Chapter 8
New York City
Anyone who has read Under the Tuscan Sun or Eat, Pray, Love knows the romanticized tales of women who travel across the world to find themselves. That’s how I feel right now. A woman preparing to travel the world to discover who she really is. But first, this woman needed some clothes.
After we took care of my passport stuff—I was very surprised to find a certified copy of my birth certificate was waiting for us at the front desk last night when we checked in at the hotel—I learned something new today after five hours of nonstop shopping through New York City.
Fallon Montgomery is a clothes freak. The second thing I learned today is that he has impeccable taste.
He picked out most of my new clothes and shoes.
I didn’t care. It’s not like I could really say anything since he was paying for it all.
I refused, however, to let him choose my underwear and bras.
I think we gave the employees at Victoria’s Secret quite an entertaining show with how vehemently we argued over which undergarments I should buy.
Never trust a man to pick out your delicates.
Fallon has us staying in a penthouse suite at one of those swanky hotels near Central Park.
We have our own elevator and a five-person staff.
I’m having trouble believing this is real life, but then again, Fallon grew up around this pampered, rich lifestyle every day.
How can people take this kind of wealth for granted?
I drop my pile of shopping bags on the bed and go to find Fallon.
“Hey, Nutter Butter! Where you at?”
“For Pete’s sake, come up with another nickname that doesn’t sound so stupid,” I hear him yell back.
“You call me kitten, so deal with it.”
I found out during our Halloween fun on Fallon’s yacht that he has an addiction to peanut butter candies. After that, the nickname came easily.
“Nutter Butter!” I shout and open a door, but no Fallon.
The penthouse suite is six-thousand square feet and takes up two floors. I got lost last night trying to find a bathroom after we checked in.
“Marco?” I shout.
I hear a distant chuckle. “Polo!”
I walk around a corner to the living area. “Marco?”
“Polo!” he calls back.
I’m getting closer. I walk up the curved set of stairs that leads to the second floor. I chose the bedroom downstairs and told Fallon to take the master upstairs.
I open a set of double doors and enter his room. Fallon is bent over the bed going through bags filled with the clothes that he bought for himself. Fallon is also shirtless. I’m a girl with eyes, so of course I ogle his muscled back. Sue me.
He peers over his shoulder. “Like what you see?”
My cheeks flush hot and turn a bright, vibrant red. “Shut up.”
Fallon starts laughing and goes back to unbagging his clothes. “There’s a club I’d like to take you to.”
“Aren’t we a little underage for a New York club?”
He looks over at me again—this time in disbelief.
“Okay. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I seem to forget who I’m talking to.”
“Anyway, we’re going out. Dress appropriately,” Fallon says, holding up a black shirt.
“Will there be dancing?”
“It’s a dance club, kitten. So, yeah.
“Drinking?”
“Only if you want to. No pressure. VIPs never get carded.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
Again, he just gives me an incredulous eyebrow quirk in response.
“Do you always get to do whatever you want?
“Pretty much,” he replies.
As he goes through his purchases, I walk over to the large window and gaze out across Central Park.
I wonder what the guys are up to. Is Jayson mad at me for how callously I treated him?
That’s a stupid question. How could he not be?
I want to punch Old Elizabeth in the face for what she did.
Things were confusing enough between me and Jayson without Old Elizabeth napalming the situation by sleeping with him.
And then there’s Ryder. A sour feeling churns in my gut.
I love him. So much. And I betrayed him in the most awful way, Old Elizabeth or not.
I never thought my previous self could do something so recklessly cruel, especially to one of her best friends.
Especially to Ryder, the boy who, along with Jayson, owned so much of my heart.
My ex-best friend, Maria, was right. Old me was as selfish bitch.
Will the new you be any different? God, I hope so, but I’m not off to good start, I conclude as I continue to stare off into space.
I ran away. I left. Gone. Just like Hailey.
“Elizabeth?”
Shaking off the melancholy, I sit down on the end of the bed. “Yeah?”
Fallon touches my cheek and I jerk back at the contact. He kneels in front of me, concern showing in the way he’s inspecting me.
“Where’d you go just now?”
“Where do you think?” I answer a bit sarcastically.
He rubs his hands up and down my arms. “Hey, none of that now, okay. You’re here to heal and to find yourself. Let’s think of something happier. What do you want to do tomorrow?”
I don’t think happiness is in the cards for me, but I’ll play along for his benefit. “Can we go to Times Square?”
“You don’t want to see the Statue of Liberty?”
I think about it and shake my head no. “If we were here longer, then I would say yes. Have to prioritize.” I smile.
“Where you go, I follow, remember? Now get dressed. I suggest you wear the red mini dress.”
I scrunch my nose up. The dress is something Fallon picked out. It’s gorgeous, but also much skimpier than I’m used to wearing.
“You don’t tell me what to do, Fallon Montgomery.”
“You said I could,” he reminds me. I stick my tongue out at him. “Now get dressed so we can go have some fun.”
I walk downstairs to my room and put on the red dress Fallon suggested, pairing it with black knee-high dress boots.
It’s the first week of November, which in New York City means it’s cold, and the boots will be better than strappy heels.
Besides, I’m not dumb enough to wear heels when I’m expected to dance all night.
I leave my hair down in its usual mess of haphazard waves. The pink color on the tips of my hair has faded and is barely visible. I’m not a make-up wearing type of girl, but I do put on some mascara and lipstick that I stole from Tatiana’s stash.
“I’m ready!” I call out when I exit my room. Fallon’s waiting for me. “Looking good,” I say when I see him. He’s dressed in snug-fitting jeans and a long-sleeved denim blue button-up.
We walk to the suite’s elevator. “So do you,” he replies, and I notice his eyes keep straying to my legs as we take the elevator down to the private parking garage.
Fallon leads me to an awaiting midnight-black sedan, and I must have a mirthful expression on my face because he asks, “What?”
“Nothing. I’m just surprised it’s not a limo or a Bugatti. I mean, it’s you we’re talking about. Sedans aren’t your typical style.”
“Kitten, get in the car.”
“So where is this place you’re taking me?”
“New club that opened up about six months ago. They know we’re coming.”
Of course, being with Fallon means we don’t have to wait in line or go through the front door bouncers.
Instead, Fallon drives down a side street to the back of the building where we’re met by two men in suits, kind of like how I picture secret service men would look.
They usher us through a nondescript door that leads directly to a hallway and an elevator that Fallon says will take us up to the VIP section.
There’s no escaping the pounding of crappy techno music, so I grab Fallon’s arm and pull him down the long corridor towards the loud music. We are met by a brickhouse of a man who opens a set of steel doors for us that leads out to the main dance floor.
We navigate to an area in the middle of all the dancing chaos. I close my eyes, raise my hands in the air, and let my mind numb, trying hard to put the past few days behind me and just exist in this moment. Turns out, Fallon is actually a great dancer.
Flashes of colored light swirl in front of my closed eyelids and I’m taken back to the night of the bonfire when Jayson got drunk, and we stumbled upon Jacinda and Ryder making out against the dilapidated warehouse.
The scene switches to the party at Fallon’s when I found Jacinda wrapped around Jayson in an upstairs bedroom, and then to later that night when Ryder climbed through my window.
Emotions, too many for me to handle, flare up inside of me like wildfire on dry kindle.
I try hard to stop the images from coming, but it’s useless.
Opening my eyes to the sting with unshed tears, I pull Fallon down so he can hear me.
“You promised me a night of alcohol,” I shout at him over the music.
I need something to help me forget, even if it’s just for a few hours.
I can’t handle the memories and the sadness of thinking about my family, and about Ryder and Jayson right now.
Fallon takes my hand and leads me off the dance floor and up a flight of stairs, guiding me to a sectional leather sofa against the wall.
I reach over and grab the small menu from the low table in front of the couch and fan my face with it, hoping to cool off a bit.
“What’s your poison, kitten?”
The VIP section is located on the second floor, and each section has its own balcony that overlooks the dance floor. It’s also quieter up here, so I don’t have to shout at Fallon when I talk.
The only time I ever tried beer was at one of Fallon’s parties, and I hated it. Gross stuff. “I’ve never had tequila before.” In almost every romance I have read, the characters order tequila. Might as well try it since no one is going to card me.
Fallon holds up two fingers to the awaiting female server. He was right. She doesn’t ask to see my ID or his. The server comes back within a minute with two shots of tequila.
I grab both of them, hastily tipping one back, and start choking. “Oh, yuck! That stuff’s as bad as beer,” I gasp.
“Keep that up and I’ll have to carry you out of here.”