Chapter Eight
The dining room has long tables dressed in white linen, tall candle arrangements, and the kind of flower centerpieces that probably cost more than my monthly electricity bill.
Someone has put small place cards at every setting, written in calligraphy. Mine says Daisy Tully. Broven’s says Daisy’s Plus One.
He clearly didn’t think I’d show up with a boyfriend or he’d have opted for Daisy’s partner. Another win for me.
Our seats are near the middle of the table. Broven pulls out my chair and a woman in her fifties watches from across the table. She smiles at me like we share a secret.
We sit, and Broven’s hand rests on the back of my chair.
The woman across from me says she’s called Margaret, a good friend of Greg’s mother. The man to my left introduces himself as Paul, one of Greg’s university friends I never met before. His wife, Mona, leans across him immediately when I say my name is Daisy.
“Oh, the Daisy?”
I nod. “Yes. And this is Broven, my boyfriend.”
“And how did you two meet?” she asks, looking between us.
“Her ice cream shop,” Broven says.
“Wow. You have your own shop?”
“Daisy’s Scoop Shack is hers, yes. Right here in Cedar Lake. Best lavender and honey ice cream I’ve ever had.”
“It’s the only lavender and honey ice cream you’ve ever had,” I say with a laugh.
“Yes. Still the best.”
Mona grins. “You two are adorable. How long have you been together?”
“Two months,” I say.
“It doesn’t look like two months,” she says.
My stomach drops. She doesn’t find us convincing? I scoot a bit closer to Broven.
“I thought you two had been together for ages,” she then adds.
Broven winks at me, and those butterflies start moving around in my stomach again.
The food arrives in courses. I can’t stop watching Broven as he eats and talks like he’s known these people his entire life. When someone says something, he really listens. And every time I speak, he angles his body toward me, giving me a look that makes my panties melt.
Which is a very inconvenient thing to happen at your ex’s rehearsal dinner.
During the main course, Margaret leans slightly across the centerpiece. “So Daisy, I’ve been watching the two of you since you sat down.”
“Oh?”
“The way this man looks at you… My husband looked at me like that for forty-two years. He still does, but he’s at home recovering from his knee surgery. Anyway, that doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to say is, don’t lose that spark, you two. A love like this… You don’t see it very often.”
Broven says nothing. He picks up his water glass and takes a slow sip. I don’t know what to say to that either.
Because hell, I wish it were true. I wish those looks he’s giving me are because he loves me, not because he’s acting.
“That’s very kind,” I finally manage.
Margaret smiles. “It’s not kindness, dear. It’s an observation.”
I look down at my plate.
Paul saves me by asking Broven something about the construction site where he works, and the conversation moves on.
I take a long sip of wine and tell myself Margaret’s just a sweet woman who has had a lot of champagne and reads too much into things.
By the time dessert arrives, I feel way more relaxed.
It’s all thanks to the lovely company of Paul, Mona, and Margaret. Partly thanks to the champagne that keeps being refilled.
But mostly, it’s because of Broven who occasionally flags down a waiter when he sees my water glass is half empty and who keeps stroking my leg every five minutes.
Which is making the soaked-panties-situation even worse.
But the biggest problem is how I keep forgetting that none of this is real.
“Speech,” someone calls from the top of the table, and glasses clink until the room settles.
Greg stands up looking very pleased with himself. He’s wearing a navy suit that I recognize. He bought it for a work function once, and it looks good on him. He looks good, objectively. That was never the problem with Greg.
He clears his throat.
“I just want to say, that standing here tonight, surrounded by the people who matter most to me, I’ve never felt more certain about anything in my life.”
Mona puts her hand over her heart and sighs.
“Charlotte is everything I always knew I deserved. You see, sometimes, things don’t work out the way you plan. Sometimes, you have to go through the wrong ones to find the right one. And in hindsight, you’ll realize that there’s someone way better out there for you than you initially thought.”
He looks at me for a second, maybe less, but it’s deliberate and it stings.
Beside me, Broven goes very still. His hand moves from the back of my chair to my shoulder, warm and heavy.
Then I hear it.
It’s low. The sound vibrates through the chair and into my spine, and I don’t think anyone else at the table catches it, but I do. He’s growling.
Margaret looks up from her dessert and cocks an eyebrow. Maybe she heard it too.
Greg raises his glass. “To Charlotte. And to getting everything right.”
Everyone applauds. I lift my glass and touch it to my lips, but I don’t drink anything. Did Greg really need to put on a performance like that? What an idiot. What an idiotic, toddler-throwing-a-tantrum move!
Broven’s hand is still on my shoulder. His thumb draws slow strokes, and I feel it through the fabric of my dress like it’s going directly to my nervous system. Under the table, his knee presses against mine.
I put my glass down.
“Do you want to get some air?” I ask.
He pushes back his chair and stands without a word. He offers me his hand, and I take it, and we walk out of that dining room together without looking back at Greg once.
I lean against the wall and let out a long breath.
“The wrong ones. That was aimed at me,” I say.
“I know.”
“He’s been telling people that story for years.
That I was the wrong one. That he outgrew me and dumped me.
He never told anyone the truth about how he begged me for months to take him back.
” I look up at the ceiling. “And the worst part is that some of them believe it. Mona probably believes it. Margaret definitely—”
“Margaret doesn’t believe it,” Broven says.
I look at him with a frown.
“She told you at dinner. She told you exactly what she saw.”
Somewhere back in the dining room, someone laughs at something, and a chair scrapes. The evening carries on without us.
“I hate that he still gets to me. I ended things. I made the right call. I know I did. So why does he still—”
“Because he’s been telling the story for years, and you’ve been letting him. But tonight, they saw a different story.”
He takes my hand in his. “Ready to go back in?”
“Actually… is it too early to leave? I know it’s the rehearsal dinner, but I’ve done what I came to do and I don’t think I can look at Greg’s smug face for another hour.”
“It’s not too early.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not.”
“You don’t mind leaving?”
He smiles. “No, Daisy, I don’t mind leaving. I know something that will take your mind off Greg’s bullshit.”
Okay, wow. Defeat admitted. My panties are definitely ruined beyond saving.