30. “The Way I Loved You” - Taylor Swift
“The Way I Loved You” - Taylor Swift
I’m in my office finishing up for the day while Maisie updates me on my plans for tomorrow.
After Henry and I returned from our trip to see Mrs. Schumann, Maisie confirmed my suspicions that Henry had orchestrated her absence.
I didn’t mention it to him, because I’ve discovered it’s best for my mental health to avoid him altogether.
Maisie opens the door for a footman, who sets a giant arrangement of white hydrangeas on my desk.
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a bouquet that wasn’t a palace-sanctioned decoration.
My stomach and heart do this choreographed dance where one sinks while the other skips. I pull the card out with trepidation.
Apparently, he’s back to his cat-and-mouse games.
I toss the note in the trash. “You can have the flowers,” I tell Maisie before leaving the office.
Two can play this game, and I’ve been the mouse for long enough.
I’m reviewing the mission statement of a charity I’m considering patronizing when a text message alert goes off. It takes me a few minutes to locate my phone—still in my purse—and when I do, I’m surprised to see it’s from Beck.
Beck: I can’t wait to see you tonight. xx
Where am I going to see Beck tonight? I quickly open my calendar app, but the only thing Maisie has scheduled for the rest of the day is dinner in the State Dining Room. I’m about to text back when I remember the flowers. They must have been from Beck, not Henry.
I type out a quick reply.
Me: Me neither! 7:00 right? x
Beck: I’ll be there. xx
He must have moved mountains to get a flower delivery into the palace and have a car ordered. If he is willing to go to those kinds of lengths to salvage what remains of our relationship, so am I.
The narrow band of disappointment tightening around my chest can go bugger off.
I ring for Daphne and go to my closet to pull out the dress.
I know exactly which one he means, but I’m surprised he remembers it.
It’s one of my favorites, a draping emerald-green number with thin straps that accent my shoulders and lengthen my neck.
Once my hair and makeup are done to perfection, thanks to Daphne’s expert hands, I slip into my heels and choose an evening bag.
Tonight is for second chances, and Henry is banned from my thoughts.
I wind my way through the rooms of the palace, lifting the hem of my dress, and realize my heart feels a little lighter.
As I walk through the doorway into the Blue Salon, I smack into a hard body coming from the other direction.
I cradle my nose as pain shoots through it.
I don’t even need to look up to know who it is. I’d recognize his scent anywhere.
Henry grabs my arms to stabilize me and pulls back to see my face. “My god, are you okay? I’m so sorry.”
I nod, still rubbing my nose. Tears spring to my eyes, the effect of slamming my nose into the brick wall that is Henry’s chest. The thrill coursing through my veins, on the other hand, has nothing to do with that and everything to do with seeing him again.
I am a lunatic. A lunatic and an addict.
“You look incredible,” he says. “Going somewhere?”
“I have a date with Beck. He’s surprising me.”
Henry’s smile is instantaneous and appears genuine. “Have fun.”
“I’m sure we will.”
He moves aside so I can pass, but as I do, he stops me with a hand on my bare arm, his touch lighting my skin on fire, the flames running down my entire body. I turn back.
“You look stunning. That dress brings out the color of your eyes.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“He’s a lucky man.”
My destination is a private yacht, which is currently docked but will be setting off as soon as I’m on board. As I walk up the pier, I work diligently to keep my jaw from dropping. I’m not entirely successful. How did Beck do all of this?
The upper deck glows with thousands of twinkle lights, dancing like stars against the black night and sea.
Bouquets of hydrangeas line the perimeter of the deck, their honey-vanilla scent greeting me like an old friend.
Waves lap softly at the side of the boat, and a string quartet performs a sweet Mozart melody on the bow.
I’ve stepped into another universe, one in which sadness is not possible.
Beck stands waiting for me with that endearing smile I love stretched across his face. He’s holding a bouquet of roses. The red of their petals is like blood against the white of the hydrangeas.
“This is absolutely spectacular,” I say as he brings me into the security of his arms, warm and safe. It’s the polar opposite of Henry’s electric touch.
“As spectacular as you are.” After a minute, he pulls back. “I’m really sorry for ending things like I did. Truly. I realized the second you left I’d made a mistake, but it was too late.”
It wasn’t too late, then or now, but I just shush him and rise on tiptoes to kiss his mouth. There are no fireworks, but that isn’t an indication of a healthy relationship anyway.
The kiss ends, and Beck smiles. “You look beautiful. Come on, let’s sit down.”
As we set sail, a server pours us each a glass of champagne and introduces the menu for the evening.
No detail has been overlooked. Soft music drifts across the deck, and blankets are ready should the evening grow chilly on the water.
There’s a different wine accompanying each course, and to end the meal, my favorite dessert, red velvet cake, is served with coffee.
It’s perfect in every way.
“Thank you so much for all of this. I still can’t believe it.” I take one last bite of cake and look around. The lights are reflecting in the water around us, creating an unearthly feeling. It’s like we’re in our own personal universe out here. “You truly thought of everything.”
Beck’s smile begins to slip at my words as confusion crosses his face. “What do you mean?”
“This.” I motion around us. “The boat, the dinner, the privacy. It’s exactly what I needed. You know me well.”
His smile disappears completely. “I didn’t set this up,” he says tightly. “I thought this was your way of saying you forgive me.”
“What? No, I didn’t do this.” I set down my fork and shake my head. “I received flowers and a card telling me a car would pick me up. I didn’t even know where I was going.”
“I got an email from you telling me to be on board at seven. You’re telling me you know nothing about that?”
A searing ache rips from my chest down into my stomach. My first instinct was right. There’s only one person in the world with the audacity to tell me what to wear on a date he wouldn’t even be on himself. Even though he’s let me go, I can’t escape him.
“No.” I swallow. “It wasn’t me.”
“Then who was it?”
I bite the side of my mouth, considering whether the truth is more dangerous than a lie. “It must have been Henry.”
“Why?” Beck spits out the word like it’s a bullet.
I shake my head slowly. “I don’t know.”
“You told me there was nothing going on between you two.” His voice has grown as hard and cold as steel.
“There isn’t. If there was, he’d be here instead of you.”
“Forgive me for not feeling reassured by that explanation.”
I stare at the bubbles in my champagne. They’re winking at me, daring me to placate him with more excuses and explanations. But I hate lying.
Beck shifts in his chair, growing irritated and impatient. As my eyes slowly rise to meet his, realization steals over me the way the sun breaks the horizon at dawn.
I would rather spend the rest of my life pining for Henry and what we could have had than married to a man I’m constantly comparing to him. I can’t imagine anything worse than a life of second-rate happiness and first-rate disappointment.
It will be the second gut-punch I deliver to Beck, but I owe him the truth. “I’m so sorry, Beck, but I can’t do this anymore.”
The annoyance drops from his face, replaced by pain. “Can’t do what?”
I lay my napkin onto the table and walk over to the railing, the words mired in my throat, refusing to come out. The boat sluices through the inky waters, a foaming spray trailing in its wake. The evening is beautiful and perfect in every way but one.
The wrong man is sharing it with me.
I feel rather than hear Beck join me. He pauses a few feet away waiting for me to turn around and give him an answer, to assure him everything is fine between us. How can I do this to him? His only crime is falling in love with someone who doesn’t deserve him.
“I love you, but I’m not sure that’s enough anymore.” I take the coward’s way out and keep looking out at the sea. I can’t face him, can’t see the disappointment and sorrow etched in his eyes.
“Love isn’t enough? What else do you want?”
How can I explain to someone else what I don’t even understand myself?
“Can you not even look at me anymore?” he says, raw pain sluicing through his voice.
I slowly turn, because the truth is, I do love him. He’s exactly the kind of man I envisioned myself marrying: honest, loyal, kind. He doesn’t deserve any of this. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”
He laughs without humor and presses his fingers into his eye sockets. “People always say that, don’t they? ‘I never wanted to hurt you,’ as if that somehow makes it okay that they did.”
“I don’t know what else you want me to say.” A strong breeze lifts from the water and blows around us, raising the flesh on my arms. I rub at it with hands that are just as cold.
“How about something along the lines of, ‘I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you’?”
“Even if I can’t?”
Beck shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers.
“This isn’t the way I saw my life playing out either.
Sneaking around, pretending I’m not in love with the woman who’s going to be my queen.
Always living in the shadows, being second rate, second best. But if it means being with you, in any capacity, I’m willing to do it. ”
My throat swollen with tears, I say, “You deserve to be with someone who can give you their whole heart.”
“You expect me to believe this is all for my benefit? I’m not good at being alone, Celia. I’ve spent most of my life figuring it out by myself, and I’m ready to do it with someone else. Now you’re saying I should be grateful to you for saving me from a life of misery?”
“Of course not. I just meant that you deserve more than I can give you.”
He makes a sound of disgust and shakes his head. “It’s because of him, isn’t it?”
“No,” I say automatically, even though we both know it’s a lie.
“I’ll never be him. I don’t want to be him, even if it costs me you.”
The words sting, although I don’t think that was his intention. “I’m not asking you to change. Or to understand.”
“You’ll regret this someday.”
I hope he’s wrong. But I’m scared he’s right.
The worst part about breaking up on board a yacht is that you have to wait until the boat is docked before you can get off. I spoke to the captain after Beck walked away, and he agreed to turn us around but said it would be an hour before we get back to land.
As I wait, I curl up on one of the sofas arranged on the deck and wrap one of the soft cashmere throws around my bare shoulders. Regret mingles with the salty air, chapping my cheeks and leaving a tang on my lips.
Losing Beck is as different from losing Henry as fire is from water.
It is frustration itself, a plan I worked for years to execute falling through at the last minute.
Of course I love him, but it’s our compatibility, our once-mutual desires and goals, that make it so hard to watch him go.
Have I just pushed away the best thing that’s ever happened to me?
Losing Henry, on the other hand, was like losing a piece of myself.
It doesn’t matter that he drives me crazy.
I need his humor and that belly-clenching laugh.
I need the way he pushes me to my limits, the way he won’t put up with my bullshit.
I need the way he can take one look at my face and read everything I’m too afraid to say.
It should be easier than this to get over someone who so clearly doesn’t want to be with you.