him for support. We walk slowly together to the bedroom—his bedroom—and he helps me to lie down.
“Can I get you anything? You look like death.”
“It’s not that serious. Really. I’ll feel better in like ten minutes.” I cover my face with my hands. If Bradley weren’t there, I’d let out a scream. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m never like this.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“I don’t get why she didn’t get sick, though. She was drinking just as fast.”
“Grace?” He laughs like he always does, but this time his eyes remain cold. “Those were mocktails. She doesn’t drink. Christ, I can’t believe she could be so cruel. She never pays attention to what other people are feeling. Unless it’s something for her books, she just tunes us all out.”
I look at him, surprised that someone could so completely misunderstand their own spouse. Because I’m positive that Grace doesn’t miss a thing. Maybe she didn’t want to make me vomit, but she was willing to risk it to see what would happen.
“It’s like living with a child,” he continues, then looks down at me. “Sorry, I’ll be quiet.”
“Don’t.”
He touches my forehead, then laughs. “Sorry, you’re not sick, are you? I was testing for fever.”
“Stop apologizing.”
“I can’t help it. You could sue us.”
“Interesting idea,” I say, and he laughs.
“Please don’t.”
I suddenly realize my dress is hitched up much higher than I’d like. I wriggle up the bed a little so that it covers another inch of my thigh.
“Anyway, I wouldn’t have much of a case,” I say. “I’m feeling better now.”
“You were looking terrible before.” I instinctively wince when I hear this, and he must notice, because he quickly backpedals. “It wasn’t that bad. You still looked beautiful. You look even more beautiful now, but it’s all on the same, er, breathtaking spectrum.”
Beautiful. Breathtaking. Did Bradley really just say that?
“Thanks.”
After a few seconds of silence, Bradley laughs. “I just made things very awkward, didn’t I? How about I do a party trick to make up for it?”
“What?”
“I’ll recite a poem from memory. Anything moderately famous written before 1870. Shakespeare, Milton, Keats.”
I look from his dark eyes to his lips and feel a rush of panic. He’s looked after me, carried me upstairs, and called me breathtaking. If he starts reciting poetry, I might develop a genuine crush on this man, and that’s the last thing I need.
“No, it’s OK.”
“What can I do, then?”
Kiss me. Take off your shirt. Touch me. “Maybe get me some water?”
As soon as he leaves the room, I cover my face and swear. Having an attractive boss is one thing, but actively wanting to jump his bones is another. I need to get out of here before I make a fool of myself.
I sit up and blink through the dizziness. I’m feeling shaky, but otherwise a lot better. I need this night to be over. Grace basically got me drunk for sport, and here I am, lying in their marital bed, thinking about what her husband looks like naked.
Footsteps in the hallway. I swing my feet to the floor and look directly into a mirror on their wardrobe door.
If I were someone else, looking like I do in this dress, feeling this way, I might try to seduce him.
Not here and now, of course—but I might sow the seeds.
If my breath still didn’t reek of vomit, I might even let him kiss me.
Would he be tempted? And is that what I am, a temptress?
Of course not. Bradley is in a different league. He’s married to a beautiful, brilliant, and exciting—if completely unhinged—artist. Why would he ever want me?
“What are you doing?” Bradley appears in the doorway with a tall glass of water. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“I feel a lot better, actually.”
“What a load of crap. You were on death’s door a moment ago.”
“It wasn’t as bad as it looked. Just too much alcohol.” I hold out my hand for the water, and he hands it to me apologetically. I finish it in one go. “I obviously wasn’t on death’s door.”
“I don’t like this.”
I stand and smile, pretending I’m not suffering an intense head rush. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll walk you back.”
Yes, I think. Walk me back. I’ll invite you in for a nightcap. I’ll feel faint again, and you’ll catch me. And then…
“No. Please.”
Before he can respond, I’m moving down the hallway. I can hear his footsteps, but he doesn’t try to stop me. I hold the banister down the stairs, and when I near the living room, I hold my breath. I barely have the energy to walk, and I’m not ready to see Grace again.
But when I open the door, the room is empty.
“She’s walking Jesse to his car,” Bradley explains. “Wait, I just remembered. We have leftovers from dinner.”
Before I can protest, he goes down the hallway to the kitchen. While I wait, I walk over to the bar cart to see what Grace gave me. There’s a range of spirits—vermouth, Cointreau, bitters—and at the end of the row, tipped on its side, a small bottle. I pick it up and read the label.
Ipecac syrup.
I recognize the name immediately. My Mom gave it to me once when I was a kid after I made a witch’s potion with the cleaning products under the sink. It’s an emetic, used to make people throw up.
She deliberately poisoned me, but why? To make Bradley think I was a kid who couldn’t control her alcohol? Or was she just bored? Did she just want to cause mayhem and see what happened?
“Sorry, I’m too late. Grace threw them out,” Bradley says. “What have you got there?”
I quickly put down the bottle. “Nothing. Just looking at the scene of the crime. I’m sorry I ruined the party.”
“Please. We’re sorry we almost killed you.”
There it is, the collective we of his marriage. I try to ignore the disappointment I have no right to feel. I wonder if I should check the other side effects of the cocktails she gave me. May cause elevated heart rates and intense attraction to unavailable men.
As I step outside, I wait for him to insist once more that he walk me home. But after a friendly goodnight, he shuts the door before I’ve even made it down the steps.
The moon is rising above the trees. I imagine Bradley beside me in the silver light.
The romance, the magic. What would it take for that to happen?
How can I become the type of woman a man like Bradley would want?
I would have to be like Grace, I suppose.
But she’s from an entirely different universe.
She was born into money and went to fancy schools and elite colleges—plural—before becoming a global success with her first novel.
I don’t even have a real job. I don’t have any money. I’m drowning in debt from student loans. I have no plans, no realistic ambitions. All I’m doing is running away from a controlling man.
I’m close to where the trail forks to my cottage when I hear laughter.
Ahead of me are two figures. I immediately recognize Grace in her white dress.
She’s walking close to Jesse, who has his arm around her shoulder.
I instinctively move to the treeline, out of the moonlight.
They’re whispering, but I’m too far away to hear them.
Jesse laughs, and she pushes him away. He then grabs her roughly by the wrist and pulls her towards him. His other arm wraps around her waist.
For a second, I think he’s assaulting her, but then Grace rests her head on his chest and looks up at him.
And then they kiss.