Chapter Sixty-One Max
Chapter Sixty-One
Max
That Will dickhead from the engagement dinner won’t leave Gemma alone. I’ve had to watch that fucker slow dance with her three times already, and all I can do is grip my whisky glass and zero in on the way his hand rests against her back.
Whoever designed Gemma’s purple dress is cruel.
It’s so sexy, it takes all my willpower not to rip it off her and trace a line down her spine with my tongue.
The only reason I haven’t knocked the guy’s lights out is because Gemma looks like she’s in physical pain every time he touches her, which she’s clearly only enduring for April and James’s sake.
I almost didn’t come today. After calling her relentlessly for days, leaving voicemails for calls she never returned, I finally admitted defeat.
I couldn’t stomach the thought of sitting in the office all week surrounded by reminders of her, knowing she’d avoid me like the plague.
There wasn’t any need for me to return to the office, anyway—the launch is over.
The campaign was a raging success. Gray Hotel has made an absolute killing in its first week, so now it’s time for me to go back to New York.
Anna called me three days ago and begged me to attend April’s wedding. And selfishly, the only reason I’m here is because I knew Gemma would be, and I needed to see her one last time before I fly home tomorrow morning.
Home.
I think of New York and how excited I was when I stepped off that plane two years ago. Excited for a fresh start, single life in a new city, working with my best mate. The apartment near Central Park, the new role that challenged me.
I was so desperate to escape London following my divorce that I started thinking about home as a place. But now, when I look around the room at Gemma and my sister dancing with their best friends, and my parents staring lovingly into each other’s eyes, I realize that has changed.
New York might have my apartment and my career. But is that really a home? I don’t know anymore. I’m starting to wonder if maybe home is a feeling—a person.
I came to London for work, to build something temporary, and instead, I’m leaving having found something I want to be permanent.
Gemma made it crystal clear that whatever we had is over, but maybe if I stay, if we had more time, she might come around to the idea of us.
Anna shimmies over and drops into the empty seat beside me where Mason would have sat, panting and sweaty. “Come and dance!” she says.
“I don’t dance.”
“Oh, come on,” she says, slapping my back. “You look more miserable than I do, and my husband pulled out of coming today.”
I smile at her, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “I’m sorry, weasel.”
She swats the air. “Today’s not about that.”
A burst of laughter pulls our attention to the dance floor, just in time to see Dad take Mum’s hand and twirl her around, her face lit with joy. Even after forty-two years married, they’re still madly in love.
Anna watches them for a beat, then turns to me with a sad, soft smile. “I’m really going to miss you.”
I throw my arm around her shoulders, pulling her in for a side hug. “Yeah. Me too.”
When Gemma takes James’s and April’s hands, dancing with the both of them in a circle, my throat constricts.
She’s so damn beautiful.
I want to go to her.
God, do I want to go to her.
But I won’t. Not here. Not now.
Her head’s thrown back in laughter and she’s surrounded by people who love her. There’s a time and a place to confront her, and her best friend’s wedding doesn’t fall into either of those categories.
But Christ, I miss her. I miss holding her. I miss kissing her. I miss tickling her and falling asleep with her. I miss undressing and tasting her. I miss threading my fingers through her hair and laughing with her.
So, I give myself three more seconds to watch her. To study her. To memorize her smile.
I stare at my phone for a long time before punching out a text and hitting send. Then, I set my drink down, hug my sister tight, and slip on my jacket.
And I leave.