Chapter 4 Sophie
SOPHIE
I swear, God hates me. He must, because why else would Elijah be sitting next to me? And why else would Benny be staring at me like I’m a damn charcuterie board right now?
Not to mention they all look like picture-perfect romance novel boyfriends or something in their dressy casual slacks and dress shirts.
I’m acutely aware of Elijah’s proximity, of the heat emanating off of him, of his thigh brushing against mine.
But I’m also acutely aware of Benny’s knee brushing against mine, his foot slipping into the space between my own feet as he spreads out underneath the table.
And I’m more than aware of the way he’s staring at me, which makes my entire body feel like it’s on fire.
This feeling is…familiar.
Strangely comforting, even in a room full of my damn relatives. Aunt Susan and Uncle Bob are here, as are my mom’s second cousins Rebecca and Fredrick, and their kids—teenagers Ryan and Ella. Other than that, it’s just Raegan’s parents, the bridesmaids and the groomsmen.
But there’s something about the familiarity of their presence—Elijah’s warmth, Benny’s steely gaze, and Matt’s smile across the table—that make me feel like I’m truly home.
And for a while it really does feel good, chatting with Aunt Susan and Ella, drinking my wine…
even catching up a little with the guys about what they’ve been up to…
But of course, my mother has to break that bubble when everyone’s toasts are over and chatter dies down as the waiter comes to take our order.
“So, where is your other half, Sophie?” she asks carefully, putting me on the spot.
Everyone—and I mean everyone—turns to look at me in question.
Fuck.
I swallow harshly as I set my wineglass down and clear my throat. As hot as I feel, it’s a surprise I’m not sweating over here, though I feel like one of those cartoon characters with the visible panic etched on their face. I steel my expression.
“Keaton’s sick,” I say. “Throwing up all night. Could be food poisoning from some bad sushi, or a stomach bug, or both honestly. You know how it is…office flu and whatnot.” I sip from my wine, trying not to meet my mother’s gaze.
“That’s terrible, baby,” she says, and I can hear the carefully covered disdain in her voice. Probably because it wasn’t part of the plan, but also because regardless of how annoying my mom can be, I know she was excited to Keaton. My fiancé.
This perfect, attractive man with a sizable net worth who wanted to marry her disastrous, impulsive daughter.
And it wasn’t just her.
Sam and Raegan were excited to meet him too, and I know Dad has been talking the man up to the family, what with the news of our engagement and all.
And now, all that is just…
It’s gone. Disappeared in a puff of smoke like some second-rate magician trying to peace out of a bad show.
And if my mother knew the real reason Keaton is a no-show to the wedding of the century, she’d probably find some way to say it was my fault.
Because everything bad that happens is somehow my fault.
“I know. Damn travesty, if you ask me. But, you know men. Stubborn di—I mean, stubborn as a mule, sometimes.” I swish the wine around in my glass, not looking at Elijah, though I can feel his stare penetrating my skin like a damn laser.
I glance up to see Benny watching me intently, his thick, tattooed knuckles catching my attention as he brings his glass to his lips.
“Men are such babies,” Matthew says, pulling my attention. I look up to see his lopsided smile, and something about it makes me feel a fraction better, even if it’s just for a sliver of a moment.
“That they are,” Raegan says, her knowing gaze finding mine.
I give her a soft smile back, knowing my secret is at least safe with her. Though I can’t say it will be safe with me much longer if the sudden flush of heat and dizziness from my wine is any indication. I need to change the subject. Fast.
“No clue. Either way, there was no way he was making our…sudden change of flight.”
The words—no, the lies—come far too easily. And maybe there is some truth in them. There was no way he was making our sudden change of flight, because I left without him.
And he didn’t exactly follow me, so I can’t imagine he’s going to show up here out of the blue to act like Prince Hans or whatever. Because if this man’s a Disney prince, he’s fucking Hans.
Asshole.
“I mean, I offered to stay with him, maybe catch another flight, but he insisted I go without him. He feels terrible he couldn’t make it, but sends his regards, of course.”
Regards my ass, but I digress.
It’s not an ironclad alibi or anything, but at least no one’s going to ask for more details now that I’ve probably made everyone’s stomach turn.
I feel Elijah’s eyes appraising me, still studying me. I bring my wine to my lips and sip it probably longer than I should, but at least it keeps my mouth shut for the moment.
“That poor man, suffering all alone,” my mother says, and I tense. “What kind of fiancée leaves their sick partner at home like that, especially if it could be food poisoning.”
“I mean, there was nothing I could do…” I say, panicking that she’s somehow seen through my cover, even though there’s no way she could know the truth.
My mother’s always been like that—able to see through the bullshit—but thankfully I’ve have a lifetime of evading her, so I know how to handle her.
At least, I do when I’m sober, and judging from the sudden flush of heat and the slight blurriness in my vision, I can attest that I certainly am not sober right now.
God, what the hell was in this wine?
“There’s always something you can do, baby,” my mother says as my father grabs her arm gently.
“Carol, come on, I’m sure he’s fine. He’s a big boy, he—”
“If you’re ever going to be a good wife someday, Sophie, you need to put others before yourself.”
Is she fucking serious right now?
I want to scream. I want to yell from the top of my lungs that I did put Keaton first—in all things—and he still chose some other woman. I gave him everything and it still wasn’t enough.
“Mom!” Sam says, clearly shocked by her outburst.
She brings her wine to her lips, hiccupping slightly as she says, “Marriage is not for the selfish of heart.”
I huff out a sound of annoyance as I throw my napkin onto the table. “Yeah, well, maybe I’d rather be fucking selfish and spend time with my brother and my family instead.” I get up, and immediately stumble, the wine hitting me at the most inopportune moment.
“Soph…take it easy,” Elijah says. I feel his fingers wrap around my wrist, and it’s too much.
His touch is warm—a little clammy, honestly—and familiar, and it beckons every part of me to give in and just crumble like a damn deck of cards. But I can’t.
Not here, and certainly not now.
So, I do the only thing I can think of. I pull away and grab my purse and head out of the room, toward the outside patio, not bothering to look behind me. Sam calls for me, but I don’t listen. I can’t.
“Just let her cool off,” Raegan says, her voice faint as I turn the corner.
I push through the doors into the outside air.
It’s chilly, and immediately I regret not bringing a damn jacket or hoodie or something.
The cap-sleeve pink sheath dress with the sheer see-through panels is certainly not thick enough to provide the warmth I need at this moment; the cool mountain air juxtaposes the heat of panic and anxiety lacing through me.
If only my nerves and anxiety could truly keep me warm, but alas, I’m a human and not a damn coal-operated train.
“Sophie, wait…”
I stop at the sound of his voice, and a part of me thinks it’ll always be like that. I could be in another country, years from now, far, far away from Elijah Brecker, and his voice would make my entire world stop.
He catches up to me, that dark brown gaze holding me still where I stand.
“What do you want?” I ask, hearing the bitterness in my voice as he steps forward, his smoky cologne invading my lungs.
God, he smells so fucking good. Like cinnamon and smoke, desire and comfort wrapped in one delectable, tempting package.
And he looks just as good too, if not better.
After I got pissed off all those years ago, I blocked his profile so I couldn’t go looking and lurk like a stalker on his social media.
I rationalized that it was the best thing to do to save myself both the heartache and the drama.
I knew if I kept it around, I’d always be tempted to look at what I could never have.
It wasn’t that I didn’t think I could have him if I wanted, but I valued what we did have—our close-knit friendship—and I didn’t want to ruin that with admitting my feelings for him like some cliché Hallmark movie.
But I also knew, deep down, I wasn’t Elijah’s type. I grew up with the guy, after all, saw him through several girlfriends and ex-girlfriends.
Elijah liked brunettes, for one. Tall, leggy, well-endowed brunettes with flat stomachs who looked like they could be models or starlets. Every girlfriend he’s ever had has been a fifteen on a scale of one to ten.
And then there’s me. Average all the way around. From my height to my hips, there’s nothing special about me. The real me.
My father used to say, “dress for the job you want.” I took that to heart as a kid, and it became my entire strategy as an adult.
Before I landed my gig with H & H, when I was just applying, I thought about what kind of woman a firm like that would want.
I looked at pictures online, checked out their social media accounts, and browsed through photos of the folks at their events.
I studied the quintessential “H & H woman” and I became her.
I cut and dyed my hair, got some highlights, invested in a wardrobe that was way above my pay grade, and faked it until I made it. And maybe I fell into that persona a little too easily, if I’m being honest. Because it was fun to be the woman who had it all.
The woman Elijah Brecker would have wanted.