25. Vaughn
TWENTY-FIVE
VAUGHN
My ex-wife opened her front door, looked at me, and called out Charlotte’s name. Then she turned to me and gave me one of those tight, cordial smiles I’d become accustomed to. “Hi, Vaughn.”
“How was it?” I asked, as usual, referring to her two weeks with our kid.
“Great,” Tiffany replied, then turned at the pitter-patter of little feet sprinting down the hallway toward her. Our conversations were always stilted now, but that came with the territory. The only thing keeping us together was the love we shared for the little girl currently barreling toward me.
“Daddy!”
I knelt and spread my arms, bracing myself for the collision.
Charlotte launched herself at me. I caught her, stood, and spun, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and feeling all the tension in me drain away.
Her hair was a wild mess, half of it sticky with some mystery substance, but her eyes were alight and her smile was wide as she pulled back to plant a kiss on my cheek.
“How you doin’, turkey?”
“I’m so good. Mom and Dale and me went out to dinner last night!”
“Ooh,” I said, hiking her up onto my hip. She was getting heavy to be held like this, but I was reluctant to let go of these moments. “What’d you have?”
“I had a piece of pizza as big as my head .” She placed her hands on either side of her head to demonstrate.
I laughed, even though my thoughts flicked back to my last dinner date with Alba. We’d eaten oversized pizza slices too. Which reminded me—I had to have a chat with my ex-wife.
“Go grab your stuff,” I said, “I want to talk to your mom.”
“Okay!” Charlotte took off, and Tiffany leaned against the doorjamb, arching her brows. I didn’t take offense to her not inviting me in; our coparenting relationship relied on these sorts of boundaries.
“I saw your company in the news. Midtown job still stuck in the ground?”
Sighing, I shrugged. “We’ll get there.”
“I can keep Charlotte longer if you need to be at work.”
“No,” I replied. “That’s not necessary.” I was only getting one week with her this time; I wouldn’t give up both.
“She seems to spend an awful lot of time with that nanny of yours, and not so much time with you.”
I bristled. “She spends plenty of time with me, Tiff. And I’m not here for you to take swipes at me.”
My ex-wife sighed. “Well, what is it?” She straightened, frowning. “This isn’t about money, is it? That job drained everything from your company and now you can’t afford your child support payments?”
Frustration snaked through me, and I curled my fingers into my palms to dispel some of it.
Tiffany was always worried about what she could get for herself—more time with Charlotte.
More money. She was a great mom, but she was just a little too selfish to be a good partner.
At least, that’s how it had felt to me. Maybe, a quiet voice chimed, maybe she felt that way because I hadn’t given her enough of me, freely enough, often enough.
Maybe I’d put everything else first, and she had no choice but to fight for what I would give her.
I gritted my teeth. “I said I wasn’t here for you to take swipes,” I bit off. “The money’ll come on the first of the month, like it has since the day our divorce was finalized.”
Tiffany clicked her tongue. “So?”
“So, I’ve met someone. I’m going to introduce her to Charlotte.”
Tiff blinked at me. “Oh.”
Feeling defensive, I took a page out of Alba’s book and went on the attack. “Don’t look at me like that. You started dating Dale, what, six weeks after we broke up?”
“I’m not looking at you any which way, Vaughn, I’m just?—”
“Everything okay?” Dale appeared behind my ex-wife, tall and lanky, his long-fingered hands landing on Tiffany’s shoulder.
She relaxed slightly, took a deep breath, and filled him in: “Vaughn’s dating someone and wants to introduce her to Charlotte.”
Dale’s eyebrows went up, and he nodded. “Happy for you, man.”
My ex-wife’s new husband was a calm, unassuming accountant.
He kept regular work hours—even during tax season—and was apparently a great cook.
From the moment they’d started dating, I could tell he was better for Tiffany than I’d ever been.
He balanced her out when I only riled her up.
She needed that kind of stability in her life, someone who wouldn’t snap back every time she did.
I should’ve known to be better, but I was who I was. I nodded at the other man, backing down. “Thank you. Now, would you like to meet her before I introduce her to Charlotte?”
It was part of our custody agreement that we’d let the other parent meet new partners before introducing them to Charlotte, and Tiffany nodded.
“Yes, I would. I assume Hillary will be in touch to work out the scheduling?” That was a not-so-subtle dig about how unavailable I was to her—had always been to her.
When we were married, she’d get irate when my assistant would step in to make time in my schedule for her.
With the benefit of a few years’ distance, I could understand that.
Tiffany’s shirt crinkled around Dale’s fingers; he was squeezing her shoulder.
Sighing, my ex-wife shook her head at me. “I’m sorry. It just always gets to me when I have to say goodbye to Charlotte. Hand-offs…are tough.”
“I know,” I agreed. “I’m sorry for springing this on you.”
She huffed and gave me a half smile. An olive branch. “Four years isn’t exactly springing it on me,” she acknowledged. “This woman—she’s good for you?”
I thought of the way Alba pushed me, and how she softened in my arms. The way her smile lit me up from head to toe, and how all I wanted to do was share every part of my life with her.
I couldn’t wait to see her interact with Charlotte.
I hoped they’d like each other. Meeting Tiffany’s gaze, I nodded. “She’s great.”
Tiff and Dale exchanged a glance, and she released a long sigh. “Good,” she said, then we all turned to watch Charlotte barrel down the hallway toward us.
Tiffany’s smile was strained as she said goodbye, and then Charlotte slipped her hand in mine, and I took her back home.
That night, I missed having Alba by my side. Like some sort of lovesick fool, I pawed at my phone and found her number. She answered on the first ring.
“Hello,” she purred.
My body relaxed at the sound of her voice. “Hey. What are you up to?”
“Trawling through pages and pages of dresses looking for the perfect gala look.”
I hummed. “Anything you wear will be perfect, Alba.” I curled a hand behind my head and stared at the ceiling, imagining it. Alba, on my arm, looking like a vision in a beautiful gown. Being in a stuffy, uncomfortable tux wouldn’t even matter when she was by my side.
“You are so wrong, Vaughn,” she said, laughing. “The dress needs to be legendary.”
“I mean it,” I insisted. “You could wear my mother’s old prom dress and be the most beautiful person in the room.”
Her laugh warmed me, until she said, “Oh, my sweet summer child.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I mock-growled.
“It means you don’t understand what will happen when I walk in on your arm, Vaughn.”
“Heads will turn. Men will wish they were me. Women will wish they were you. And you’ll be all mine.”
She hummed quietly, like she was considering it. “Maybe,” she conceded. “In a fantasyland of your making.”
I laughed. “Okay. Tell me about your fantasyland, then.”
“We’ll walk in, and everyone from my old life will turn to look at me.
They won’t recognize you, but they’ll dissect everything about you from the way you hold your head to the way you treat the staff to the level of shine on your shoes.
I’ll undergo the same scrutiny, but worse, because they’ll all be wondering how in the hell I got a ticket. ”
Discomfort squirmed through me. This gala would be everything I hated.
All the vapid fakery. All the pretentious airs and turned-up noses.
I already knew I was going to feel uncomfortable from the moment the car door opened to let me out at the venue.
My father, on the other hand, would’ve loved every minute of it.
I rubbed my forehead. “So? Who cares what they think?”
“I do, Vaughn,” Alba admitted. “I’ve been humiliated, and if this is going to be my big F-U moment, I want to make the most of it.”
There was a note in her voice that pulled me back from my own discomfort. Alba needed me. I’d pushed her to come with me, because I wanted my moment with her by my side. But I was asking something of her that was bigger than me feeling uncomfortable.
The people at that gala had thrown her out and turned their backs on her.
She said it herself: they’d humiliated her.
If I wanted her to trust me—be with me—then I needed to make sure she knew I was there for her.
Things with Arlo Noble had progressed; his team was trawling through our financials and making all the right noises.
The gala was the final hoop to jump through.
I could afford to step back and let Alba have her moment.
“So tell me about this dress,” I said. “What does it have to do? Shoot fire from your nipples to destroy your enemies, or something?”
Alba laughed. “Close, but no. It has to strike a perfect balance between unbelievably memorable and not main-character-y. I have to look like I didn’t try too hard while also being flawless. Timeless without being outdated. Trendy without being flashy.”
“I’m regretting ever agreeing to go to this event.”
“You and me both, Vaughn,” she said, laughing. “And I’ve got a little over a week to make this happen.”
“I believe in you,” I said.
There was a short silence, and I could hear the shy smile in Alba’s voice when she replied, “Thank you.” It made me realize that she needed to hear these things. She needed to know how amazing she was and how highly I thought of her.
Which reminded me: “Are you free for dinner this weekend?”
“You want to go over the cutlery again?”
I huffed. “Not quite…”