36. Vaughn
THIRTY-SIX
VAUGHN
Speaking with Leif—and drinking down my glass of champagne—succeeded in settling a lot of my nerves. If things with Arlo fell through, I had other options.
Alba had been right: all I had to do was act like I belonged, like I had investment opportunities to choose from, and options would open up right in front of me.
Leif had excused himself a few minutes earlier, and I scanned the room for Alba. There was a growing murmur in the room, and a few people seemed to be moving toward the dining room, as if some innate sense told these people that dinner would soon be served. An innate sense that I didn’t have.
The hallway where Alba had disappeared showed me no hint of lavender, and the itchiness beneath my collar returned. She was taking a long time. Would I stand here until everyone had moved to the dining room, looking as out of place as I felt?
I closed my eyes and shook my head, regretting that last glass of champagne. Deep breaths . I heard Alba’s voice in my head, calming me, and wished she were beside me to steady me.
In one corner of my mind, I knew this was just some fancy event, and it was ridiculous to feel as deeply uncomfortable as I did.
But to me, it wasn’t just an event. It was everything my father had chased during his lifetime.
Everything I’d rejected—or thought I rejected.
I was vying for a spot at a table that I’d previously scorned.
My early memories were peppered with instances of watching him dress in his tuxedo, my mother frantically clipping stray threads and hiding worn linings.
My father would transform into a man I didn’t recognize.
Kind of like the man in the mirror, in his white tie and coattails.
And in the end, my father’s efforts had meant nothing. We still lived with the instability of near poverty. I still watched my mother pick up the pieces and make sure I had enough.
So, standing at the edge of the sumptuous ballroom, I didn’t just feel anxious about not fitting in.
I felt guilty for even trying. I felt like a hypocrite, a liar.
I felt like the core of my identity as a hard-working man who sacrificed for the people he loved was laughably false, because in the end I was as fake as my father had been, driven by the desire to fit into societies that wanted nothing to do with me.
I was pathetic. A fraud. A cheap excuse of a man, standing here exposed on the fringes of a society that would never accept me.
For what?
A familiar refrain started up in my mind: I was here for my business. This was my one shot, the chance to make a good impression and bag an investor. An investor meant growth, and growth meant success. Success was the antithesis of everything my father had been.
As long as I was successful, I was not my father. As long as my business ventures worked out, I was better than him. I provided for my family instead of draining their resources.
That’s what mattered. I could stand here and pretend to belong as long as it pushed me toward that ultimate goal.
That was the moment Alba’s ex walked up to me. Her other ex—the one we’d seen in the lobby of the French restaurant.
“So you caught her,” he said, his lips twisting in an ugly smile. “I should be giving you a round of applause. I tried to reel her in for months, and she didn’t give it up until it was too late.”
“Excuse me?”
“I think you’re wasting your time, though. She’ll never end up with a guy like you.” He delivered the words casually, but in the sharpness of his eyes, I saw that he knew the blow had landed.
I licked my lips. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Look.” He jerked his chin toward the restroom hallway.
Alba was there now, her shoulders hiked up, tension visible across the room.
An older couple stood in front of her. I could only see their backs, but judging by the look on Alba’s face—the upturned chin, the ice-queen expression—I guessed they were her parents.
When she brushed past them, they both turned, and I saw Alba’s features in the man’s. Her parents stared after her in shock.
“She won’t slum it with you for long.”
“I think you should leave,” I growled. Alba had disappeared behind a clump of people, so I speared the man with a glare.
“Don’t believe me? Look.”
Then his phone was in my face, and I had no choice but to read the messages on the screen.
James
Haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we saw each other.
Miss you.
I want to talk to you, Alba. Can I see you?
Alba
Sure, I’ll see you.
James
Time and place, babe. I’m there.
I jerked, my hand snapping up to grab the phone, but James was quicker. He slipped the device into his breast pocket and gave me a victorious smile.
“You can’t keep a woman like that,” he said, his tone a mocking imitation of sympathy. “She just can’t help herself.” He reached out to slap my shoulder, his hand clamping down to give it a squeeze. “Better you know now, though, right?”
Before I could formulate a response, he’d dissolved back into the crowd. Then I heard a breath and turned to see Alba’s shining eyes. Her face was flushed, as if she’d just sprinted here instead of the stately glide I’d observed. Her smile was shy, but it blossomed into something wide and bright.
And it was all a lie.
Like the snark, and the teasing, and the flirting. The touches. How long had she played me? How long had she planned this? Since I offered her a job? Earlier?
Maybe she’d seen me as a mark from the moment I sat down at her table at Carmine’s, and I played right into her hand.
I realized with a start that it wasn’t me who was like my father—it was her. Always looking for the next big win. Willing to transform herself into someone else, just to get what she wanted.
I’d been such an idiot. I’d fallen for this woman, and I didn’t know her at all. She’d played the damsel, and I’d felt like such a fucking hero for plucking her out of her distress and taking care of her.
Now she was here, making a fool out of me on the one night it mattered most.
Did Arlo know? Did they all know? They watched me walk in here with her on my arm, and they didn’t wish they were me. They felt sorry for me.
Alba’s smile dropped off her face, and she took half a step back. “Are you okay? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“How long, Alba?”
“Excuse me?”
“How long have you been lying to me?”
She jerked back as if I’d slapped her. Her cheeks flushed, and hurt flashed across her gaze. For a moment—an instant—I regretted my words. Then her gaze hardened and she hissed, “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Your old lover just showed me some interesting text messages. Did you plan to meet him here? Is that why you took so long in the bathroom?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you meeting with the guy that you said used you, Alba!” My voice was too loud. People all around glanced over, curious and predatory.
Alba didn’t even seem to notice. She stared at me like she didn’t recognize me, gulped, and then her face shuttered completely. Even the flush drained from her cheeks, so she stared back at me from under arched brows, her eyes so cold I felt the chill of her look all the way down to my bones.
But I was too far gone. I leaned closer and said, “This is everything I’ve been working toward, and you’ve made a fool out of me. My business, Arlo’s investment—they’ll all be laughing at me.”
Moving slowly, she undid the clasp of her purse and reached inside. With long, graceful fingers, she tapped on the screen, then turned her phone so I could see.
I saw the same messages James had shown me—plus an extra one.
Alba
When we’re both dead I’ll see you in hell. Asshole.
Right below the message, there was tiny text indicating that the contact was blocked. The phone dropped, and my gaze snapped to Alba’s face.
“I—” My voice died. Heat rose up the back of my throat, and I was suddenly lightheaded. “He didn’t show me the last message,” I said, but it sounded weak even to my ears.
Alba snorted. “No, he didn’t, did he?” She tucked her phone away, not looking at me.
“Alba—”
“Save it, Vaughn. I know how little you think of me now.”
“I thought you were lying to me. I thought you were fake?—”
“I gathered,” she answered, sardonic and unruffled. It was only the very slight trembling in her hands and the tight swallow she couldn’t conceal that told me she wasn’t as unaffected as she appeared. She lifted her gaze to mine once more. “Goodbye, Vaughn.”
“Alba, wait?—”
She walked away from me. She didn’t run. She didn’t push past the other guests. She just gave me her back and glided across the room toward the exit, never once looking back.