Chapter 2 Prom And Principles #8
“Yeah.” I nod, forking my hand through my hair. “But I can’t just… show up at her door, spill my guts, and beg her forgiveness. Hopefully, she will forgive me, but… I want to make it up to her somehow. Give her something that shows her how much I really care about her.”
“Well,” Rudy says as I shadow him down the hallway, “how big a makeup gift are we talking? Flowers? Chocolates? A Tesla?”
I grunt, knowing my wallet won’t stretch far—especially after the prom tickets and tux rental. “It would have to be something only I could give her,” I say, thinking aloud as I catch the door and follow Rudy outside. “A wish she would never expect to actually come true, like…”
That’s when an idea hits me.
A crazy one, probably. But if I could pull it off… it would be perfect.
Rudy notices the scheming look on my face and braces himself. “I sense a bad idea incoming.”
“No, it’s a good idea. A really good idea. But I’ll need your help.”
He frowns, suspicious. “With what?”
“Bribing the prom committee. And your mom.”
“My mom?”
“Yep.” I smile as the possibilities come together in my mind. “She’s still the events coordinator at the country club, right?”
TESSA
That evening, as I’m stress-baking three flavors of babka bread (chocolate, cinnamon, and raspberry) while miserably pondering the future of my and Weston’s relationship, I hear him knock on the front door.
I know it’s him before Grandma even goes to answer it. He’s been trying to call me and text me all day, offering many flavors of apologies (I’m sorry, please forgive me, I was wrong) with no response from me.
Maybe it was savage and petty to leave him on read. To not ring him back. To not feel ready to forgive him. But after all, I’m not the one who betrayed his trust—he betrayed mine.
Moments later, Grandma walks into the kitchen and says, “Weston is here to see you.”
I haven’t told her about last night—but I suspect Mom has, and no doubt they have both been wise enough to keep it from Grandpa. I stiffen, rinsing my sugary hands at the sink and snatching a dishtowel.
“Well? Where is he?”
“On the porch,” Grandma replies softly. “He wants to speak with you alone.”
I dry my hands fiercely on the towel before slapping it down on the counter and storming to the front door. When I step out into the cool twilight, I immediately lock eyes with Weston, who stands under the porch light, looking equal parts hopeful and sick to his stomach.
I don’t say hello. I don’t say a word. I just stand frozen in place with my chin tipped up—determined not to notice how cute he looks in his bomber jacket, his blond hair a soft, rumpled mess.
“Tessa,” he begins, clearing his throat. “First… I must tell you that I’ve been an unmitigated and comprehensive ass.”
Something in me falters at the reference. But I refuse to be charmed by his humor this time.
“Don’t think you can redeem yourself by quoting Pride and Prejudice,” I bite out.
Weston is not put off by my icy response. If anything, he looks more determined to continue.
“I don’t know if I can redeem myself at all,” he confesses. “But… I want to tell you something you don’t know.”
“And what is that?”
He takes a deep breath and shakes his head, like he’s not sure where to begin. “I’ve been an idiot.”
“I thought you were going to tell me something I don’t know.”
A twitch of a smile teases the side of his mouth. When he speaks again, his voice is low and serious—his eyes burning with resolve. “I never even contemplated the idea of having sex with you last night.”
A sharp laugh hitches in my throat. “Really? Well, I found evidence to the contrary.”
“That had nothing to do with you,” Weston says, moving closer and holding my eye contact firmly. “It was stupid and wrong, but it wasn’t because of you. It was this guy in my class—he’s been a jerk to me ever since eighth grade.”
Eighth grade. I remember the significance of that year for Weston.
“Since the amputation?” I ask softly.
He swallows. Nods. Looks down at his shoes. “I shouldn’t let him get to me. I usually don’t. But last night, he was really on my case, and one thing led to another, and… long story short, he’s the reason I had the…”
“Evidence,” I supply, too sophisticated to call it what it is.
Weston nods. “He was scalping them in the bathroom during prom. I didn’t even want to talk to him, but we wound up in this stupid argument, and…
I guess I just had a moment of weakness.
I couldn’t back down and let him win. I wanted to prove a point.
So I took the thing. And I regretted it as soon as I walked out of there.
I realized how dumb it was, and I was going to throw it away. But then you showed up.”
I press my lips together, looking at the story in a new light. It’s not a redeemable light—but it’s less incriminating than my suspicions were.
“So you’re saying that you made this decision purely out of cowardice and male ego.” I sum up the situation with frigid clarity.
Weston nods.
“Well, that’s still despicable.”
“I know. And I’m sorry.” His eyes are full of remorse as he studies my face in the soft light of the porch. “Please forgive me, Tessa. I’ll never do something that stupid again.”
I look away, my gaze trailing over the lampposts lining the street, illuminating the navy-blue twilight.
Forgive him.
He makes it sound so easy. But he doesn’t know how much I cried last night. How my heart ached to think of us separated by something as important as the principles we live by.
“It wasn’t just the condom, Wes. It was that you couldn’t tell me the truth even when you saw how much it hurt me.”
“I couldn’t tell you the truth because—” His voice breaks off in a miserable sigh, and he looks away, shaking his head. “Because I was ashamed.”
I fall silent, watching him in the amber glow of the porch light.
Mom was right—no one is immune to peer pressure.
Not even Weston, with all his confidence and fortitude.
He still fails sometimes. And maybe, if I were in his shoes, I would fail sometimes too.
I’m not so self-assured to claim I know what it’s like to be him.
To be so obviously, painfully different that every day becomes a merciless trial by a jury of your peers.
“I forgive your reasons,” I relent finally, “even though they were wrong. But Wes… I can’t help feeling like you were disappointed last night. Because of… my beliefs.”
“On sex?”
I glance around instinctively, not that anyone is within earshot—but still, it’s a rather intimate subject to be discussing on the front porch.
“Let me tell you what I think about sex,” Weston says, stepping closer until we are barely a foot apart.
His eyes dart between mine, full of something urgent and honest. “I think if a man loves a woman enough to have sex with her, he should love her enough to marry her. He should love her enough to wait… a hundred years. A thousand years. However long it takes. I think if he really loves her, he’ll be happy to wait.
Happy just to be with her—just to make her smile, make her laugh…
even if he never got to kiss her. That’s how I feel about you, Tessa.
” His voice softens to a threadbare whisper. “That’s how I love you.”
For a moment, I can’t speak. There’s a knot in my throat, and tears threaten to blur my vision as I stare up into Weston’s face. Part of me wants to throw my arms around his neck and let him hold me. To tell him that’s how I love him, too.
But there’s still an unresolved conflict weighing on my mind.
“What about the fact that all these guys at your school now think I’m… promiscuous?”
Weston frowns, puzzled. “Wait, what does that mean?”
I lower my voice to a discreet whisper and give him a simpler synonym. “A slut.”
His eyebrows jump in surprise. “What? They don’t think that.”
“Well, they thought you were going to sleep with me last night—”
“They know it didn’t happen. I was so pissed off at school today, they could tell I didn’t… They think you’re a nun! Okay? That’s what one of them said.” Weston shakes his head, a teasing spark in his eyes. “Knowing you and your love for The Sound of Music, you’d probably like that rumor.”
I press my lips together, refusing to find this joke amusing. “You’re not going to make me laugh right now, Weston. You might never make me laugh again.”
Weston smirks in that sinfully adorable way of his. “I highly doubt that.”
I’d be lying if I said my heart doesn’t flop when he gives me that look. Those eyes. I’d be lying if I said I don’t have the urge to kiss him right now despite everything.
“Give me one shot—one chance to make it up to you.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “And how do you plan to do that?”
Weston reaches into his back pocket and produces a fancy invitation card with gold edging and swirly handwriting across the front.
You are formally invited to the Glasswater Lake Country Club on May 22nd at 8:00 p.m. Formal dress required. RSVP in person immediately upon request.
“This is your mom’s handwriting, isn’t it?”
Weston only grins and nods.
“Did you tell her the despicable reason you needed to write such an invitation?”
“She knew it was for a good cause.” He taps the card. “And when I say formal dress, what you wore last night would be perfect.”
“I’m going to wear a T-shirt and sweatpants,” I growl bitterly. “How’s that?”
Weston twitches his eyebrows. “As long as it’s one of my T-shirts.”
I narrow my eyes at him with suspicion. “Why are you smiling?”
“Because. You just RSVPed.”
“No, I didn’t. I never said I was coming.”
“Yes, you did. Can’t go back on your word now.” Weston descends the porch steps and walks across the driveway to his truck. “I’ll see you tomorrow night,” he calls over his shoulder.
“Dinner at a fancy country club isn’t going to fix this, Weston!”
He stops, turns, and nods contemplatively. “No, you’re right. Dinner won’t fix this.”