Chapter Twenty-Nine
I booked us on the cheapest flight I could find. Henry is staring out the window, hand drumming on the armrest between us.
“You good?” I ask, noticing his jitteriness in the sky. He insisted that despite his fear of heights, he preferred the window over the aisle so I wouldn’t have to crawl over him to use the bathroom if I had to.
“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Heights don’t bother me so much when I’m inside something. Instead of, you know, standing on top of a skyscraper with no safety net.”
I laugh. “We both survived, didn’t we?”
“We did.” He reaches across the seat and squeezes my knee. I rest my head on his shoulder, feeling that instant serenity that comes with Henry’s contact. There’s a screaming baby two rows behind us and a man eating a rancid sandwich across the aisle, but with my head on Henry’s shoulder, the world calms down a little bit. Maybe this weekend won’t be such a disaster. I catch a glimpse of the earth below us through the window on Henry’s side, then check the in-flight tracker on the screen in front of me. I poke him in the ribs.
“That’s Colorado,” I say, pointing out the window.
He smiles, glancing out the corner of his eye. “So it is.”
“Do you miss it?”
“Yeah.” He keeps his eyes locked on the window, gazing at the ground below us. “One of these days I’ll take you to Denver and we can go hiking.”
“You’re going to dump me when you see how out of shape I am.”
“It’ll be worth it, I promise.” A thought flickers across his eyes. “Like Jane Austen said, What are men to rocks and mountains? ”
“Wait.” My heart tingles. “No way.”
He nods, satisfied. “Mm-hm.”
“ Pride and Prejudice . You watched it?”
“I read it and I watched it. I had to know where your name came from. You realize you’re not Lizzy, though, don’t you? You’re hard to read, dark, brooding, kind of cold but in a sexy way…extremely kind and soft when you get to know you. You’re Mr. Darcy.”
“So, what, that makes you Lizzy?”
He shakes his head. “I give off Bingley energy.”
“So in our version, Bingley and Darcy get together?”
He shrugs. “I think that would make a lot of fan-fiction writers very happy,” he says.
I gape at him, my mouth hanging wide.
“What?” he says. “I may have skimmed a couple in my research.”
“Wow. I can’t believe you read it.”
“Anything for my girl.” He kisses me, a tender, comfortable kiss that makes even the tiny cabin of this airplane feel like Pemberley. With Henry, I’m warm and soft and melty and…fuck. It will be impossible for us to keep this under wraps.
I settle my cheek onto his shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing under my head.
“Can I ask you something I’ve been wondering for a while?” he asks.
I nod.
“Why does Alexandra go by Andy? It doesn’t seem like a natural nickname.”
I feel a smile pull at my cheek as a flood of a memory overtakes me. “Because when Sam and Andy were kids, they watched Toy Story together and Andy was obsessed with it. She wrote Andy under all of Sam’s shoes and…it just stuck.”
It goes silent between us as my eyes start to sting. Henry pulls me closer to him, kissing me on the forehead.
We only have a couple of hours until my worlds crash into each other. I picture Henry congratulating Andy, shaking hands with Mr. Chase. I imagine him goofing off with Theo and refreshing Mrs. Chase’s glass of champagne. Everything he does will highlight his not-Samness in their eyes. His Henryness. The way he talks, the way he laughs, the way he dresses, will all be compared to Sam. Isn’t it wrong? Isn’t it an invasion? Shouldn’t I be more miserable?
I suddenly feel hot, my body sweating and screaming for space. I unzip my hoodie and wrestle it off as fast as I can. It’s little relief, but I feel less restricted.
Henry rests his palms on his knees. “I know it’ll be hard, but I think this weekend is a big step for us.”
Tell him about the hotel rooms now , my brain screams. But my heart just wants this moment to pass.
“Me too,” I say, dread building in my stomach.
“It means a lot that you want me there. It always did, but especially now that we’re together.” His breath rises and falls. “Thank you for letting me in, Bennet. I do not take meeting them lightly.”
I close my eyes, leaning against his shoulder again, pretending to fall asleep as he strokes my hair.
All I can think about is how earnest Henry is, how he’s not asking for much from me, yet I can’t seem to give it to him. How badly I want to give it to him, yet I’m making the worst possible choices.
The baby two rows back lets out a bloodcurdling screech.
Me too, girl. Me too.
The Hotel Amaya is a social media dream location. Every surface is Instagrammable. The walls are painted a creamy white, with glossy floor tiles to match. There are succulents on every table, potted palms in every corner, long confetti-like ferns hanging from the ceiling. Colorful flowers dot the walls and give off the perfect sun-soaked Los Angeles vibe. It’s beautiful, if slightly insincere.
I try not to seem panicked as I scan the lobby for one of the Chases. The ceremony will be on the beach tomorrow at sunset, but tonight’s rehearsal dinner is at the Amaya’s outdoor restaurant overlooking the ocean.
“Hello, welcome to the Amaya,” the front desk lady says as we approach. “How may I help you today?”
I clear my throat and speak low. “We’re checking in. Bennet Taylor.”
“We’re in the Chase wedding block of rooms,” Henry says.
She types away at her computer, looking for our reservation. “Ah yes, here it is.”
“Hey.” He turns to me, beaming. “Think we’ll have a view of the ocean?”
Oh god. I have to tell him. I have to tell him now. “Listen. About the room—”
“Two rooms with queen beds. Room 307 for Miss Taylor and Room 407 for Mr. Adams. Looks like they’re right on top of each other.”
“Oh no, there must be a mistake,” Henry says. “We only need one room.”
She frowns at the computer screen. “It says here that the reservation was originally one room, but it was changed to two rooms a couple days ago.”
Henry looks at her, his brows knitted together. “I think it meant two people, one room.”
“Henry.” I turn to face him. “She’s right. It’s two rooms.”
“What?” He looks at me, shocked. “Why?”
“I’ll explain later,” I mumble under my breath.
“Rooftop pool access is on the fifteenth floor with your room key. Towels are available for your use at the pool or by the ocean.” She gestures to sliding glass doors at the back. “The beach is right through those doors. I hope you enjoy your stay.”
Henry’s jaw clenches as he takes his key. He rolls his suitcase toward the elevator. I shuffle after him.
“Why did you book two rooms?” he asks. “When were you going to tell me?” He stops to press the elevator button.
“I don’t know. Now?”
“I’m confused,” he says as the elevator doors ping open and guests flood past us, like we’re boulders in the middle of a rushing stream.
We roll our bags into the elevator. I hit floor three. Henry grits his teeth as he hits floor four. “Andy had an extra room, and I just…I felt like I couldn’t say no.”
He runs his hand through his hair as an indecipherable expression flashes across his face. “I guess I was just looking forward to spending time with my girlfriend.”
I have to tell him the other thing. That they don’t know we’re dating either. Just rip it all off like a Band-Aid.
“There’s one more thing.” I hesitate as the elevator begins to move. “They don’t know you’re my boyfriend, and…” I breathe through my teeth, heartbeat pulsing in my neck. “And I kind of want to keep it that way.”
He looks over at me, eyebrows furrowed. “Oh,” he says. He opens his mouth as if to say something more, but decides against it.
We pass floor two. Only thirty seconds to make this right. “I feel like it’s disrespectful to be, like, touching and kissing in front of them,” I say. “Because of Sam.”
He scrubs his hand down his face. “I get that,” he says. “But I thought you at least wanted me to meet them.”
“I do,” I say. “And you still will!” The doors fling open on my floor. I step out and turn back to face him. “Maybe in a couple months I can reintroduce you as my boyfriend. Think of this as a warm-up round.”
He breaks eye contact with me. “A…test?”
“Not a test.” I wince. “I just don’t want to dump it all on them at once when they haven’t seen me in years.”
“No, I get it,” he says, frowning. “It makes sense.”
“None of this has to change anything. You’ll still meet them, you’ll still be your charming self—it’ll just be slightly different. We can still have fun, right?”
“My charming self,” he mutters. He swallows, his body tense. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner instead of springing it on me at the last second?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering how I can possibly explain all this. “Because I didn’t want you looking at me the way you’re looking at me right now,” I say. “And also because I’m so nervous to see them. I really need this to go well.”
“You know what…” He twists his mouth and looks at the floor. “You’re right. I don’t want to be mad about this,” he says. “This weekend is important to you and I trust your judgment. If this is what you want, I’m okay with it.”
Thank god , I think. “You have no idea what a relief it is to hear that,” I say. “I was so afraid you’d think I didn’t want you here. I do want you here. I need you here.”
He shakes his head, holding the elevator doors open so we can finish talking. “I’m just going to miss sleeping next to you. That’s all.”
“Me too,” I say. “Can we continue this talk later? Let’s unpack and then maybe pick me up for drinks before the rehearsal dinner?”
“Sounds like a plan.” He smiles, a genuine smile, and my heart is reminded all over again why his being here is a good idea. Why he’s a good idea. His endless empathy and understanding, his kindness and sincerity even when I make mistakes…it’s almost too good to be true. Too good to be true for me, at least. Too good for me to deserve.
The elevator doors close and I wheel my bag across the outdoor hallway. I stop at Room 307 and unlock the door with my key. The carpet in my room is squishy under my feet. The decor on the walls is made up of generic pictures of palm trees and cacti against cotton-candy skies. Hanging above the bed is a gigantic black-and-white print of the Hollywood sign.
Across from the entrance there’s a glass door that opens onto a balcony. I curl my fingers around the handle and slide it open, revealing a breathtaking view of the crystal-blue ocean. Warm, salty air fills my lungs, and the sun heats my skin. From here the waves look no bigger than ripples. Kids splash and bodysurf while parents lie out and pretend to read books under large sun hats. Boats swirl by, carrying people on blow-up rafts and tugging them in parasails.
I sit on one of the chairs on the balcony and fold my legs to my chest, resting my chin on my knees. I try to make up little stories for the people in the water, like Henry and I did that afternoon in the park, but it’s not the same. It feels silly doing it alone. Contrived.
Why did I do this to myself? And to him? I don’t want to be away from him, even if it’s just for a couple of nights.
I do miss Sam. I do. But maybe I feel a bit guilty about how missing him doesn’t feel the same anymore. Maybe I feel guilty that at this present moment, I miss Henry more. And he’s just a floor away.
What kind of a person does that make me?
I tilt my head back and look at the balcony above me, the same size and shape as mine, and I wonder if Henry is out there, looking at the sea just like me.