Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Hallie
“ D inner last night wasn’t terrible,” Erica says noncommittally from her seat across the table from me. We’re patiently awaiting Jules and Marcus to arrive at Broughton House, their picture-perfect wedding venue.
She’s right—the evening had been nice enough for us to eat outdoors on her and Julian’s beautifully restored back porch. It’d been relaxing with just the four of us.
“Is that a comment on your husband’s cooking?” I reply, tucking my hair behind my ears. I’m unwilling to be the one to bring up the ease with which this dinner panned out in comparison to our last.
“No. I mean, Julian was brave enough to put out steak knives, and no one lived to regret the decision.”
The table had been beautifully set with the good stuff , generally saved for more trusted visitors and elderly relatives, I’m sure. I would’ve put money on the fact Julian had used his teacher skills to ensure we’d been on our best behavior: “Put out the good plates and glasses, and they’ll rise to the occasion.”
“Well, if we want to talk semantics, if things had gone badly, no one would have survived it.” Bringing my legs up, I cross them on the seat of my chair as if I were a child sitting on the floor at school.
“You’re being obtuse.” Erica’s eyes roll at my general lack of cooperation.
With her long, dark hair pulled up into a knot on the top of her head and an oversized T-shirt hanging off one shoulder, she looks both chic and at ease. For a bride-to-be, she’s more relaxed than I’d expected, but I guess when you decide to cut the original guest list by seventy-five percent, a lot of the pressure eases.
“Nice word. How many points does that get one in Scrabble?”
“Eight,” she says with a resigned sigh, and I wonder how she hasn’t gotten sick of me as a friend sooner.
“Not as impressive as I thought.”
“Neither is your ability to change this subject.”
“Fine. What is it you want to know?” I ask, aware that, for multiple reasons, there’s so much I won’t be able to say. Not without asking Erica to keep secrets from Julian, and that’s just not something I’m willing to do.
She looks over to the glass doors leading toward the main foyer, where we’re sure to see if Marcus and Jules show up. “How does it feel to be around him again?”
I know the fooling around and teasing has stopped now; this is my best friend wanting to know how I’m doing.
“Honestly? At first, I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me every time I had to look at him. But it’s better now. We talked, and we’ve got to toe the line of Julian’s truce, so there isn’t a lot of room for error. I’ve been meaning to tell you, actually, I liked your addition. Super tasteful.”
Erica snorts in dry amusement. “You’re welcome. I was hoping you’d take it as a rule to break, but to each their own.”
When I don’t say anything, she continues. “I know you haven’t wanted to talk to me, or to anyone, about Marcus for a long time now. How Julian has gone so many years without mentioning his own brother to you boggles my mind—my man has self-control. But that’s off topic.” She pauses for a moment, seemingly considering her next words. “What I want to say is that even though you don’t believe it, Marcus has most likely wanted to talk to you and clear the air for a while now. He isn’t a bad person, Hal. I don’t think he ever could’ve been a bad person. Young and naive? Maybe. But not bad.”
I pull my chunky gray cardigan a little tighter around myself. “You’re not telling me anything I haven’t already thought of myself. I know he was never a bad person, not in the way bad is bad.”
I pause, hating the vulnerability of my words. “When Marcus broke up with me, it was worse than I could’ve imagined. I lost so much all at once that I just couldn’t bear to hear anything about him because I missed him. So, I trained myself to not ask about him, and friends were kind enough to not bring him up. I didn’t want him to not exist; I just didn’t want to hurt.”
Erica holds space for my confession, the most I’ve said on the subject in years, and while I don’t expect her to understand, there’s nothing other than compassion on her face as she moves to take the seat next to me.
She rests her head on my shoulder. “I can understand that. There’s nothing quite like the pain of your first heartbreak. Agonizing is the word I’d use to describe it, and the day he chose to end things didn’t exactly help.”
I nod, thinking about how he’d asked me to marry him before he’d left me in bed that night. How even though I’d been worried before I’d said yes, I’d slept easy with the answer I gave, only to have realized I should’ve listened to my gut all along. It’s still the only part of the story I’ve never shared with anyone else. It’d been embarrassing enough that we’d slept together; being gullible enough to think marriage was a real option was just humiliating.
“You know, sometimes I think back to that moment and the days after, and it’s like I can’t even remember it. I have blank spots where I can’t work out if I’ve just forgotten over time or if I’ve blocked out parts because they’re too painful. I remember the never-ending ache in my chest and the way every breath made me want to cry. I remember exactly how it felt, but that’s about it—the actual details of those days are a blur. Potentially, it’s old age; potentially, it’s a self-defense mechanism of my subconscious.”
“Well, I respect your decision to protect yourself while you’ve healed and moved on.” Her strength next to me doesn’t waver. Her attention on me as a friend never has.
I take a deep breath and get brave. “Well…I guess if I’m being honest, that’s a bit of a sticking point.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, tilting her head upward to catch my eyes.
I decide to be blunt with both Erica and myself; it’s well past time. “Well, I never really fell out of love with him. I never gave myself the chance to fall out of love, to heal . I just stopped. I cut out as much as I could and left. I had to move on because it felt like I was going to drown in my own tears otherwise.”
She absorbs my words, and I’m the first to look away.
“If he was interested now…” Erica starts.
It’s horrible to be having this conversation in half-truths, being able to speak this aloud but not being able to share the physicality of my agreement with Marcus. But being able to share half the burden is at least something.
“Just because I feel it doesn’t mean I could ever trust it,” I say guardedly. My home and my life are now miles away from here. From him. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to trust Marcus enough to put everything I’d built for myself on the line.
“You wouldn’t take the chance?” she asks, her voice full of heart and full of hope. Erica’s question is one I’ve spun in my own mind time and time again.
“I don’t know if I could survive the fall a second time.” And it’s the truth.
“You think whatever you’re doing now is any better?” Erica asks, alluding to I-have-no-idea-what. We’ve been discreet so far. I know that for sure.
“His current existence makes for a great distraction, and even if it does damage, it’s damage I know I can come back from.” It’s the only confirmation I can give her.
We’re being shown the grounds by Laura, the wedding planner Erica and Jules have hired. On the day of their wedding, we’ll have access to the majority of the house, and the downstairs rooms, other than those for staff, will be open to guests. The upstairs will have a small living room with an attached bathroom open and dedicated to the bride and groom and their wedding party.
We’ve seen the space where the ceremony will be held and are about to be shown the small ballroom where the reception will take place when my phone lights up with a text.
I’m unsurprised to find it’s Marcus.
Since arriving, his phone’s been ringing and lighting up with notifications.
Julian, whom he’d picked up from a half day at work, had had to trade places with him, driving the rest of the way here so Marcus could respond to emails and calls.
Apparently, being the boss wasn’t all easy days off and favors for friends. His super-focused work persona isn’t something I’ve had the pleasure of seeing. Up until this point, when he’s been around me, I’ve been the focus.
Marcus: Do you think this tour will include the coat room? It’d be nice for you to have an idea of where your first orgasm of the night will happen.
I read his most recent text, a troublesome idea taking form in my mind.
“Laura, will there be a coatroom guests can use?” I ask with the sweetest, most well-meaning smile I can manage.
“Yes! It’s right by the entrance to the ballroom. I can show you if you’d like?” Laura offers helpfully, and I try to keep from laughing.
“Marcus, would you like Laura to show you where the coatroom is?” I ask, turning toward him. He makes a slight choking sound. “I know you have plans for a bridesmaid or two in there.”
I feel a little bad as she flushes a deep crimson, but the way Marcus narrows his eyes on me with a dark promise is completely worth it.
Julian simply sighs. “Laura, I’m so sorry about that. Generally, I expect better from Hallie, but she’s been around my brother for too long, and they rub off on each other in all the wrong ways.”
My phone lights up with another text, and I glance down briefly.
Marcus: He means we rub off on each other in all the best ways.
I don’t reply, worried about being obvious, but I also don’t disagree.
“Sorry, Laura,” I say, meaning it. “I can’t help myself when it comes to Marcus.”
It surprises me how much I mean those words too.
Julian rolls his eyes as if this is the most obvious fact he’s ever heard in his life, as Erica keeps moving through the house, happy to ignore our never-ending nonsense.
Marcus: I knew you found me irresistible. Can’t keep your damn hands off me.
“I know I’ve been busy on my phone, but please feel free to keep insulting me like I’m invisible. My ego can take the beating,” Marcus chips in, eyes still very much on his phone and his “emails.”
Marcus: Beating…you could beat me off in the coatroom? Isn’t that a British term?
Pocketing his phone, Marcus moves to walk past me, catching up with Erica, but I don’t imagine the way he tugs gently on my hair as he brushes by. My heart gives a little squeeze. And he thinks I’m the tactile one.
The ballroom, its table layout, and the arrangements Erica’s agreed to are next on the agenda. She confirms the ribbons and flower sprigs she’d like on each chair and sneaks in a last-minute change of mind on the centerpieces.
We’re all in agreement that having to look over or around a centerpiece to see anyone else at the table should be illegal. Jules helpfully adds he’d like knives to be left out of the cutlery arrangement for both the best man and maid of honor. And Marcus pipes up that they shouldn’t bother, as I’d most likely prefer to stab him with a fork anyway.
Everyone laughs, Laura included, because it is funny and comfortable to joke about. We’ve come a long way since the first dinner we had together, and the absolute kicker is I’m no longer on the outside.
I’m no longer on the outside, and the more comfortable I get, the closer I get to leaving again.
Which is what I want. I do want to go back to Edinburgh, to see Cade and Loki, his cheeky, blue-eyed collie, and to sleep in my own bed.
But the thought of leaving isn’t filling me with the same type of joy it had just over a week ago.
Marcus finds me in the restrooms, just outside the ballroom. The space is black and chrome and shiny, with an abundance of unisex stalls where no one will call us out for being in the same place at the same time. He comes to stand next to me, where I wash my hands in front of the wall-length mirror. And I’m happy to see him, even here.
“Do you want to ride back with me?”
My first thought is to ask if it’s code for “Do you want to ride me?” but for once, I let myself think before I speak. “Are you going home?”
“Yeah, I’m going to finish the day from there.”
I nod. “Then yeah, I’d appreciate it.”
He remains looking at me in the mirror as I move to the small pile of white towels to dry my hands. When his eye contact still doesn’t break, I stick my tongue out, and when that doesn’t work, I throw the small square of fabric at him. Which he catches with ease before throwing it into its respective basket under the counter. It does, however, get me a smile.
The silence between us is comfortable as Marcus rests his hip against the sink, and I use the ever-present elastic on my wrist to pull back my long hair and tie it into a high ponytail. In the mirror, his eyes follow my hands as they lift the heavy strands from my neck.
“I always loved your hair,” he says, voice just a little rougher than it was moments ago.
I shift my body to face him once more, rolling my eyes. “Well, it was never up for debate whether you had good taste, just common sense.”
Marcus rolls his eyes in a direct mimic of my actions. “Tsk-tsk,” he sounds out, moving in close enough to curl a finger under my jaw, thumb resting on my chin. “No need to be nasty now. There’s no one else here.”
He leans forward, pressing his lips to mine in the most chaste of kisses.
I still, even as my heart rate increases dramatically. “What was that for?”
“Because I wanted to.”
“Well, maybe I didn’t want you to.” I don’t know how not to be a stubborn pain in the ass, it seems.
Marcus moves swiftly, a featherlight touch as he traces the seam between my lips with his tongue.
“And what was that for?” I ask, faking disgruntled, even though I wobble as he steps back.
Now he smiles, exuding a confidence I do not feel. “I wanted to know if your lies taste as sweet as they sound.”
“What’s your verdict?” I ask, not bothering to try and tell him he’s wrong and that I’m a pillar of truth and honesty.
He leans forward to whisper, “They taste much sweeter.”
When he pulls back, I sweep my tongue out over my lower lip as if to capture what he’d found for himself.
The smile he gives me is purely devilish. “I’ll meet you in the truck, Hallie.”
I wait until the door closes behind him, and then I throw on the water, sticking my wrists beneath the freezing cold stream. I catch my own eyes in the mirror, promising I’ll never ever tell anyone that I had to cool myself down from a simple, closed-mouthed kiss.