Chapter 51
"Pro alto mar levo você pra passear. Dez mil estrelas quero te presentear. Vem sorrir, vem cantar. Meu bem, eu t? aqui. N?o adianta ir pra lá" - Liniker
The gardens of the summer mansion Donald chose were a masterpiece of botanical engineering, a lush maze of green that felt more like a beautiful trap than a sanctuary.
Lisa had handpicked my outfit, a blue halterneck floral dress that felt light against the humid air. The wide-brimmed hat seemed like an exaggeration until the sun began to bite, proving her right, as she usually was.
On the surface, it was flawless. The buffet was decadent, the band played with soulful precision, and our families were gathered in a display of unity.
It was a perfect lie. I was getting engaged for the sake of a headline, sitting across from my future husband’s actual lover while pretending to be the happiest woman in Washington.
My mother approached, pulling me into an embrace so tight and performative that it felt suffocating. I rested my hands on her shoulders, unable to mimic her enthusiasm.
"Donald is simply perfect, dear!" she beamed.
"Are you excited for me, Mother? Or just for the political status this marriage guarantees?"
"Of course, darling. That’s what matters in this world," she replied, her eyes already scanning the crowd for the next person to impress.
"Where is your latest conquest?" I asked, nodding toward the man she’d been mentioning for weeks. She pointed to a gentleman who looked as though he’d stepped directly out of a classic Italian film, impeccably tailored and effortlessly charming.
"Francesco, this is Megan, my daughter."
He took my hand, his lips brushing my fingertips in a courtly greeting. I moved to respond with a practiced pleasantry, but my voice died in my throat. My eyes were sabotaged by a movement on the stairs.
A woman was descending, draped in a beige linen suit that screamed old-money elegance. She wore sunglasses, but the tilt of her head was unmistakable.
"Shit," I whispered, the word a jagged breath. My gaze darted desperately for Sarki, who read the panic on my face instantly. She excused us from my mother and Francesco, pulling me toward the edge of the terrace.
"What the hell is Kelsey doing here?" I hissed.
"How did you think Donald’s largest campaign donor wouldn't make the guest list?" Sarki countered, her voice low and cautionary.
"The same way she’s managed to be invisible for the last year and a half," I snapped, grabbing a glass of sparkling wine from a passing waiter. I turned, my heart hammering against my ribs, just in time to see her stop.
She lifted her sunglasses, her gaze locking onto mine with a familiarity that made my knees weak.
"You look beautiful, Kitty."
"How are you?" I asked, my voice a flat line. I completely ignored her compliment and the fact that hearing that nickname, our nickname, had sent a traitorous jolt through my system.
When she reached out to touch my arm, I pulled back instinctively, denying her the contact she so clearly sought.
"I’m fine," she replied, her eyes scanning my face with a hunger she couldn't hide. "I’ve seen you in court. You look like a lioness up there."
A dozen biting retorts flashed through my mind, starting with the fact that my judicial ruthlessness was fueled by a year and a half of celibacy and heartache, but I chose to sip my wine instead, offering a thin, meaningless smile.
Donald approached, greeting her with a familiarity that made my stomach turn, before excusing himself. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him return to his boyfriend, leaving us in a private pocket of tension.
"I’m glad you enjoyed the performance," I said.
"I miss you, Megan."
"You decided this, Kelsey. Not me." My tone was ice.
"Megan, we need to talk." She took a step closer. I immediately retreated, raising my hands in a mock gesture of surrender. "Just talk, Kitty. Please. It’s impossible to be without you."
"No messages. No calls. No emails." I pointed a trembling index finger at her chest. "You say it's impossible, yet you didn't even bother to find out if I was still breathing."
"I know how you are. Our friends talk," she said, rolling her eyes as if my anger were an inconvenience.
The dismissiveness snapped something inside me.
I stepped into her space, the scent of her perfume, that intoxicating, familiar scent, hitting me like a physical blow, dazing me for a split second.
"They don't know shit," I hissed.
I turned to walk away, my movements too sharp, too brutal. Kelsey lunged to catch my arm, to keep me from escaping, but the sudden jerk sent the rest of my sparkling wine flying. It soaked into her pristine beige linen suit, a dark, jagged stain spreading across her chest.
She didn't flinch. She just looked down at the mess and then back at me, her voice low and shattered.
"I suppose I deserved that."
"You’ve been ignoring me. You’re nowhere to be found," I accused, my voice trembling with eighteen months of bottled-up resentment.
She used a cloth napkin to dab at the darkening stain on her suit, her gaze fixed on me with a piercing intensity.
"Do you have any idea how agonizing it is?
" she started, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous register.
"To know the only person I’ve ever truly loved is out there, and I can't see her?
I can't touch her? I stayed away because seeing you and not having you hurts too much, damn it.
I made a brutal choice, but I did it so you could have everything you deserved. "
"I don't feel better, Kelsey." I crossed my arms, my eyes tracking the wine on her chest. "And that stain? It’s not coming out."
"Kitty..." she breathed.
I shot my hand up, cutting her off before the name could settle. "You stripped yourself of the right to use that name the second you ended us."
Her hand clamped onto my arm, pulling me inches from her. The scent of her perfume was a physical assault on my senses, thick with memories of late nights and whispered promises.
"You are not going to be this spoiled, this childish," she hissed, her eyes dark with a familiar fire. "I should..."
"Should what?" I challenged, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"I should grab you right here, in the middle of all this, just to remind you that you’re mine. All mine."
The words were a ghost of a whisper. She let go of me as if the contact had burned her and turned, walking toward the mansion without another word.
I collapsed into a nearby chair, pinching the bridge of my nose so hard I thought it might bruise. Donald slid into the seat on one side, Sarki on the other, my two weary guardians.
"I’m done," Sarki spoke first, her tone exhausted. "I am tired of the two of you sulking in corners. You’re miserable, and she does nothing but whine to Vanessa and Donald."
I looked at Don, and he offered a grim, supportive nod.
"Go inside and settle this with her, Megs," he said, nudging my shoulder. "Your mood is so toxic that if you don't fix this, you’re going to start sentencing little old ladies to life imprisonment for stealing bingo chips."
"Oh, you can't be serious. I'm not going in there," I countered, arching an eyebrow as I snatched another glass of sparkling wine from a passing waiter. "You only act this tough when you're trying to deny what you actually want," Sarki shot back.
I rolled my eyes, initially heading for the bar, but my feet had a mind of their own. I found myself drifting toward the main house, my internal compass locked onto Kelsey.
As my eyes adjusted to the transition from the bright garden to the cool, dim living room, I stopped a maid and asked if she’d seen a woman in a linen suit. She pointed toward a bathroom at the end of the hall. The door was slightly ajar.
I pushed it open. Kelsey was there, her blazer in hand, frantically trying to scrub the wine from the delicate fabric.
"I'm... sorry about the blazer," I murmured. She turned off the faucet, the silence that followed feeling heavy and electric. She stared at me, her green eyes burning into mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
"I understand why you did it, Megan," she said, and the sound of my name, not a nickname, but my name, felt like a physical ache. "But God... I miss you so much." She leaned heavily against the sink, dropping her head as if the weight of the confession was too much to bear.
Hesitantly, I took a single step into the room. "Don't say that to me. Not if nothing is going to change." I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe as a final, pathetic line of defense.
"You have no idea how terrified I am," she whispered, her voice cracking. "The thought of them using us, using this, to destroy the life you’ve worked for... it haunts me, Kitty."
She turned fully toward me. I knew I should retreat; we were inches apart now, and the air between us was thick with a year and a half of unspent longing.
"And your solution is for me to pretend we never happened?" I challenged.
Kelsey didn't answer with words. She reached out, grabbed my arm, and pulled me inside, kicking the door shut with a decisive click.
"Don't talk shit," she hissed, her face inches from mine. "Of course it happened. It was everything. But the risk to your career..."
"To hell with it," I breathed. The scent of her, the real, unmasked scent of the woman I loved, overwhelmed my senses. My pride buckled. I reached out, my arms finally finding their home around her shoulders, pulling her into me.
"What if I want to risk it?" I challenged, my gaze locked onto hers, searching for any sign of the woman who used to be my partner in everything.
"I wouldn’t let you. I wouldn’t even ask you to make that choice," she whispered. Closing that door had been a catastrophic mistake. Kelsey reached out, her fingers tangling in my hair as she tossed my hat aside. "But I can't help telling you how much I’ve missed you."
Before I could protest, I was pinned against the cool tile of the wall. Her hands claimed me with a possessive, bone-deep grip, and her mouth crashed into mine with a desperate urgency. Our tongues met in a feverish tangle, hungry, aching, and raw from a year and a half of starvation.
My nails dug into the fabric of her shirt, scratching her back with a ferocity that matched the storm in my chest. A low, broken moan escaped me when she caught my lower lip between her teeth, pulling slowly until I was lightheaded.
Her hands slid down, tracing the line of my thighs before pulling me flush against her.
Just as the world began to blur, I found a spark of clarity. I shoved her back toward the opposite wall, my chest heaving, my hand raised like a shield.
"I can't do this," I gasped, my voice trembling with rage. "I can’t do this only to be ignored by you the second we leave this room."
Kelsey reached out, her expression a mask of longing, but I dodged her touch and snatched my hat from the floor. I felt the burn of tears behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of her.
"Kitty, wait," she pleaded.
I raised my index finger, a sharp, silent reproach as I gripped the door handle. "You don't have that right to call me like this anymore."
I left her there, looking stunned and breathless, as I fumbled to put my hat back on. I fled up the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs, and collapsed against a stone pillar to catch my breath.
Donald found me almost immediately. He didn't ask questions; he just pulled me into a silent, steady embrace. It was the anchor I needed to dry my eyes and reclaim my posture. I tried to apologize, to explain, but he silenced me with a gentle look.
"Later, Megs," he whispered. "We’ll talk later."
We spent the rest of the afternoon tethered to one another. I felt Kelsey’s gaze like a physical heat, watching us, her glass never empty, her eyes dark with a discomfort she couldn't entirely mask.
I was just as unsettled. The memory of that bathroom encounter was a loop I couldn't break; I could still feel the phantom pressure of her hands claiming me, even as Donald held me close for the crowd.
Our paths crossed in the shifting circles of conversation. A few times, our fingers brushed, an almost unconscious magnetism, as she lingered near Donald’s friends. Kelsey was, and always would be, my favorite drug. My most exquisite sin.
But as much as I hated it, her logic was sound. The risk was real.
As dusk bled into a vivid sunset, the theater reached its crescendo. Donald dropped to one knee in front of fifty guests, his expression a masterpiece of sincerity.
"Meg," he began, his voice carrying across the silent garden. "When our lives crossed paths again, I knew I could never let you go. Today, in front of our friends and family, I want to ask: will you marry me?"
He clicked open the velvet box. The diamond was breathtaking, a stone we had chosen together with clinical precision. I held out my hand, and as he slid the ring onto my finger, a roar of applause erupted. He stood, lifting me into a celebratory spin as flashes went off in a blinding staccato.
When my feet hit the ground, Don pulled me into a long, lingering kiss. We had become experts at this, convincing the world of our passion, selling the image of a discreet, powerful couple.
Hours later, the adrenaline began to fade, replaced by a cold, hollow ache. I retreated to my room, needing to trade my floral dress for something warmer so I could finish the night drinking with my friends, drinking until I could finally drown the taste of her.
But my resolve shattered the moment I closed the bedroom door.
Before I could even reach for the light, I was enveloped from behind. Strong arms wrapped around my waist, and that familiar, intoxicating scent permeated the air, decimating every rational thought I had left. Kelsey was here, in the dark, and my neurons didn't stand a chance.