Chapter 26
26
I manage to avoid Graham for the rest of the week, volunteering to confirm pickup times with vendors and do final checks with the florist, and leaving Asha to handle any tasks related to Graham, Claire, or the Black-Eyed Susan. She doesn’t seem to notice, already in the zone in the way that she always is right before an event. And before I know it, it’s Saturday afternoon, the day of the wedding.
I step into the hotel’s gilded lobby, pausing to smooth a hand over the black satin wrap dress that I nabbed from the petite section at the Loft. Since my mother and her opinions are not in attendance, I’ve skipped the heels, instead finishing off the outfit with a comfy pair of black flats.
The ceremony doesn’t start for another three hours, but the lobby is already buzzing with activity. A florist brushes past me, directing two assistants who are wheeling a cart of centerpieces toward the ballroom. I spot two people wearing laminated press passes sitting in overstuffed chairs and realize with a flutter of excitement that they’ve come to cover the wedding. Today is everything Graham and his grandmother had hoped it would be. I just hope it will be enough for Trudy to change her mind.
The crowd parts, and there he is, leaning against the front desk. My pulse trips over itself at the sight of him. He looks obscenely handsome in a half-done tuxedo. The black pants are slim and stylishly cut. He’s wearing his white button-down without the bow tie or cummerbund, the golden locks of his hair mussed as always. He’s chatting amiably with the man standing behind the reception desk. But then he turns, as though he can feel me staring at him. He swallows hard as he pushes his glasses up his nose, and then he’s walking toward me.
“Ali,” he says, his voice a low scrape. He reaches a hand forward to cup my elbow. “Can we talk?”
I take a step backward and remove his hand from my arm. “This isn’t a good time, Mr. Wyler. I was just about to head back into the kitchen to check in on preparations. Perhaps Asha can assist you.”
His eyes widen a fraction at my formal tone. Hurt is written all over his face, and it takes every ounce of willpower to maintain a neutral expression.
“Please,” he implores softly. “Five minutes.”
Murmuring a curse under my breath, I grab him by the wrist and drag him over to the maintenance closet, slamming the door behind us.
Placing my hands on my hips, I tip my chin upward to glare at him.
“What? What is it that you so desperately need to say?” I intend for my voice to come out harsh, but the effect is lost when it cracks a bit on the last word. I take a shaky breath, forcing myself to calm down. The last thing I need is to lose my cool right now. Not on a day my career hinges on.
Graham takes a step forward, closing the space between us, and I feel my breath hitch as his blue eyes run across my face.
“Ali,” he says, his own voice shaking. “I can’t… I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do.”
I feel myself deflate as the fight leaves my body. I drop my head against his chest, and he wraps his arms tightly around me, pulling me close. A treacherous tear escapes my eyes, and he must feel it dampen his shirt, because he tightens his grip. My eyes fall shut as I savor his warmth, the feel of his heartbeat beneath the starchy fabric of his shirt. It’s probably the last time he will ever hold me like this.
We stand there for a few moments, locked in an embrace, neither of us speaking. But then I force myself to pull back. I swipe my index fingers beneath my eyes, wiping away any smeared eyeliner. Lifting my chin, I force myself to breathe, force myself to look at his face. His own eyes are damp, his expression tortured.
“There are two members of the press sitting in the lobby,” I say, my voice somehow steadier, more assured than I feel. “One from The Sun and one from Baltimore Weddings. Antoine also has contacts at Style Me Pretty who should be here soon. Photos from this wedding are going to be everywhere, and once the public sees them, it’s going to be huge for the Black-Eyed Susan. Your grandmother will change her mind about selling. Everything you’ve wanted, everything you’ve been working for. This is the day it all comes to fruition.”
Graham reaches forward, pressing the pad of his thumb to my lips. His expression is miserable.
“What if I no longer want those things?” he whispers. I stare up at this man, this man that I love, who loves me. And I remember every memory he’s ever shared about the Black-Eyed Susan. About helping his grandfather oversee reservations. About going into the walk-in fridge with the kitchen staff to learn safety procedures. About ensuring that guests were happy and had what they needed. This hotel means everything to Graham.
I think about myself. The sacrifices that I’ve made, giving up my life in New York to pursue a new dream, standing up for myself and working to prove that I’m strong and capable. And it occurs to me that maybe there’s more to love than getting what you want in the short term. That maybe love is about making sure the people you care about never lose the things they hold dearest.
I reach forward, pressing a hand to his cheek. He closes his own hand over mine, his eyes fluttering shut as his fingertips stroke my skin.
“Today is going to be perfect,” I whisper. “For your grandmother, for Claire, even for you. And everything will be as it should.” I can’t meet his eyes as I brush past him, grasping the doorknob and yanking the door open. I freeze when I come face-to-face with a startled Asha.
Asha’s mouth drops open as her eyes travel over my shoulder to look at Graham. I can only imagine the thoughts that must be going through her mind right now. Then her eyes narrow a fraction, and I watch in horror as she mentally assembles the pieces.
“Mr. Wyler, uh… needed a Band-Aid,” I fumble. “And there weren’t any left in the emergency kit, so we went looking for some.”
Asha’s eyebrows shoot up to her forehead. “In the utility closet?”
“Yup,” I say, nodding quickly. “But it looks like they’re fresh out.”
“That’s interesting,” she says slowly. “Because I checked the emergency kit before I left this morning, and the Band-Aids were fully stocked.”
She flicks her gaze over to Graham. “Mr. Wyler, you should probably head back to the groom’s suite. The photographer wants to do some getting ready shots.”
He nods contritely and slides past her, pausing to glimpse back at me over his shoulder before disappearing down the corridor.
Asha rotates back toward me, arms folded across her chest.
“Asha, it’s not what you think,” I say.
She cocks her head to the side. “Are you sure about that?” Her voice is hard and cutting, and my cheeks instantly flood with shameful heat. Shit.
The worst part is the look of disappointment in her eyes. In all the time I’ve spent worrying about losing my job, I’d neglected to consider how much it would hurt to lose Asha’s respect. It hurts like hell.
I’m still fumbling with what to say next when a head of fire-engine red curls rounds the corner.
“Heyyyy,” Claire drawls, and it’s clear from the way the final vowel drags that she’s already cracked open the bottle of champagne we’ve left in the bridal suite. Her face lights up when she sees me.
“Ali! You’re going to help me get ready, right?”
“Actually, I—” But before I can tell her that I was on my way to check on things in the kitchen, Asha cuts in.
“Yes, Ali will be with you for the rest of the afternoon,” Asha says smoothly.
“But I—” I try again, but Asha shakes her head.
“Don’t worry about the food,” she says. “I can check on it before heading over to the groom’s suite.” She levels her gaze at me.
“We have a job to do today,” she adds meaningfully. “It’s our responsibility is to make sure things go as planned.” I don’t miss the intended innuendo. That my promotion is very much on the line and if I want it, then I will need to see this wedding through. I press my lips together and nod.
Which is how, ten minutes later, I find myself in the bridal suite with Claire, three of her giggly, tipsy bridesmaids, and a sole bridesman.
Claire presses a flute of champagne into my hand before raising her own into the air.
“A toast!” she says. “To old friends.” She turns her head toward me and smiles. “And new ones.” At her words, my stomach drops to the floor.
Numbly, I take a small sip before placing the glass on a nearby table. I may not have been the epitome of professionalism thus far, but I’ve made a commitment to myself to do better from here on out. And that starts with keeping a level head today.
“Just one sip? That’s not the fun-time gal I know! Come on, drink with us.” Claire is slurring her words as she takes an unsteady step toward me. I realize too late that she’s way drunker than I initially thought, because a second later, she stumbles on her heels, and the contents of her champagne flute come hurling toward me. We both watch in horror as the bubbly gold liquid sloshes across the front of my dress.
“Oh, shit,” Claire mumbles, reaching for a napkin and dabbing furiously at the fabric.
“It’s fine,” I say, placing my hand over hers. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from event planning, it’s how to treat champagne stains. I pull the dress away from my body, inspecting the wet blotch. It’s visible but not too egregious, thanks to the dark fabric. As soon as the ceremony starts, I’ll cut into the kitchen to treat it with dish soap.
“I’m so sorry,” Claire mumbles, and I can tell she’s on the verge of tears. “I can’t believe I did that. Now you’re soaked. Why don’t you borrow one of the bridesmaid’s robes?”
I pause my dabbing to look at Claire’s face. For the first time, I notice her pale pallor and the purple crescents beneath her eyes, which her makeup is only just managing to hide. I’ve seen my fair share of nervous brides, but this is something else entirely. Claire looks absolutely wrecked.
“It was an accident. Seriously, don’t sweat it,” I reassure her.
Still, the liquid has started to soak through the fabric, raising goosebumps on my skin. I grab another handful of napkins and dab at it, but it’s not doing much to stop the cold wetness on my belly.
Quickly, I untie my bow on the front of my dress, so that I can pat the stain from the inside. But the minute I feel the cold air against my exposed skin, I realize my mistake. Cold dread pricks over my body as I stand there, frozen in place. And even though I’m still looking down at the plane of my stomach, I can feel Claire staring at me.
Slowly, reluctantly, I lift my head to glance at her. Sure enough, she’s frozen in place, mouth hanging open, her eyes glued to a tattoo that I know with absolute certainty she’s seen before. The temperature in the room drops ten degrees.
“Everyone,” she says in an eerily calm voice I haven’t heard before. Her eyes still haven’t left the ink on my body. “Can we have the room? I need a minute alone with Ali.”
Claire’s friends exchange confused looks, but nonetheless follow her directions as they file out. I watch them as they leave, murmuring quietly among themselves, and no doubt wondering what kind of private exchange Claire needs to have with her wedding planner minutes before she’s due to walk down the aisle. I doubt any of them know the truth about Graham and Claire, so they probably think she’s about to chide me for my lack of professionalism. After all, I did just practically strip naked in the bridal suite. If only they knew how unprofessional I’ve actually been.
When my gaze travels back to Claire, I notice her eyes are filled with tears, and my chest goes tight.
“Claire,” I say hoarsely. “I can explain.”
Her eyes are still fixed to my tattoo, her bottom lip trembling slightly, and I realize that I’m still holding the front of my dress open, leaving myself fully exposed in more ways than one. It isn’t until I begin hastily retying it that she finally drags her gaze upward to look at me.
“You’re her,” she says hoarsely. I open my mouth to speak but she holds a hand out, stopping me. “Is this why you took us on as clients? To get back with him?”
“No, of course not!” I say, my voice pleading. “I would never do something like that. I swear, I had no idea that Graham was your fiancé when we first met.”
“Have you been seeing each other again? While I’ve been away?” she asks quietly.
My heart drops to my knees, but I can’t manage to say a word. Still, my silence is confirmation enough.
Her face darkens. “I can’t believe this. I thought we were friends.”
“We are!” I protest. “Claire, I never meant to hurt you.”
Claire gives me a tiny smile that somehow manages to be completely heartbreaking.
“Then why have you been sneaking around behind my back? You’ve had nothing but opportunities to tell me the truth and you never said a word. I’ve poured my heart out to you. I asked you point blank if you thought going through with this wedding was a bad idea, and you said nothing.”
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” I say softly. And I did. But now that I’m looking back on it all, reconsidering all the reasons I told myself that it made sense to keep the affair to ourselves, those reasons do not, collectively, add up. This has all been a mistake of epic proportions. And now it’s too late.
Claire starts pacing again.
“I can’t marry him,” she says, her heels clacking against the floor. “Not when I know it would keep him from being happy.”
Graham was right. Claire’s instinct is to sacrifice her career for his happiness. But calling off this wedding won’t do either of us any good now. I bite my bottom lip, my brain scrambling as I try to figure out how to salvage this situation.
“Claire,” I say pleadingly. “Please reconsider. I would never for give myself if I messed this up for you, if I cost you your visa or career. Working on late-night TV is your dream, and I can’t let you give that up because I made a bad choice.”
I bite down on my bottom lip.
“Some things are more important than love.”
Claire’s eyes go round.
“Oh my God,” she says softly. “You love him?”
Shit.
“Shit,” she says. “I need to go talk to him. This has been a terrible mistake. There has to be another way.”
“Claire, wait!” I reach forward, grabbing her wrist. She stares down at her wrist, mouth ajar, before flicking her gaze back to me. The sense of betrayal in her eyes evokes a wave of nausea.
“Please,” I say hoarsely, my voice cracking. “We ended things. It’s over between us. Don’t throw everything away based on our bad choices.”
Claire bites down on her bottom lip and I can tell she’s wavering. But then there’s a knock on the door and Asha pokes her head through the doorway. Her eyes widen a fraction as she takes in the looks on both of our faces.
“Everything okay?” she asks tentatively. My heart is hammering in my chest as I watch for her response. But then she gives Asha a tiny smile and nods.
“Just some pre-wedding jitters,” she says, and I start breathing normally again.
Asha looks visibly relieved. “Totally normal,” she reassures her. “We’re actually getting ready to line up. You ready?”
Claire turns back to me, the question in her eyes, and I give her a small, reassuring smile. I can feel Asha turn her head toward me, but I can’t meet her eyes. Instead, I busy myself adjusting the train of Claire’s dress.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her softly. She looks over her shoulder at me, her eyes a storm cloud of mixed emotions.
“Are you sure?” she whispers. I nod and she presses her lips together, resolute.
“Okay,” she says. “Let’s do this.”
I can already hear the violinist playing as we make our way down the carpeted hallway, every long, slow note of Canon in D seemingly mirroring my footsteps. We arrange the bridesmaids in a tidy line outside the ballroom doors. A quick peek inside confirms that every inch of the interior has been styled to perfection.
When the last bridesmaid has made her way down the aisle, the music changes again, this time to Claire’s pick: “Another One Bites the Dust,” by Queen. It seemed funny when she’d first suggested it, but I’m having a hard time summoning amusement now.
The guests rise, turning to look back at Claire. My breath catches in my throat as I look past her to see Graham standing at the end of the aisle. But unlike everyone else in the room, he isn’t looking at Claire. Instead, he’s staring straight at me.
I turn backward, pressing myself against the doorframe. I close my eyes as I tip my head back, willing my breath to steady itself.
“Hey.” I jump at the sound of Asha’s voice. My eyes pop back open as she presses a hand into my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I stare at her, blinking back hot tears.
“No,” I manage. “No, I’m not okay.” The admission shakes the floodgates loose and my vision blurs as hot tears begin to fall. It’s the first time that I’ve really admitted it, to myself or anyone else. I am not okay.
I swipe a fingertip underneath my eyes, undoubtedly smearing my carefully applied eye makeup.
“Go home,” she says quietly.
I gape at her in disbelief.
“I can’t leave,” I say after a beat. “Antoine is here. I’ll never get the job if I walk out now.”
Asha’s face twists with emotion. Disbelief, exasperation, and one more thing I can’t quite identify.
“You’re never going to get the job if Antoine finds out you’re sleeping with the groom. ”
Her words hit like a gut punch; the impact sends me stumbling backward.
“Go home,” she says again, softer this time. “You are clearly in no state to work. I will handle Antoine.” Her words break my heart all over again. I’ve let down so many people today. Graham, Claire, myself, and now Asha. She took a chance on me and now she’s down a partner and left cleaning up my mess. My vision blurs as a fresh wave of tears burns the back of my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. And then I push past her, fleeing toward the lobby without daring a glance back.