Chapter 11
11
C al is the last one to climb onto the plane. I’m not sure if his late arrival was a deliberate decision or not. He and Violet had left the party last night around eleven, earlier than most guests.
He looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes and his normally neatly combed blond hair a ruffled mess. He stops to talk to Jasper, then sprawls out on the couch across from me and Fran. Yawns.
I clear my throat. “Hey.”
He nods. “Hey.”
“You’re late,” Fran says from her spot beside me, nudging Cal’s foot with hers. “We almost left without you.”
Cal grunts, grabbing a navy Yankees cap out of his backpack and covering his unruly hair. He tugs the brim low, then appears to immediately pass out.
We take off fifteen minutes later, the silhouette of New York’s famous skyline shrinking until it’s a speck on the ground. The soundtrack for the first hour of the trip is excited chatter—recounts of the Fourth, anticipation of the trip ahead—but then it gradually fades into silence as everyone but me falls asleep.
I stare out the window at the fluffy clouds soaring past, sorting through my chaotic feelings about Chloe’s upcoming wedding.
I’m thrilled for her, obviously. I don’t resent a single bit of Chloe’s happiness. But she’s been my closest friend since preschool. The sister I never had. Her moving to a different continent was bad enough. Now, she’s shifting to a whole new phase of her life.
And for the first time, I’m not experiencing it at the same time.
I could have.
I risk a glance at Cal, still fast asleep on the couch. His feet hang off the end. I don’t regret ending our relationship. But it’s impossible not to think about how different this week might look if I hadn’t. That decision created a what-if to consider. I’d probably be attending another wedding—my own—later this summer.
My gaze returns to the window. The clouds part for a few seconds, offering a glimpse of the water far, far, far below.
The sight soothes me for some reason. A timely reminder that the world is so much bigger than my small problems.
Bridget wakes up an hour later. I’ve moved to the table at the far end of the plane, wanting to stretch out some and distance myself from Hugo’s snores.
“You’re not tired?” Bridget asks, taking the seat across from me.
I shake my head. “Got a good night’s sleep,” I lie.
I did chug a couple of espressos and apply two layers of concealer under my eyes before crawling into the back of the SUV that drove me from the Hamptons to the airport this morning, so I look well rested.
“Red, White, and Blue party must not have been all that exciting this year then.”
I take a sip of the sparkling water I grabbed out of the fridge. “Actually, Tripp was right.”
Bridget’s forehead wrinkles. “Don’t let him hear you say that.” Without pausing, she adds, “Right about what?”
“Charles Marlborough is single.”
“Charles Mar—oh. The duke ?” She leans forward. “How do you know?”
I raise both eyebrows.
She raises hers right back. “ Details , Lili.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks. “He kissed me last night. So, I slapped him and said I wasn’t a cheater. He told me he told Fran he wasn’t available … because he was interested in me.”
Her eyes widen more with each sentence. “And then?”
“We kissed some more. He said, ‘Happy Fourth of July,’ and walked off. I went to watch the fireworks, didn’t see him for the rest of the night.”
Bridget’s witnessed plenty of what Gigi would call “unladylike” moments featuring yours truly, but no way am I going to cop to getting off on Charlie’s leg while my ex is sleeping fifteen feet away.
“How was it?”
“It was good.”
She smirks. “You’re bright red, you know.”
“It was great,” I amend. “But it’s never going to happen again.”
“Why not?”
“Because he just … left.”
Bridget shrugs. “So? He sounds like perfect one-night-stand material. Treat yourself to a summer fling.”
“I’m not looking for a one-night stand or a fling.”
“Why not? You want another relationship?”
“No. I—no.”
Bridget nods like that’s the answer she was expecting. “You didn’t blush once while talking about that lawyer in Chicago, you know.”
I doubt I ever blushed while talking about Cal either. When it comes to relationships, I’ve always played it safe. I’ve always been the less invested one.
“He just walked off,” I blurt. “So, I’m not going to chase?—”
Bridget leans closer. “I think you met a guy who doesn’t give a shit that you’re Elizabeth Kensington , and it’s freaking you the fuck out.”
She doesn’t know the full story. Doesn’t know I first met him last summer. Doesn’t know the rude comments he made about me. Doesn’t know he kissed me after apologizing. Doesn’t know I had the best orgasm of my life last night and he’d barely even touched me to achieve it, as he so cockily informed me.
Bridget doesn’t know how reckless I feel around him.
My entire life, I’ve strove for perfection and often fallen short.
Getting into Yale, where my father went for business school, only to transfer and graduate somewhere else.
The Claremont project, which I took because I was afraid to hold out for an opportunity I was more passionate about.
The logical relationship with the loyal guy, which I pulled the plug on.
“It doesn’t even matter,” I tell Bridget. “I’ll probably never see him again.”
She stares at me for a few seconds, then laughs. “Doesn’t he live in London? The city we’re currently, you know, flying to?”
“I don’t know where he lives.” In a castle probably.
Her eyes dance. “You could find out.”
“It would be weird … with Cal.” I whisper the words, worried about being overheard.
Bridget sighs. “Lili, I love Hugo and Tripp. But they’re wrong. You don’t owe Cal a damn thing. People break up and move on. You didn’t cheat. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”
“I don’t feel guilty. I’m just trying to be … respectful.”
“I get that. But I think it would be good for Cal to see you with someone else. No one mentioned the lawyer guy to him. As far as he knows, you haven’t been with anyone else since the split. At a certain point, he’s going to think you being respectful is you having second thoughts about calling it quits.”
I exhale. “I know.”
“ Are you having second thoughts?”
“No.” I play with the cap of my water bottle. “No, I’m not.”
“Then, have some fun this week. My vote would be for the hot duke, but Theo probably has lots of single friends with sexy accents.”
Charlie has my vote too. But …
“What about Fran? She was inter?—”
Bridget scoffs. “Fran’s rebound rate rivals a boomerang’s. She hooked up with a guy she met at Proof last night. She’ll be thrilled for you. And demand lots of details.”
I’m out of obstacles. But I know I won’t pursue Charlie this trip. I’m too proud to chase after him. There’s no way he couldn’t tell I was seconds from begging him to fuck me last night, and he walked away for no apparent reason. Left like he’d lost interest. I don’t care if Carys Park—Chloe’s wedding venue—turns out to be next door to his castle. He had his chance with me, and he fumbled it.
Tripp wakes with a huge yawn and a lot of noise that rouses everyone else, effectively ending my private conversation with Bridget.
We land in London two hours later.
Chloe is waiting on the tarmac of Heathrow’s private terminal, waving a huge banner that reads Bridal Crew and wearing a wide smile.
I’m first down the stairs, and we start running at the same time. Canvas smacks the side of my face as I throw my arms around my best friend.
“Shit. Sorry.” Chloe giggles in my ear, dropping the banner and hugging me back tightly.
I haven’t squeezed her since January. She and Theo came to New York for the holidays, leaving shortly after New Year’s. Our weekly phone calls have never been an adequate replacement for what used to be shared exercise classes and weekend brunches. Nights spent competing for more phone numbers or bingeing television shows. We’re now separated by the six-hour flight I just stepped off of.
Chloe clings to me just as tightly. This is a new chapter for her, and a new chapter can’t begin without ending the previous one.
“Stop hogging the bride, Kensington.” Tripp elbows me aside to get to Chloe, and then she’s passed around the rest of our friends.
I’m relieved when I see the friendly smile she and Cal exchange before hugging.
Everyone might have avoided taking sides in the aftermath of our breakup, but Tripp and Hugo were more sympathetic toward Cal. And Chloe was firmly in my camp. Cal moving to London shortly after our relationship ended was bad timing all around.
“Sweet!” Jasper says, focusing on the shiny black Mercedes van parked on the tarmac behind Chloe. “Riding in style.”
“You spoil us, babe,” Tripp declares, smacking a loud kiss on Chloe’s cheek.
I roll my eyes. “All you guys did when you got on my plane was ask where the liquor was.”
“I was hungover,” Tripp says, an unspoken duh hanging off the end of his sentence. “ Obviously , alcohol was a priority. But thank you, dearest Lili, for saving me from the horrific fate of flying first class with your private jet. Want a kiss too?”
“Pass. Who knows where that mouth has been?”
Cal’s snort is louder than Tripp’s shouted, “Hey!”
Cal’s nap seems to have revived him. There’s more color in his cheeks, and he’s finger-combed his hair into compliance.
Our luggage gets unloaded from the plane and stacked in the back of the van by the driver—a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, mostly covered by a linen flat cap, who introduces himself as Blake.
It’s hot and humid out, the sky covered by gray clouds that promise rain soon. We climb into the air-conditioned van, one by one. There are four rows of leather seats, so plenty of space for all of us.
Blake begins driving a few minutes later, expertly steering off the tarmac and onto a road that merges into a highway.
As we drive, Chloe fills us in on the plans for the week. Theo isn’t able to get away from work until tomorrow, but then he’ll join us at Carys Park. I looked up photos of the venue online, and Chloe sent me some videos when they went to sign the contracts. It’s a former country estate with a main manor that was renovated into an upscale hotel. There’s also a historic stone chapel, where the ceremony will take place, and a former carriage house that’s been expanded and is now an event hall, where the reception is going to be. They’re skipping the traditional rehearsal dinner since not many guests are able to stay at the venue. And “to keep attention on the main event.”
Chloe has booked high tea and spa treatments at a hotel in London, which the guys groan good-naturedly about. They perk up when Chloe says Theo has arranged a trip to a Formula One track on Friday. We went racing in Monaco for Jasper’s twenty-first, and they all still talk about it. They rarely mention how I beat all of them except Tripp.
At some point during the drive, exhaustion catches up with me, and I fall asleep.