Chapter 37
Two Years Later
“Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”
I glance at my sister. Rory is blinking at my left hand, eyes sleepy yet expression scolding.
“It’s not what you think it is,” I parrot.
Rory’s lips purse. She frowns, looking tenser, not relieved. “It looks like an engagement ring, Wren.”
“It’s not an engagement ring.”
Rory exhales, but twin lines linger between her eyebrows. “Then why—”
“I mean, technically, it is an engagement ring,” I say. “Pierre proposed—”
“What?” Rory yelps.
Our driver flinches, but the tires don’t deviate from the road. Miles has worked for our family for as long as I can remember. He’s witnessed plenty of drama in that time, but I’m normally the one overreacting, not Rory.
And she is overreacting.
“I’m not engaged. Just … thinking.”
“Thinking while wearing a diamond ring?”
I snap my fingers. “Exactly.”
“So, you’re actually considering it.”
I sigh. “No. I’m not. I’m just … waiting.”
Pierre proposed my last night in London.
During a dinner I’d planned to break up with him.
I’m not sure how we managed to be on such wildly different pages regarding our relationship status, and I don’t actually think we were.
We just came up with opposite solutions.
I thought a summer home, followed by a year abroad in Italy, was a logical time to take a break.
Pierre saw that same separation as a sign we should commit the remainder of our lives, inclusive of the approaching fifteen months in different cities, to each other.
Even I, who has been accused of being emotionally unavailable more times than I can count, am not cruel enough to reply to a proposal with, Actually, I was thinking we should break up.
So, when Pierre correctly interpreted my shocked expression as a sign I wasn’t about to enthusiastically accept, he launched into a spiel about how he understood I was surprised and begged me to think about it for a few days.
And then what really silenced me was the velvet box he handed me.
The proof it hadn’t been an impulsive suggestion in response to me withdrawing, that he’d planned it through to the point of purchasing a several-carat diamond.
“Waiting for what?” Rory questions.
“Nothing really.” I glance out the window, stomach writhing with the realization I’m recognizing the scenery.
I twist the ring around my finger, working it off and wishing I’d never slipped it on while Rory was napping.
I thought it’d be harmless. A tiny glimpse into a future I could choose, but won’t.
I don’t want to be engaged. And I don’t want to marry Pierre.
Two truths I was already certain of, but the ocean flashing by hardens my resolve. Sunlight reflects off the sea’s surface, blinding me. I pull a pair of sunglasses out of my bag, slipping them on to hide my eyes as much as to protect them from the glare.
He’s not here.
But I’m haunted by ghosts of the past anyway, slipping off the ring and hiding it back inside the little black box it came in. I can feel Rory’s curious gaze on me, but I don’t glance over.
I put the Atlantic between us for two years, and it wasn’t enough.
I wouldn’t have left Manhattan if not for Lili’s engagement party.
She and Charlie met in the Hamptons, and celebrating the next step in their relationship here makes romantic, nostalgic sense.
I just really wish it hadn’t. That they’d chosen to celebrate anywhere else.
We arrive at the house ten minutes later.
My parents wound up purchasing the previous rental, but I haven’t been here since they bought it.
They attended the Red, White, and Blue party last year, and Mom said she was inundated with requests for projects here.
This has become their main residence in the summer, so I’ve cycled through every possible excuse to avoid visiting. Until now.
So, yeah, I’m stuck spending this weekend at the location of my most painful memory. And the location of some very pleasant memories, like the night Sawyer drove me home after punching the guy at Lucky’s.
Rory has spent hardly any time here. She steps out of the SUV, smiling at the blooming blue hydrangeas and even bluer sky like this is a charming vacation spot.
I open my door, slipping off the cool leather seat into the hot sun. Squinting despite my sunglasses, partially to hide my growing scowl, I survey the house.
I don’t want to be here. And I’m mad about that because I’ve never avoided anywhere before. I didn’t miss a day of school after what happened with Third. I avoided being alone in the locker room after that awful afternoon, but that was the only way in which my behavior changed.
Mom and Dad are approaching, and I force a smile on my face. I don’t want them to worry or to think I didn’t miss them. I’ve adjusted to almost everything about Cambridge, and they’ve commented—with obvious relief—on how happy I seem when they’ve visited me there.
I’ve grown up some, I guess, because being viewed as steady and settled no longer makes me want to make the next possible impulsive decision.
I hug Dad first, then Mom, my smile easier to hold as they exclaim over me and Rory, showing us around the changes they’ve made to the first floor. My expression doesn’t droop until I’m upstairs, alone in my bedroom, wishing it didn’t look identical to the last time I was here.
I drop my purse on the desk, walk over to the bed, and crouch down to lift the comforter’s corner. Tug the fitted sheet free and retuck it the way I like, repeating the process on the opposite corner.
There are still two hours until Mom said we needed to leave for Atlantic Crest Country Club, where Lili’s engagement party is being held.
I use every minute, taking a lengthy shower, shaving, moisturizing, straightening my hair and then curling it.
I try on every single dress I packed, settling on the same one I originally planned to wear.
I don’t even know why I’m so jittery. The party tonight will be attended by a bunch of people I’ve met many times before.
None of them know anything about my new life outside London.
Pierre didn’t make an announcement about his proposal.
He and I and Rory are the only ones who know.
My sister won’t say anything, and I’m certainly not planning to share the news.
It’s being back here, not the party tonight or the unpleasant conversation I’ll need to have with Pierre soon, that I’m uneasy about.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask when I arrive downstairs and only Mom and Rory are waiting in the foyer.
“He went to pick up Arthur,” Mom replies.
I nod. I knew Grandpa would be attending tonight—Lili is his favorite, and I don’t think he’d miss an engagement party for any of his grandchildren. Assuming he approved of the match, of course.
Mom and Rory talk excitedly on the drive to Atlantic Crest. I chime in occasionally so they’re not suspicious of my silence, but I already confessed I was out late last night with Gia and other friends, so they know I’m sleep-deprived and likely hungover.
I’m not though. Well, I am tired, but that’s mostly because I lay awake last night, dreading today’s destination.
But it’s hard to be hungover without drinking a single drop of alcohol, which is what happened last night.
The driver drops us off right in front of the main entrance, waving away the waiting valet. I climb out first, striding toward the heavy oak doors. Trying to set the tone for tonight, to be the confident, carefree Wren Kensington that everyone expects.
“This is so exciting,” I hear Mom tell Rory behind me. “I can’t believe it’ll be you girls getting married next!”
I don’t look back to confirm, but I can feel my sister’s eyes boring into my back.
I’m going to have to have another conversation with Rory about Pierre, and I’m dreading it almost as much as the conversation with Pierre himself.
It’s another misstep I’ve made, somehow fooling a guy into thinking I’m ready to commit when the truth is laughable.
“If you meet the right person and want to get married, of course,” Mom adds, misreading Rory’s silence.
Or maybe she’s talking to me, not Rory. I’m the unconventional one. Or I was.
The imposing oak door opens right as I reach for the handle, a tattooed arm appearing, pushing it open.
I freeze. Blink. Blink again, still not comprehending the shape I’m staring at.
I know that sailboat. I drew that sailboat. And I recognize the anchor inked below it and the script on the wrist. My gaze skates in the opposite direction, up over a muscular bicep and along a broad shoulder, finally landing on his face.
Suddenly, I’m numb. My thoughts are spinning too fast, yet they’ve also screeched to a shocked standstill. I’m oblivious to everything that was paramount before—the pinch of my heels, or the silk fluttering around my calves, or my posture.
It’s not until Rory catches up with me and bends down that I realize my fingers went slack.
My clutch has fallen, the contents spilling across the carpeted stair.
A valet hurries over, assisting my sister with picking up my phone and lipstick and …
the diamond ring that’s fallen out of the box I apparently didn’t close very well after trying it on earlier.
Mom gasps audibly, staring at it.
Rory straightens, handing me my clutch.
I’m most concerned with Sawyer’s reaction. He glanced at the ring, but his expression doesn’t flicker or shift. And now, he’s stepping around us, headed toward the parking lot, the guy he’s with following. Not saying a single fucking word.
I deserve the silent treatment. Probably. Definitely, considering the way our last conversation ended and that I haven’t reached out once in two years.
“Wren, what—” Mom starts.
The valet is holding the door open, waiting for us to enter. I can feel the air-conditioning seeping out of the building, the cold rush doing nothing to cool my overheated skin.
He’s here.
“One minute, Mom.” I spin, hustling down the steps and striding after him at the fastest pace my stilettos allow. “Sawyer!”
He doesn’t stop. But he slows, already halfway across the lot, head swiveling to say something to the guy next to him. The guy nods, aiming a curious look at me over his shoulder, then continues walking away.
Sawyer turns, shoving his hands into his pockets to watch me approach. His stance is eerily similar to the last time I saw him, standing in my parents’ driveway.
I slow to a fast walk instead of the hobbling jog from before. Not only because my feet are hurting and I have a full night ahead in these heels, but because I haven’t decided what to say.
I settle on, “What are you doing here?”
He smiles. But it’s not the one I remember. It’s mocking. “I live here.”
“I thought the season ran until September?”
I get my first glimpse of real emotion. Irritation breaks through his mask. He doesn’t like that I looked him up, I guess.
A muscle in his jaw jumps. “I got injured.”
I look him over, eyes lingering on his left forearm. It’s turned, so I can’t see the sailboat anymore, but I know it’s there. I wouldn’t have imagined a detail that specific.
“What happened?”
He releases a long, frustrated exhale. “Look, we don’t need to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Catch up. Pretend to give a fuck.”
I scoff. I forgot how … blunt he can be. “I’m not pretending.”
“I’ve gotta go,” he says, nodding toward his waiting buddy. “You have a party to get back to. And a fiancé.”
Sawyer turns, jogging the remaining distance to his truck like he can’t get away fast enough. Can’t be bothered to spend another second swapping words with me.
Confirmed: he saw the ring.
Also confirmed: he doesn’t seem to care.
One of those bothers me a lot more than the other does.