Chapter 46
Andi
I’ve worked a couple black-tie events for Gretchen, but none as opulent as this gala.
To be fair, the Renaissance-inspired grand ballroom at the Fairmont Chateau Laurier doesn’t need much. It’s exquisite on its own, with massive crystal chandeliers, ornate moldings from the floor all the way onto the ceiling.
Tonight, it’s bathed in a soft, golden glow.
Each table is topped with towering floral arrangements, their vibrant petals and greenery romantically spilling onto the tabletops.
A live band is stationed in the corner, playing a mixture of classical and jazz music.
Admittedly, the champagne ice sculptures Gretchen insisted on look beautiful, backlit along the perimeter of the room.
The crowd is a mix of society people, foreign dignitaries, and high-ranking politicians. Some are mingling near the canapé stations, while others are dancing.
Eric and Gretchen are definitely not dancing. They’re noticeably stiff and standoffish with each other, despite the goal to look like a strong couple. Image and countering negative PR were important to Gretchen for so long, but in the last few weeks, I’m not sure she wants to pretend anymore.
It doesn’t help that they had another fight today. While ironing and steaming their outfits, I was an unfortunate witness to another bickering session. This one wasn’t explosive. It was just a lot of silence and apathy, which honestly felt worse. Explosive arguments at least showed they cared.
Currently, they’re on opposite ends of the room, chatting with other people. But the moment she spots me, she beelines it over.
“Thank you for all your work on this event—I mean it,” Gretchen says genuinely. She’s been complimenting my work a lot more these days, which I appreciate. “I don’t know what I would have done the past few months without you.”
“Of course. Actually, I was going to check on the candy bar. I didn’t see those special gummies we ordered and—”
“Andi, do me a favor and stop fretting. Go have some fun with your man. Is he here yet?” she asks.
“Not yet,” I say, brandishing a fake smile.
I don’t know when or if he’s coming at all.
He didn’t respond to the text I sent giving him an out, which is uncharacteristic.
He’s never been one to ignore texts. That said, today was an emotional day with his mom’s official move.
I wouldn’t blame him if going to a black-tie event was the last thing he wanted to do.
So I do what most awkward people do at formal events when they have no one to talk to.
Head for the food. I park myself at the fondue station and make awkward small talk with an MP from Newfoundland, who has decided I’m the person to talk to about fiscal tax policy, while I pretend to understand all the intricacies.
“Now, if we could just get bipartisan support on the GST rebate expansion—”
I smile and nod some more, all while my brain screams for an exit strategy. I consider faking a cheese-related emergency, but even that seems like a stretch. That’s when I spot Nolan.
Holy shit. The air shifts. Even the overbearing scent of expensive perfume and political ambition fades.
He’s in a suit, not that I should be surprised. He’s always in a suit, looking like he came straight from a Bond movie set. But there’s something different about him I can’t place. Maybe it’s his relaxed posture, or the softness in his eyes when he looks at me, drawing my gaze straight to him.
“Sorry, am I interrupting?” he asks, his question cutting through like a lifeline.
I shake my head quickly, practically diving toward him. “No, please, interrupt away. You’ve saved me from hearing about marginal tax rates. I owe you big-time,” I whisper when we’re out of earshot.
He smirks. “I’m glad I could be of service.” He steps back to take me in. “You look…beautiful.” I bought this dress the other night at the mall. It’s black meshy material with off-the-shoulder straps, a pleated bodice, and a slit up the left side. It’s simple, but elegant.
“Thank you,” I say, offering him a soft smile. “So do you. How have you been?” I ask eagerly.
Nolan lets out a breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Honestly, a lot has happened. Cody got adopted, for one.”
I gasp. “He did?”
“By the perfect family,” he says, though I can see how pained he is over it from the way his eyes drop.
“I know how much you’ll miss him,” I say softly, reaching out to touch his arm. He glances at me, and I can tell he’s grateful for the support.
“And then, of course, there was move-in day today,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck, his hand lingering there as if trying to ease the tension from the long day.
“How did it go?”
“It went well. Mom handled it as well as she could. She got a little teary when Em and I left, but I think she really liked the staff. Some of the women on her floor came over and introduced themselves and invited her to rock-themed bingo tonight. There was also talk of her joining a singing group.”
“Wow. She’s already making friends.” I smile, my heart lightening at the thought.
“There was also a silver-haired guy named Bill on her floor. I think he has a crush on her already, because he came by and offered to give her a tour about three times. Not sure if it was a memory thing, or if he’s just persistent.
Either way, before we left, he asked if she had dinner plans,” he adds.
“Holy crap. Did she like him?”
He slides me a funny smile. “She kept referring to him as a silver fox, so I assume so.”
“Sounds like she’s going to have the time of her life,” I say.
We sit in silence for a moment, the air between us stretching thin and taut, like an invisible thread threatening to snap. I try to read his expression, but it’s hard to tell where he stands after nearly a week of radio silence.
“Thanks for coming. It means a lot, especially after today. I wasn’t sure if you—”
“Well, I actually came because I wanted to talk to you about something.” He nods toward the French doors leading to the balcony.
We step out onto the balcony overlooking the landscaped lawn of Parliament Hill. It’s quieter here, away from the hum of voices inside. I wrap my arms around myself, more for comfort than warmth, and I lean against the railing, waiting for him to speak.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his expression pained. “About the past few days. I should have kept you updated—”
“No,” I cut in. “Nothing in our arrangement says you’re obligated to keep me updated on what you’re doing.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s just it, though. I don’t want to be in this arrangement anymore. I’ve given it a lot of thought over the past few days, like you asked me to. I went back and forth over it. I talked to my mom about it.”
I take a deep breath, trying to push down the anxiety that’s been gnawing at me since we’ve been apart. “You did?”
“I never understood why settling down was so scary. I feared staying in one place for longer than a couple months, because of the way I grew up. I never felt like I was enough to make anyone want to keep me. Like I was good enough. My mom was actually the one who pointed out that, because of that fear, I’ve been running.
Desperate to leave places, people, things, before I get hurt,” he tells me.
“And she’s right. I’ve never felt like I needed to be anywhere until I met you.
But staying here, being with you, means I could get hurt.
And so could you.” He works down a swallow, taking my hands into his with a gentle squeeze before he continues.
“Then I thought about what you said. The night we met. About how love stories aren’t only about a happy ending.
And how a happy ending doesn’t mean everything is perfect.
We’re going to have our ups and downs. We’ll probably fail each other, hurt each other.
And I know that sounds scary, but it’s real.
It’s something worth nurturing for as long as you’ll let me, because I love you, with so much certainty, with everything I am.
Please tell me you feel even the tiniest bit of what I do. ”
He loves me. He told me before, in the car at the airport. But this time feels different. It doesn’t fill me with anxiety or doubt. It makes my eyes watery. My arms and my legs go numb as my chest bursts and fills with affection for this man. The only man, only person who’s ever truly seen me.
“Nolan, of course I do,” I whisper. “Ever since the first night we met, I’ve thought about you.
I constantly regretted falling asleep and letting you leave without getting your number.
You scared me, but you also woke me up. You were the first person who ever made me realize there was another way to live.
A version where I wasn’t lonely, getting takeout for one because it was marginally less depressing than cooking for one.
A life where I didn’t work myself to death to avoid being alone.
“And when I saw you again at work, I couldn’t believe that life brought you back, even if you weren’t supposed to stay.
I was kidding myself the entire time we were pretending to be friends, stuck in this weird arrangement, because the truth is, I’ve never wanted to be your friend.
I never wanted to be your pretend girlfriend.
I wanted you. The man who carried my groceries for blocks in the dead of winter.
The man who put together my desk. Who encouraged me to follow my dreams without even knowing me or whether I had a stitch of talent.
The man who did what was right and took care of his mom, even when it was hard.
The man who fell in love with the ugliest dog at the rescue.
You. Someone I could never dare to dream up for my books, even on my best days. ”
Those blue eyes roam my face as he places my palm over his chest, the steady thrum of his heart palpable even through his jacket.
“I’ve never pictured my life with anyone, until you,” I conclude.
“Me either,” he says, the tenderness in his expression threatening to undo me. “And now that I have, all I can think about is the future. With you.”
“A future,” I repeat, my heart bursting with such an overload of love, it feels like it was spun with sugar. “But that doesn’t mean staying here necessarily. I thought about it and I’d love to go with you, wherever you want to go.”
Nolan shifts slightly, his eyes flickering with something unspoken. “Actually, speaking of…I put an offer in on a house.”
I cough. “What? A house?”
“The yellow house.”
“Holy shit.” I know how much that house means to him.
“It was one of those moments that made me realize I’m meant to be here,” he explains, a spark of nostalgia lighting up his face.
“Em just so happened to be looking at the listings, and by chance, I glanced down at her iPad when she scrolled past it. I never look at listings, so I never would have seen it otherwise. It was so weird. The moment I saw it and looked at the pictures, I knew I had to put an offer in.”
“Of course,” I whisper, in complete awe.
“I called the Realtor, who told me they’d already gotten a lot of interest and that I needed to act fast. So I went for a showing this morning and I ran into the owner in the driveway.”
“He was there?”
“Yup. And weirdly enough, he recognized me immediately. As the boy who used to ‘cut through my backyard and steal crab apples,’ ” he recounts, his lips unfurling in a nostalgic smile. “When I told him about how much I loved the house, he invited me inside and gave me a tour himself.”
“That’s…surreal. Like lightning in a bottle,” I say, absorbing the gravity of it all.
“Exactly. His wife recently passed, which was why he was selling. They’d lived there since they first got married.
It was supposed to be a starter house, but they couldn’t have kids of their own, so it became their forever home.
Before she died, she told him she wanted it to go to someone who would love it as much as they did.
All that to say, he asked what I’d offer for it.
I made a reasonable offer, no conditions, and he accepted right away. On the spot.”
“Oh my god, Nolan. Congratulations!” I pull him in for a tight hug. “So this means you’re officially staying?” I confirm, unable to hide the excitement.
“There’s absolutely nowhere else I’d rather be.” He leans down for a kiss and everyone around us blurs.
I pull back with a teasing grin. “But wait, you said you hate Ottawa winters with a fiery passion.”
“Oh, I do. But I learned something in tactical training in the Arctic.”
“What’s that?”
“Cuddling is a solid way to stay warm,” he replies with a wink.
I lean into him, and in a blink, I can see it all.
Us, posing for one of those cheesy photos outside the yellow house next to a “Sold” sign.
Him, guiding me down the overgrown path into the forest of his childhood, where fireflies dance by the ravine.
I see blazing red autumns transitioning to Christmases.
Us stringing lights along the windows, hanging stockings on the fireplace, building ugly gingerbread houses.
The snowy winters, me struggling with cross-country skiing on the backyard trails while he laughs and encourages me to get back up and try again.
The snow melting into muddy, hopeful Ottawa springs, invigorating us to embrace it all over again, even if a surprise mid-April blizzard tries to dampen our spirits.
“Oh, and there’s something else,” he says, eyes twinkling.
“What?”
Before he can respond, someone grabs my shoulder.
I turn around to find Gretchen, her face pinched with absolute fury. She looks like a storm ready to destroy. “Andi,” she snaps.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“How could you lie to me?” I don’t miss the hurt and anger in her eyes as she lobs her phone at me. It hits me in the chest with a heavy thud.