Chapter Fourteen
The cold air whipping down from the mountain peak tickled Marcee’s nose as they left the spa to head home, evergreen and a hint of snow announcing the arrival of winter in Belle Cliff. She tugged her black pea coat tighter across her body and popped the collar to warm her neck.
“Be honest, do I look like I’m headed to chaperone prom?” Her hand fluttered nervously around her hair, hoping the bottle of hairspray the stylist used would keep it in place for the next five hours.
Alex pulled the keys out of her pocket, clicking the button on the fob to unlock the doors and start the seat warmers. Marcee was so glad they decided to take Alex’s Kia and not Ronaldo, whose heater had two settings: barely there or standing in front of the gates of hell.
“Not even close. It’s the perfect updo for this kind of shindig. Classy, but tousled enough you still look like the carefree woman who chased Freddie Mercury down the road in her flannel pajamas.”
Marcee shook her head as they ducked into the car. “He almost lost his manhood over that.”
Alex gave her a bemused look. “He lost his manhood years ago. Why do you think he’s so salty all the time?”
“Facts.”
Remy texted her that morning, his words making her even more nervous than she already was.
It looks like fate is finally bringing us back together tonight, in
evening wear no less. Shall I bring you a corsage?
On the ride back to their house, she double-checked her nails.
So far, no smudges on their shimmering surface, which was a miracle.
She hadn’t gotten them done in years. God only knew what Remy would think.
He may not even recognize her out of athletic wear.
Marcee’s stomach fluttered, imagining the moment they saw each other again.
Outside the city limits, they turned onto the county highway leading to the house.
“Okay, so I have something to run by you,” Alex blurted.
“Please. We both know you aren’t running anywhere. It’s why you picked a sport only involving walking.” At her look of frustration, Marcee held her hands up. “Okay, uncalled for. Proceed.”
“My parents want me to go to Florida for Thanksgiving this year.”
Oh, damn. The last family event Alex attended ended in her sobbing and one cherry cheesecake thrown at the wall. She couldn’t believe she was even considering it.
“Of course, I told Mom it’s our tradition to have Thanksgiving together at our house, the two of us,” Alex added hurriedly, taking the turn onto their gravel road a little too sharp.
Marcee’s shoulder banged into the door, and she grabbed the handle. “Calm your tits, woman! I’d like to make it home in one piece. I doubt even a doctor’s note will save my job if I miss the event tonight.”
They bounced down the road, dust flying in their wake.
“Sorry, I got nervous. We haven’t spent Thanksgiving apart in years. Apparently, my sister is finally getting time off from school and is planning on being there with her new boyfriend. For some reason my parents think I enjoy sitting around being compared to their perfect little angel.”
While true, it wasn’t unexpected. She never thought Alex’s family feud would last as long as it had. It was inevitable their traditions might get pushed to the side.
“Don’t sweat it, babe. If things go poorly, that means you can spend Christmas with me in New York.
Besides, there will be other Thanksgivings.
” She forced her voice to stay steady and chipper, even while her heart was aching.
She went to her parents’ house in Brooklyn for Christmas because they did an annual artist retreat in the Hudson River Valley every Thanksgiving while the trees were changing and everything looked like a postcard.
The prospect of spending Thanksgiving alone was more depressing than she would have expected.
The last Thanksgiving she’d been alone was before she’d met Eli.
After, he made sure she always had a seat at his table, getting a taste of a normal life where dinner included a second helping or dessert.
“Are you sure? It doesn’t feel right, not being together.”
They pulled into their driveway and Alex killed the engine, turning in her seat to look at Marcee. Her blue eyes were wide and glassy, minutes away from brimming with tears.
Marcee did her best to keep her smile from shaking. “This is growing up, Alex. The odds have always been stacked against us staying single and living like old maids.” She waved a hand between them. “We’re too hot not to have at least a couple of marriages by the time we take over the nursing home.”
Alex burst out laughing and grabbed Marcee’s hand, kissing the top. “God help the poor soul who tries to tame you.”
Her palm was small and warm in her own as she squeezed it. “Try being the operative word.” With a sigh, Marcee reached around the seat and grabbed her garment bag from the back. “Time to get dolled up, I suppose. Think you can make me look like a Playboy bunny?”
“Why the hell would you want that?”
Marcee pretended to flip her hair over her shoulder. “To attract rich old men. It’s an auction, after all.”
Alex’s laughter chased away the lingering blues as they ran up the front porch steps, coats flapping behind them.
Two hours until the start of the auction.
Two hours until she wooed the socks off the richest people in the county.
Two hours until she saw Remy.
A tingle ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.
It was too chilly to linger outside of the activity hall at Pemberton Prep, and with the steady stream of guests arriving and valet attendants moving cars, it was also too crowded.
Despite all this, Marcee stood next to the door, clutching her coat like a security blanket.
Nerves were getting the best of her, and she couldn’t help but think that Cinderella must’ve been two seconds away from throwing up at the ball.
“Here, let me get this door for you!” An older gentleman beckoned her through, so she had no choice but to murmur thank you and march into the lion’s den.
Deep breath, girl. Shoulders back, chin up.
As she fell in line at the coat check station, elegant, upbeat instrumental music poured through the open double doors at the end of the lobby, intermingling with the clink of glasses and the buzz of conversation.
All she could see from her vantage point were waiters flying past the entrance in black vests and bow ties.
Marcee only ever went to one prom in high school—her senior year—and that memory of a bubblegum-pink secondhand-store ball gown was inextricably linked to Eli and the squeal of tires on pavement.
She’d never been able to look at formal wear the same since.
Scratch the Cinderella comparison. It was more like standing on board the Titanic as it went down, violins playing in the background.
“Coat, miss?”
“Oh, yes, thank you.” She undid the buttons, cursing her fingers for trembling.
This is ridiculous. Pull yourself together!
As she handed it over, the young man taking the coat stared openly at her chest, mouth agape.
Damn it, she’d told Alex the dress was too much.
“Ticket?” she prodded impatiently, holding out her hand.
“What?”
“I need a ticket, kid.”
He shook his head, mumbling an apology as his face turned scarlet, highlighting the acne scars on his cheeks. She snatched the ticket, sliding it into her clutch purse, and got ready to move into the hall.
“Sir, this is a private event. I can’t let you in.”
“I’m with the press!”
Marcee stopped mid-step and turned, the familiar voice sending a wave of dread over her.
Henry Taylor, scum of the earth, was at the door, dressed in a cheap suit with his camera in hand. He caught her eye over the shoulder of security and grinned.
“Only invited members of the press are allowed in, and you aren’t on the list. Please leave or we’ll escort you out.”
Henry eyed the beefy security guards before shrugging them off.
“Sure, sure.” He raised his camera and snapped a picture before turning on his heel and sauntering off.
As Marcee turned back around, she wondered fleetingly if she should warn Remy.
After what he did in the grocery store, she owed him one.
Yeah, sure, Marcee. As if you weren’t already looking for an excuse to talk to him.
Air rushed in from outside, trailing down the sliver of leg exposed in the slit up the front of her dress, and goosebumps sprung up on her arms. She paused at the threshold, staring into the hall and taking in the splendor.
If nothing else, the color of her dress was perfect. The attire was overwhelmingly neutral tones, a sea of black, gray and navy suits, while the dresses shimmered under twinkling lights in silver, gold, and black. Her floor-length champagne silk gown blended right in.
Or so she thought, until she took a few steps inside.
Eyes followed her every move as she made her way around the perimeter, getting the lay of the land.
She felt like another person entirely, her face coated in a layer of makeup she would never normally wear, in a dress that would probably never leave her closet again.
There were a lot of familiar faces from Pemberton, and a few from around town, but even though she told herself she wasn’t keeping a vigilant eye out for the competition, she was.
Remy was nowhere to be seen.
Maybe he was running late and got tied up in the parking lot by Henry Taylor. Or maybe he decided the possibility of seeing her was so unappealing he wasn’t going to show.
“Screw this,” she muttered, clutching her purse to her waist. Remy would show. He had to if he wanted to keep his job. “I need a drink.”