Chapter Fourteen
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Lanie
“W hat are we drinking?” Eliza asked cheerfully, oblivious to the tension between Mark and me as she looped her arm through Julian’s and motioned toward his beverage.
Anger, confusion, and hurt swirled inside me while I held Mark’s gaze.
What took me by surprise was how my heart raced and my body warmed beneath his sustained attention. I reassured myself that both were a result of adrenaline and had nothing to do with his close proximity.
Mark still didn’t look happy, but I didn’t sense the raw sorrow in his beautiful eyes this time.
I pressed my lips together tightly and corrected myself: Not beautiful—deceitful. He was perfectly fine pretending this was the first time we’d seen each other since I’d left town.
Julian answered, “Whiskey, but with an orange peel, so it’s high class.” He tipped his glass at her.
I forced my attention from Mark back to the people who mattered that night. Eliza kissed Julian and whispered something in his ear that brought a flush to his cheeks. They had been together forever, but planning their wedding had renewed the sizzle I remembered from right after high school—when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. It was touching to see them return to that stage.
Thinking of those simpler times, remembering how close all of us had been, made my chest constrict painfully. I hadn’t expected seeing Mark in Maplebridge to hurt more than seeing him in Portsmouth.
We’d have to work past this, though. He and I would not only be in a wedding together, but if there was even the slightest chance I might decide to move back...
Mark and I exchanged another glance, both of us wearing polite smiles that didn’t reach our eyes.
“Lanie,” Julian said as Eliza slid into her seat beside him, “what’s your poison tonight? Wine?”
“I’ll stick with water for now,” I replied lightly. “I drove.”
“I could drive your car to their house and catch a ride back to pick up my vehicle later,” Mark offered.
There was nothing but kindness in his tone, and it made me want to kick him in the shin. If he could play it off like he hadn’t been a jackass to me in Portsmouth, I could pretend I didn’t know what a jackass he’d become.
“Oh, no,” I said sweetly. “I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way for me.”
“I’d be happy to do it.”
Sure he would.
His strained smile said otherwise.
Mustering even more brightness into my own smile, I added, “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t drink much anymore anyway. Alcohol doesn’t bring out the best in anyone.”
Mark winced.
Eliza gave me an odd look, and I knew I’d have to try harder to conceal how I was feeling, or she’d guess something was wrong.
I shot Mark one last glare.
Why? Why did you come to see me?
Why did you have to ruin what could have been a nice reunion?
After inhaling deeply, I joked, “You should all be grateful. Remember how our who-can-down-a-beer-the-fastest contest went?”
Julian made a pained sound.
Eliza chuckled.
Mark’s face softened, then quirked with humor. “You projectile-vomited all over one side of my truck. The paint was never the same after that.”
“Oops,” I responded lightly.
The indulgent look he gave me reminded me of the one he used to give when I refused his help moving a piano, claiming it was easier to do it myself.
Sorry, not sorry that my solid knowledge of physics had made his brawn unnecessary. His response to my teasing back then? A laugh and a hug. Where had that version of him gone?
The hostess returned with a polished smile that managed to feel both professional and warm. “Your table is ready. Please follow me.”
Julian took Eliza’s hand, leading her after the hostess, leaving Mark and me trailing behind. He gestured for me to go first—a wordless courtesy that was as unexpected as it was confusing. I gave a tight smile and stepped ahead, careful to keep a measured distance between us as we made our way through the elegant dining room.
The table was nestled near a window overlooking the garden, with the castle mansion on a hill in the distance.
Julian pulled out a chair for Eliza and pushed it in, earning him a smile of appreciation from her. He claimed the seat beside her, linked their hands, and murmured something to her while Mark and I stood there, watching.
“Sit down,” Mark growled in my ear.
I jumped a little in surprise and whipped around to look at him.
Heart pounding, I wanted to tell him to stay away from me, but I also found breathing difficult when our eyes met. How was it possible to be attracted to him while also being incredibly disappointed in the man he’d become?
“You first,” I blurted out, not thinking the situation through. All I wanted was for us to take our seats and to stop wondering why being close to him felt entirely different than it had in Portsmouth.
“I would, but we’re fancy until after the wedding,” he murmured and pulled out a chair for me.
I sat—half because my legs felt shaky and half because I didn’t want to draw Eliza’s attention to our interaction.
As Mark guided my chair forward, a familiar scent hit me—a mix of toasted vanilla, earthy wood, and something fiery and bold. The aroma clung to him, subtle yet distinct, and my breath hitched. Like him, his scent was invigorating, and I didn’t know what to do with that.
While straightening, a rush of his breath tickled my ear, sending a cataclysm of fire through me. He sat beside me, but I focused all my attention on unfolding my napkin and laying it across my lap.
“Thank you,” I murmured, careful to keep my eyes averted from him. Beneath the table, I clenched my hands into fists, willing my body to stop reacting to him. What’s wrong with me? This wasn’t at all how I’d felt the last time I’d seen him.
Mark’s voice was low when he joked, “Very disappointing that I have to put my napkin on my crotch myself. What kind of second-rate place have you taken us to, Eliza?”
Eliza groaned. “Can we not?” she asked, though the corners of her mouth twitched.
Julian chuckled. “To not talking about Mark’s crotch,” he said, nudging her shoulder. “Let’s toast to that.”
“Don’t you dare,” Eliza warned, but there was laughter in her voice.
“How about this?” Mark added with a grin, raising his glass. “To being together.”
“Better,” Eliza smiled and raised her glass. “To us.”
Julian and I raised our glasses as well, the words sticking in my throat as I echoed, “To us.”
There was no us. At least, not one that included both Mark and me. Our friendship had become a Venn diagram where Mark and I were the non-overlapping regions.
I snuck another look at Mark. The suit fit him well, but the Mark I remembered was always in jeans or athletic wear. He’d said his family’s business was doing well. Was it changing him?
I wished he hadn’t come to see me.
I wished I’d never entertained the fantasy that he was still single because he was waiting for me to return.
For such a practical person, I was being so stupid about all of this. Why couldn’t I let what he said go? Let him go?
We ordered our meals, and as the conversation turned to wedding details, I focused on Eliza and Julian. They were so excited, bouncing ideas off each other and discussing the bridal party. I chimed in when I could, offering suggestions for centerpieces and color schemes—but only tentatively and only when Eliza asked for them.
In general Mark was... Mark. He cracked jokes and bantered with Julian, but a restraint in him tonight made his jokes fall flat. He used to be so much fun. Had something happened to him that no one felt I should know? Or maybe being around each other was proving as uncomfortable for him as it was for me. Did he notice the way my hands shook slightly when our fingers accidentally brushed while passing the breadbasket?
The server brought our entrees, and for a while, the table fell into a comfortable rhythm of eating and chatting.
Mark and Julian debated the merits of some obscure fantasy football strategy while Eliza and I exchanged knowing looks, rolling our eyes at their seriousness.
“I ran into Andy the other night,” I said during a lull in the conversation, directing my comment to the group in general. “It was good to see him looking so happy. Married, with another baby on the way.”
Eliza’s face lit up. “Andy’s the best. Meg is in the wedding party too.”
“I remember her being so sweet.” In the face of her enthusiasm, it was impossible to feel anything but happy for Eliza.
“She still is,” she confirmed.
I sipped my water. “It was nice to be remembered.”
Eliza’s tone was firm. “Why would you have been forgotten?”
I shrugged. “It’s been a long time . . .”
“You were missed,” Mark said so softly I wasn’t sure he’d spoken at all.
My eyes flew to his before I looked away again. Did he mean it? Was he fucking with me? I hated that I couldn’t tell.
Eliza added, “People ask about you all the time.”
“Fantastic,” I muttered, uncomfortable with the idea one of the most painful periods of my life had been fodder for gossip.
She leaned over and gripped my hand. “In a good way. People cared—care about you, Lanie. Now that you’re back, you’ll see that for yourself.”
I gave her hand a squeeze. “Thank you.”
When we sat back, I made the mistake of looking at Mark again. His expression was pained, and I didn’t want to feel sympathy for him. It was better if I felt nothing at all. As we looked into each other’s eyes, my stomach churned with regret.
Why weren’t things ever as simple as they should be?
Eliza broke the silence by launching into a story about the florist she’d met with earlier that week. I turned and latched onto her words like a lifeline, grateful for the distraction.
As the night went on, the undercurrent of tension between Mark and me ebbed and flowed. There were moments when I caught him watching me, his gaze intense and searching. Each time, I looked away quickly, my cheeks warming under the weight of his attention. Then I’d remind myself what he said in Portsmouth, and I’d tell myself I was being an idiot. We were getting along—not because we still cared about each other, but for the sake of our friends.
By the time we’d finished dessert and were making our way out of the restaurant, I was emotionally drained. Julian and Eliza walked ahead of us, their laughter echoing softly in the cool night air. Mark and I trailed behind, the silence between us thick and oppressive. Just as we reached the exit of the restaurant, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I stopped walking, forcing Mark to do the same.
“Did you come here of your own volition, or were you dared to do this as well?” I asked, my voice low but sharp.
His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something I couldn’t name flashing across his face before he schooled his features into calm neutrality. It was fleeting—but enough to leave me wondering if I’d hit a nerve. He looked away, jaw tightening, as if searching for words.
Before he could answer, I shook my head, anger and regret tangling in my chest. “Never mind. Not only do I no longer know you... I don’t want to know you. What you said to me in Portsmouth—it hurt me. But we’re both adults. We don’t have to like each other, we just have to pretend to—for them.”
Mark’s lips parted, but no words came. His hand rose slightly, as though he might reach for me, before he caught himself and shoved it into his pocket instead. The tension in his shoulders was palpable, his silence stretching too long before he finally muttered, “I don’t know what to say.” His tone was quiet, almost resigned, and it gnawed at me more than anger would have.
Head high, I said, “Then say nothing,” and turned on my heel, heart hammering as I left him standing there.