Chapter 14
PRESENT DAY
SOSIE
The cold is not a welcome companion tonight, but here it is smacking me in the face as soon as the doorman opens the door for me and I step outside.
I stop in repulse and pull my coat’s belt tighter, even knowing it will wrinkle my dress at the waist. It’s dinner and then a company holiday party.
If someone’s going to judge me for having wrinkles in the fabric, then that’s their issue to deal with, not mine.
“It’s cold out,” Gregory says, standing beside the car, rubbing his leather-clad hands together.
When he smiles, it’s not as roguish as Keats and doesn’t make me weak in the knees.
I resigned myself to my fate six months ago when we made an agreement to get our parents off our backs, giving us time to get our lives sorted and figure out what we want. But I’m not feeling it anymore.
My body itches for a life that I haven’t experienced, to travel again and not look back this time, to disappear from under the Stansbury microscope for once in my life.
Why does everything feel so out of sorts today?
I’m struggling to keep up appearances. Maybe it’s the day—Christmas Eve again—coming around like clockwork to haunt me, or maybe I’m becoming too intolerant to play this game anymore.
Like the cold, here I am doing it anyway.
How did we even get here?
We’ve taken it too far. At almost twenty-seven, I’ve been so hindered by fear of striking out on my own that I ended up locking myself in the gilded cage I was always afraid of. The next time the door swings open, I need to fly away and try, instead of living this lie any longer.
Bundled up in a long light gray wool coat and plaid scarf, I swear if he tells me that’s his family’s tartan pattern, I’ll lose it. I don’t hate him. I hate what I’ve become as his fake girlfriend.
“It is cold,” I reply, making polite small talk like we’re strangers.
For two people who have known each other most of our lives, we are in the ways that matter.
We’re friends who are good at pretending, but acquaintances when it comes to our personal lives.
I was once foolish enough to believe in happily ever afters.
That ending is only reserved for the lucky ones. Not me.
Sliding my hand over my hair on the sides, I’m hoping no strands have escaped my French twist. I start down the stairs again, trying to adjust the mood that rolled in like an afternoon storm, hitting me before I could run for cover.
It settled into my day and hung around like a fog, refusing to lift no matter how I tried to turn things around after that.
People wanting to celebrate my birthday should be fun, even if it is celebrated on the wrong day for their convenience and not mine.
Right, Sosie? I should appreciate the gesture, but along with my birthday comes the memory of the one who got away.
That’s what Keats Matthews became when he left me at the Plaza.
Most people wouldn’t see being left as a good thing, but I like that his principles remained intact.
Sure, I would have liked it to turn out differently between us, and I've imagined what our lives might have been many times if we had stayed together. But how can I be mad at him when I left him with nothing but memories the first time? I know he didn’t leave because he was seeking revenge.
He left because I gave him no reason to stay.
My regrets have troubled me ever since.
But I can’t turn back time. I chose a path. Made a choice and then another that led to where I am now. Is it too late to detour?
When I walk into Gregory’s hands, he grabs my arms, and we exchange cheek kisses. “You look pretty, Sosie.” He lingers against my cheek like he always does and then shifts as if I’ve changed my mind for our lips to meet instead.
“Thank you and for the ride,” I say, slipping out of his hold and into the back of the black Cadillac.
“Of course.” The door is closed before I can reach for it. And if the way it was slammed is any indicator, he’s not too happy with me.
Gregory slides into the car next to me and tells the driver. “We can go.” When he sits back, he looks at me. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.” There’s no zip of excitement or thrill of celebration.
I almost feel numb to it all at this point.
What am I doing? Is this because I watched a stupid movie?
Stop comparing. Most people don’t get a wrapped-up package with a perfectly tied bow as an ending.
Why am I trying so hard to convince myself that I have options?
My options are to walk away from everything I know or stay and do as I’m told.
“So . . .” Gregory pulls my attention from outside the window back to him. “I’ve been thinking about us.”
“What about us?” I don’t mean for my voice to pitch, so I take a breath despite my walls rising sky high like a fortress around me.
“Well, it’s been a few months of being seen as a couple.
” He hesitates when our eyes connect. I’m just hoping I’m not looking horrified.
“Um, people have come to easily accept our relationship.” I remain silent, unable to contribute to the conversation or to what he’s trying to get at.
“I was thinking maybe we can make it real?”
“Real?” I rapid-blink a few times, then look away from him.
My thoughts don’t align with his, and my heart hangs out in left field, hoping to fall in love again one day.
Again. The word strains my heart like a pinched nerve.
I felt love for the first time and let it slip away after one night.
That’s not what I feel for Gregory. Not at all.
“Yeah,” he says. “We can try for real instead of being just friends, though I hear friends make great lovers—”
“Lovers?”
“Well, lovers as in people in love, not sex, though of course sex would be a part of it—making love or if you’re into something—”
“Stop.” I lower my hands that have flown up between us.
Hearing him talk about us as lovers has me cringing inside.
But more so, I’m worried. “Why are you saying this? We made a deal to go to events, to hang out on occasion if something required a plus-one, and attend dinners with our parents to get them to stop pressuring us.”
“What if they weren’t pressuring me?”
And there it is . . . I release a heavy breath long and slow to calm my heart that had begun racing when he said the word real. “Listen, Gregory.” I start softly to temper any disappointment he might feel. “I know you care about me. I care about you, too, but it’s diff—”
“I don’t mind different. We can grow together, and over time, you might fall in—”
“Please. Don’t do this.”
He glances through the windshield and then back at me.
“Sosie, I need this to be crystal clear for you. We are what other couples dream of being. We’re both extremely attractive .
. .” My eyes go wide just as the car pulls to the curb.
“We were born into enviable families of wealth and means. We like each other—”
“Not like that.”
His lips press together so hard that they lose color. He takes a breath. “You will come to love me.”
The valet opens the door before I can get another word in edgewise. I’m not sure what to even say to that anyway. If I’m not careful, I’ll take it as a threat, and I know he wouldn’t threaten me. As soon as I land on the sidewalk, I look back at him as he climbs out of the car. Would he?
No. Surely not.
He’s not like my father. It’s one of the things I’ve always appreciated about Gregory. He’s a nice guy. And I still have free will, even if I lose access to my family’s money. Trying to give him the benefit of the doubt as we walk to the door of the restaurant, I reply, “Love can’t be forced.”
Just inside the warmth of the busy restaurant, I loosen the belt of my coat.
He slides it from my shoulders and hands it to the coat check before we start through the maze of tables to where our parents are already waiting.
He stops me by the arm just before we reach them, and I turn back.
He says, “It doesn’t need to be forced. I promise to love you enough for us both.
” His chin raises, and a huge smile appears.
“Hello,” he greets our parents as if he didn’t just tell me that he doesn’t care if I love him if he gets to be with me.
What in the world is happening?
Cold fingers wrap around my bare arm, and I whip my head to see my mom. “What are you doing? Come to the table.” Heaven forbid, I embarrass her . . .
I go to the empty seat and sit down between Gregory and his father like I’m a Lafoon now.
Am I being difficult? Making something from nothing?
I exhale a breath, hoping my bad mood leaves with it.
Until I’m situated into my better-suited self, I put on a fake smile and pull the cloth napkin across my lap while pleasantries are exchanged.
“You look so pretty tonight, Sosie,” his mother says, leaning into her husband as if it’s a secret no one else can hear.
“Your dress reminds me that I need an outfit for New Year’s Eve. It’s so festive.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Lafoon.” I glance down at my dress as if I’d forgotten what I was wearing.
I loved it the moment I tried it on—metallic threads running through it make it shine, the neckline and spaghetti straps highlight the span across my collarbone where a tennis necklace would have become the star, if I had one.
I adore the ease of the A-line that isn’t going to show that I ate more than a few morsels today.
I feel pretty, making my confidence bloom.
It's been so long since I felt good about myself that it’s nice to sit inside this state of mind for a while.
Clasping her hands together, she adds, “Your new hair color really suits you. Gregory always did have a weakness for blondes.” She winks at him as if they’ve discussed this before. Yuck.