Chapter 35
Round two of battling Toronto traffic goes significantly better than my attempt a few weeks ago. I make it to the Granite Club with zero distracted driving tickets and only one irritated honk, which was deserved, as I tweezed a few rogue eyebrow hairs while waiting at a red light.
I arrive exactly two minutes ahead of schedule; I skip the valet service and instead park Celine under a shady tree, where I apply a coat of mascara to my lashes, swipe deodorant under my arms, and give my hair one last fluff.
My walk from the car to the club gives me a moment to fully appreciate the modern-looking building.
Its architecture is imposing yet beautiful, with sharp angular lines, black bricks, and big glass windows, but it holds my attention for only a brief moment before I’m drawn to the man standing out front, hands shoved into his pockets, watching the stream of cars drive in.
“Has anyone ever told you how good you look in a suit?”
Reeve spins around at the sound of my voice. Two strides and I’m in his arms.
“Fuck, I missed you,” he whispers into my hair.
We kiss in a way that is not appropriate for a public sidewalk.
“Let’s skip the party,” Reeve murmurs as his lips trace a trail from my lips to my neck. “We can go back to my place, and I can take you straight to bed.”
“Won’t your parents be upset?”
“I really don’t care what they think.”
He leans in but then stops, a slamming door turning his attention to a black town car parked beside the sidewalk. We both watch as the back door opens and Reeve’s mom, Cheryl, climbs out. Reeve’s dad, Bill, follows behind.
Cheryl opens her arms when she spots Reeve. “Hello, my sweet boy.”
She stops just short of a hug. “Sorry, lovey.” She holds out her hands, blowing him two air kisses instead. “This face took forty-five minutes to put on. No smudging the lipstick until after I’ve made my entrance.”
Her eyes flick past Reeve to me, and I can tell the moment she registers my face: she makes a dramatic lean to the side, her eyes growing wide. “Jules! You made it! Reeve told us you had to work.”
Despite her earlier declaration, I get an actual hug. It’s a firm squeeze with a lipstick-pressed kiss on my cheek.
“There were some last-minute shift changes,” I explain as she takes her thumb and rubs at the spot where she made contact. “I hope it’s okay just showing up like this.”
“Of course, honey.” She loops her arm through mine, leading me toward the front door—leaving Reeve to walk in behind us with his dad.
“The more the merrier.” She tips her head toward mine, lowering her voice.
“With everyone coming tonight, Bill’s a little wound up.
And with Reeve being so sensitive, I’m—” She pauses. “I’m glad you’re here, Jules.”
I get one more squeeze of my hand before there’s a loud “Cheryl!” from the other side of the room, and she is whisked off into a group of women.
I’m alone for only a moment before I feel a soft kiss pressed to my neck. “Can I get you a drink?” Reeve asks, nodding at the beautiful modern bar in the corner.
I loop my hand through his arm. “One glass of champagne. Then I need to be cut off for the night. I have to drive home in”—I turn his wrist so I can check his watch—“less than nine hours.”
Reeve cups my face between his hands and pulls me in for another questionably public kiss. “Here’s my plan. We hang out here for a bit. Then, right after dinner, we sneak out and make the most of our nine hours. Deal?” He kisses me again lightly on the lips.
“Deal.”
I turn toward the bar. “Shall we?”
Reeve starts to walk and then stops suddenly. “Actually, maybe we should wait. If you’re only having one, we should save it for dinner.”
I shrug, fine with this new arrangement. “Okay, but we can still get you one—”
“No.” His eyes shoot from the bar to me. “I’m fine. Let’s go over there.” He points at a group of people on the other side of the room. “I’ll introduce you to a few of my cousins.”
The next hour is a blur of introductions and polite conversations.
Reeve’s hand stays on the small of my back, leaving only to rub my neck or shake someone’s hand or pull my body closer to his.
I stay tucked under his arm, and as stupid as it sounds, it feels like we’re no longer a “Reeve and Jules” but an “us.”
And I love it.
So when he leans in and whispers, “Are you sure I can’t persuade you to take off?
They’ve seen us here. I’m sure they won’t even notice we’re gone,” I almost say yes.
The only thing that stops me is the deep male voice announcing through the speaker system that we are to take our places at our tables for dinner.
“Let’s stay.” I take Reeve’s hand. “A girl’s gotta eat, and I still need my glass of champagne.”
Reeve nods, but I sense a little reluctance as we follow the crowd heading into the ballroom and find our table.
The room is stunning in that way achieved only by wedding magazines and carefully curated Pinterest boards.
Each table is set with crisp white linens, fine china, and silverware.
The only thing informal about our table is Reeve’s two brothers, their suit jackets already off and strewn over the backs of their chairs.
Reeve’s older brother, Liam, greets me with a “Nice to see you again, Jules” and an introduction to his wife, Lorraine.
Brodie reaches out his hand for a fist bump and introduces a blond-haired Amanda, who he later tells Reeve is his hookup from the weekend before.
We’re served a dinner of beef and delicate vegetables, followed by a sweet and light dessert that practically melts on my tongue. All of the friction from brunch a few weeks ago is absent, replaced by wine and laughter and expensive Scotch. Even the tense lines around Reeve’s eyes relax.
But just after our plates are cleared, the room fills with the sound of clinking glass.
The ting ting ting of knives being tapped on champagne flutes.
It’s followed by a brief microphone shriek, then a few surprised gasps and a “Well, that was not the introduction I was going for, but I think we’re sorted now” from Reeve’s dad, Bill.
The room quiets. Their attention is rapt on our host this evening, who smiles with the quiet confidence of a man who knows he can control a room.
“I’d like to thank you all for being here this evening,” he says, bringing the last few voices to silence.
“It’s hard to think that it’s been forty years since we gathered in this very ballroom and this—” He gazes down at his wife.
“This beautiful woman agreed to have and hold me for the rest of her life.” He pauses.
“I’d like to think she has only regretted that decision a handful of times. ”
There’s a murmur of laughter from the crowd. Bill holds up his hands as if conceding to the joke, then waits for the room to quiet again before continuing.
“We have been blessed with so many gifts. My late father, William Senior, left an extraordinary legacy in both the value of hard work he instilled and the financial stability he passed on that allowed me to invest in and grow my firm of Baldwin Barrington and Crouch.
“I am incredibly grateful to be able to pass that same legacy and hopefully a few of Pop’s life lessons down to my youngest son, Brodie, who is following in my footsteps and proving to be a hardworking and promising lawyer.” Bill raises his glass in the direction of our table.
Brodie, in return, lifts his glass with a shout of “Love you guys!” They mime a cheers, although Bill doesn’t drink, instead returning to his speech.
“My oldest son, Liam, is breaking medical ground every week,” Bill continues, “as he tirelessly serves his community and the patients at Mount Sinai Hospital.” Bill pauses, his glass held out in front of him.
“Liam, you may refuse to be called Bill like your old man, but you got a lot more from me than just my eight-handicap golf swing, and I’m proud of you. ” The crowd laughs again.
Liam raises his glass and shouts, “Not all of us work summer hours,” drawing an even bigger round of laughter from the room.
“And finally, Reeve.” Bill’s eyes lock on his middle son.
Reeve stiffens beside me, the tiny vein pulsing in his temple.
“Reeve is our dreamer. Our nonconformer. Growing up, he was the one who gave his mother and me the most heartburn at night.” More laughs, but not from me this time.
“We used to joke that the stork must have had an address mix-up with our middle child, but I’m proud to stand here and tell you that he’s about to break ground on a massive project up in West Lake, Ontario—a small community on Lake Huron.
Howard Mansfield”—he points at a table on the opposite side of the room—“my oldest and dearest friend, says Reeve is one of the brightest, most ambitious project managers he’s ever had at his firm. ”
My mouth goes completely dry. I take a sip of water, but it does nothing but make me cough as I struggle to swallow it down.
“Reeve’s new project will be a crowning achievement for the firm over the next year,” Bill continues.
“Maybe even a legacy he passes on to his own children one day.” He raises his glass.
“Reeve, I’m proud of all the incredible work you’ve done.
Maybe next year we’ll celebrate this anniversary at the new condo complex in West Lake. ”
I turn to Reeve, my face searching his for answers. Did his dad make a mistake? Maybe he misunderstood? Or is Reeve so confident the deal is done that he has no problem hearing it announced to a room full of people?
Reeve’s face, however, is impossible to read.
His lips remain pressed in a thin, firm line, even as Brodie leans over and throws an arm around his neck.
“Look at you, Reevey Boy, climbing the ranks. You’d better be careful, Liam,” Brodie calls across the table to his older brother.
“Reeve may take your spot as Dad’s second favorite. ” Brodie ruffles Reeve’s hair.
Reeve doesn’t so much as flinch, moving only as we are called to raise our glasses for a cheers.
“To Mom and Dad,” Liam says.
“To Mom and Dad,” we all echo, clinking our glasses together in the center of the table.
The champagne is dry and tickles the back of my throat on its way down. As I set my glass on the table, the band begins to play a slow foxtrot, and the rest of our table gets up to head to the bar.
“We need to talk.” I hold my hand out to Reeve. He takes it and nods.
“Yeah, we should—but not here.” He’s turned an unnatural shade of white, and although I could chalk that up to the overhead lights, I don’t think that’s it.
Reeve grows even paler. “Have you signed the papers yet?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I still need to talk with Miranda. We told you we were taking the weekend—”
Reeve stands so abruptly the silverware clinks. I push my chair back and stand as well.
“What is going on, Reeve?”
He glances at the exit, then the dance floor. “I really want to be alone with you. Let’s get out of here.”
He turns toward the ballroom doors but runs straight into Brodie, who catches him by the shoulders. “Whoa! Easy there, big guy. Can’t take off yet. Mom wants a family photo.”
“We’re on our way out.” Reeve grabs my hand, but Brodie throws his arm over Reeve’s shoulders.
“It will take two minutes. We all want to get out of here. You know what Mom will be like if we don’t do this. We’ll be hearing about this until Christmas.”
Reeve sighs. “Fine.” He begins to follow Brodie, his hand still holding mine, but I let go.
“Why don’t I get our coats? You can meet me out front when you’re done?”
Reeve glances at the door and then at his impatient brother. “Okay. I’ll see you out front. We should only be a couple minutes.”
Reeve reaches out, cupping my chin in his hand, his thumb slowly stroking my cheek until Brodie slaps him hard on the back with a “Come on, dude,” and Reeve reluctantly lets go.
Once they’re gone, I stick to the plan and join the coat check line in the foyer. There is only one couple ahead of me, so the coat check attendant takes just a moment to collect my tickets and retrieve our coats.
Just as he places them on the counter in front of me, I feel a cold hand on my back.
“You were fast,” I say, spinning around, expecting to see Reeve, but it’s Howard Mansfield.
“Ms. DeMarco. Good to see you. I didn’t expect you to be here tonight.” He holds out his hand toward a middle-aged blonde in a sparkly dress. “This is my wife, Celeste.” He addresses his wife. “Celeste, Ms. DeMarco owns one of the properties we are buying up in West Lake.”
She smiles but does not extend her hand.
I grab our coats, but as I do, something about what he just said registers. “I’m sorry. Did you say properties ? Is there more than one project?”
Mr. Mansfield laughs. “Oh no, no. Just the one you saw earlier this week. We finally managed to secure the lot adjacent to your dance hall, so we are expanding the build. We’ll now have room for the tennis courts.
I don’t know how you invest, Ms. Demarco, but you may want to consider purchasing one of our premium units for rental purposes.
The property is going to be a hot commodity. ”
He starts to say something else, but my brain is no longer listening. It’s mentally computing which lot he’s talking about. The beach is beside the dance hall. The only other lot he could be referring to is—
My heart seizes like a cold engine in my chest. “You don’t mean the retirement home? That big redbrick building?”
Howard Mansfield thinks for a moment. “I thought it was apartments. But yes, that’s the one.
Reeve was working on them for months. They were hesitant at first to sell, like you, but eventually couldn’t deny our offer was too good to pass up.
” He continues talking, but I block him out, my eyes too busy scanning the foyer.
I catch Reeve’s eye right as he exits the ballroom. I watch him look from me to Howard, and I can tell when he realizes what has just happened.
Reeve knows.
He knows they’re going to demolish the retirement home—and he purposely kept it from me.
All of a sudden the odd moments from the night make perfect sense. The vagueness. The weirdness. He didn’t keep me close because he wanted to be near me. He kept me close to keep me away from Howard.
I look at him one last time. He’s too far away to hear, but I can read his lips perfectly as he says, Jules, I’m sorry.
If he says anything else, I don’t see it because I turn around and run.