1. She didn’t say, “It hurts to be forgotten.”
1
She didn’t say, “It hurts to be forgotten.”
Eden
If a woman’s thirty-second birthday kicked off with not one but two orgasms, she’d be forgiven for thinking it was going to be the best day ever, right?
Rookie error.
The writing had been on the sterile white walls of Zach’s apartment the moment he’d crawled out of bed. He’d showered, dressed in his suit, and knotted his tie just so , all without a word. Birthday wishes? Gifts? None. His lips had lingered a little longer on my forehead on his way out the door, but still…nothing.
“Promise you won’t forget?” I’d said.
Dark brows had popped over the top of his glasses. “I’d never forget,” he’d said.
Except now, the sunset was melting into Sydney Harbour, and city lights dotted the skyline. The party— my party—had already started.
And Zach wasn’t there.
A watch didn’t match the vibe of the tassels and sequins of my vintage cocktail dress, but Andie was tracking the time for both of us. She’d been sliding a look to the doors for a while, always as she readjusted her bowtie or checked her cufflinks, but yeah, she’d been looking.
“Even Cinderella wasn’t this late to the party,” she muttered.
“He’ll be here,” I said.
My delivery was as unconvincing as the last time I’d said it. The certainty in my voice had started wavering about ten songs ago when I’d shifted from hopeful to defensive.
I had every reason to be worried.
This wasn’t the first time Zach had let me down.
Yvette’s attention flicked to the doors, too. An eternal optimist, complete with a halo of bleached blonde curls, she preferred to see the champagne glass half full even when only a sip was left. But blue eyes narrowed. Full lips thinned. Even she had her doubts.
“You reminded him, right?” Yvette asked.
A note stuck on the fridge. The text message of heart eyes and cake emojis I’d sent him when I’d gulped down a smoothie so the rest of my staff could take a proper lunch break. Wasn’t that enough? I’d talked about my party for weeks. At least three influencers had featured it as the place to be. That was more rope than I’d tossed off the cliff for any other man to rescue himself.
Andie frowned even more than usual. “Why does Ed have to remind him? It’s her damn birthday.”
“We all know Zach’s a little, well, you know,” Yvette said.
Socially awkward? Distracted? A workaholic? The ugly voice in the back of my mind whispered the word ‘selfish.’ But when Zach’s attention was on me, his arms snug around my middle and his nose nuzzled in my hair, the only word I heard was ‘perfect . ’ The problem was that his attention was rarely on me anymore.
“What a fucking cop-out,” Andie snapped. “The three of us work our arses off for twelve hours a day at Voom, and we still found time to plan a classy do for a hundred people. Zach had two jobs tonight. One”—Andie held up her index finger—“bring the cake. Two”—her middle finger went up next—“get here on time.”
The flutter of Yvette’s false lashes was a declaration of war. “Sweetie, I hope you’re planning to stick those fingers somewhere useful.”
Andie stammered out a few curse words, tugging on the cuffs of her jacket, her cheeks red hot. She had no real comeback. Yvette grinned. She’d won this round.
I sighed. This wasn’t how I imagined my birthday. My two best friends bickering. No man on my arm. Where was Zach? I’d blow out the candles flickering on top of my birthday cake and wish this disastrous night was over…if there were candles…or…a cake. I couldn’t keep standing around, hoping he’d make time to prioritise me. I looked like a fool.
“I’m going to call him,” I said.
“Don’t.” Andie’s eyes pleaded with me to change my mind.
“I won’t go easy on him,” I reassured her. “A girl’s allowed to make a scene on her birthday.”
“I approve,” Yvette said. “You give that man hell.”
I planned to—if he ever picked up his phone or answered my messages. History told me neither was a certainty.
Chin held high, I squared my shoulders, and my taffeta gown swished with the confident swing of my hips as I weaved through the crowd. A dazzling smile masked my disappointment. Air kisses on my guests’ cheeks and my sincere thanks for coming concealed any vulnerability. I laughed away awkward conversations asking me about the mystery man who’d finally convinced me to settle down.
“You’ll meet him soon,” I always said, as if it were part of the plan to keep them on the edge of their seats.
But when the corridor narrowed into shadows, old memories creeping up the walls, I escaped into the bathroom where no one could see my facade unravel. I slumped against white tiles. My gloved palm clutched over my mouth to block a scream—or even more humiliating, a sob.
Zach forgot.
He forgot my birthday.
He forgot…me .
Again.
My shoulders trembled as a breath squeezed into my lungs. I’d forgiven Zach for all the date nights he’d missed. I’d even shrugged off him missing my salon’s picnic. Three years in our new location, number one in all the reviews, and another nomination—but still no win—for me as Hairstylist of the Year were things to be celebrated. And they had been—by everyone except him. But I’d already set the bar too low. An uninspired apology was all it had taken to earn back my smile and a mumbled agreement he deserved another chance. I’d broken all my rules for Zach.
Where had we gone so wrong?
Our relationship had shot off like a crazy, sexy rollercoaster. That man had swept me off my feet and spoiled me with fun dates, staying up all night talking, and eventually, weekends rolling around in bed. He’d made me wait and wait.
He wasn’t a one-night stand kind of guy. He wanted a commitment. Someone special. Or so he’d said.
Six months later, the roller coaster sat parked and rusty at the station. Worley and Stone owned Zach’s soul. He was always at the office.
I was the first to sing from the rooftops about how much I loved his drive and determination. He wouldn’t be one of Sydney’s top lawyers if he didn’t have that edge. But he’d captured me, convinced me to move into his apartment on a whim when my lease had been up, and now, he was never there.
I slipped away from the wall, pinned my reflection in the mirror, and examined my face with critical eyes.
I could see her. The confident woman who’d escaped a childhood better forgotten to claw her way to the top was still inside me. The courage and the same steely determination shone through, but a heavy truth weighed behind my eyes.
My impossible dream was slipping through my fingers.
Huddled under my covers late at night, I’d squeeze my eyes shut and fantasise about a future that wasn’t just me against the world. The empty shell of the bedroom warmed up, and my imaginary husband snuggled closer, laughing about how we needed to buy a bigger bed because our kids kept sneaking in and we needed more room. It was the opposite of how I grew up, and the craving had only gnawed deeper once Zach became part of my life.
But I couldn’t lose myself. I had to stay strong. Courageous. Sometimes, it was still me against the world.
My black satin gloves balled by my side, and I challenged my reflection head-on.
It was time for the pep talk.
Who are you?
“Eden Phillips,” I told the mirror.
Who made you the woman you are?
“I made my damn self.”
Who needs a man?
I scoffed. More than one hook-up had complained I had daddy issues, but I wasn’t a card-carrying member of the ‘I Hate Men’ club. Men were easy on the eye, and I’d stumbled on plenty who didn’t need an hour-long seminar and a personalised map to find my clit. Sex was a joy and one I’d always indulged in with abandon, but outside the bedroom, most men were walking disappointments.
My head bowed.
Until Zach.
I prowled through the world like a tiger, seeking opportunities, staking my claim as the queen of the urban jungle, but with Zach, I purred like a kitten. His whispered promise to take care of me was a drug. Addictive. When I’d only ever relied on myself, words like his tingled on my skin, braided around my heart, and twisted too tight.
I hadn’t whispered the three magic words: I love you . Neither had Zach. We’d jumbled up the steps to a relationship. Maybe because we lived together, he didn’t think he needed to tell me. Maybe everything about this relationship was a mistake. How would I know? I’d never been in a relationship before.
Sighing, I turned my back on my reflection and headed for the door. I’d never find my true strength hiding in the bathroom.
“Happy Birthday!”
I fluttered through the crowd. More air kisses. More superficial conversations. More of my sincere thanks to my guests for choosing to spend their Friday night celebrating with me.
A yelp turned my head.
The crowd split. Two waiters spun, trays swooping out of the way, barely avoiding a collision. Guests on the dance floor scrambled. An enormous white box pirouetted through the chaos. It wobbled. Spun. Expensive black dress shoes with laces tied just so stumbled left, then right, before the awkward dance ended with a sigh and a mumbled, “That was close.”
Wait.
My eyebrows pinched together. I’d recognise the velvety rumble of that voice anywhere. “Zach?”
His head popped out from the side of the box. “Hey.” A sheepish grin followed.
I waved at the chaos. “What the heck is all this?”
“Your cake.”
He didn’t forget . Warm tingles filled my chest. “You sure there’s just one cake in there?”
“Oh, uh.” His head tipped back with a nervous laugh. “I guess we did go a little overboard.”
“We?”
“Me and Mum. Actually, one hundred percent my mum. I’m just the delivery boy.” His gaze roamed for a safe place to deposit the cake. “Where should I, um…?” Another helpless look turned around the room.
I pointed to the empty stand. Zach flashed me a relieved smile and headed for the table. He slipped the box from his arms, and with trembling fingers, he stripped off the sticky tape, lifted the lid, and folded down the sides.
He stood back and stuck out his hand. “Voila!” A proud smile lit up his face.
My hand fluttered to my mouth, a tear threatening to spill down my cheek. Oh, that cake, it was the stuff of dreams—three tiers of white frosting decorated with elegant black and gold Art Deco trim, feathers, pearls, and a beaded edge identical to my dress.
“It’s a Great Gatsby cake to match your theme!” he said. “It’s all edible, even the feathers. Crazy, huh?”
My chin wobbled.
Zach’s face fell. “You don’t like it?”
I clutched his arm and pulled him close, hiding my tears in the safety of his chest. “I love it. But I—” I swallowed the shame blocking my throat. “I didn’t invite your parents.”
Forget a party invitation; I hadn’t even met Zach’s parents yet. They’d asked us over plenty of times since I’d moved in with him, but I’d always found an excuse to weasel out of more rejection.
“Next birthday.” He booped me on the tip of my nose.
“Yeah.” The smile on my face was shaky. “Next birthday.”
I buried my emotions by tidying Zach up. He smiled, head lolling to the side, as I straightened his bowtie and his collar and then ran a fingertip along the sharp lapel of his tuxedo jacket. My touch on his cheek finished the routine. He shaved every morning, but when evening rolled around, delicious dark stubble contoured his jaw.
“We’re the perfect couple,” I said, beaming. “You looking handsome in your tux. Me in my gown. Can you believe I got my little paws on this vintage piece? It’s one of a kind. Handmade in Milan.” I twirled so the beads fanned out. “I thought for sure someone would’ve already rented it for the weekend.”
Zach’s lips flattened into a grim line. He was weighing up whether to say something difficult. Something I wouldn’t like.
I bit my lip.
He probably thought I should’ve chosen something less fancy. But an event like this called for a special dress, and this one hadn’t cost much. I spent my money on shoes and timeless accessories that could be mixed and matched for every occasion. One-off dresses for a party? Rented only. Frugally chic.
I kissed Zach’s cheek. “I’m going to snap some piccies of my cake.”
Light bouncing from the chandeliers made the cake sparkle in every direction. I scrolled through the photos, selected my favourite, and whipped up a quick post for my social media. Nibbling my lip, I read over it three times.
Thank you to the most talented mama in the world for my beautiful birthday cake. Maree, you’re the best!
My stomach knotted.
A stupid post wasn’t enough to say thanks—even if I did have half a million followers. I smacked a few heart emojis after the message. Still not enough . I’d have to make Zach’s mother one of my famous gift baskets. Maybe I should buy her a car. Anything was easier than disappointing that woman in the flesh.
Zach stole a kiss on my cheek. “You’re quiet tonight.”
Lips pressed together, I avoided his eyes. My palms beaded with sweat in my gloves.
“Denny Dee?” he gently urged. “What is it?”
“I just—” I cleared my throat, forcing a smile. “I thought you’d forgotten.” I stopped myself from adding ‘again . ’
His smile was confused. “I wouldn’t forget your birthday. Why would you—” He glanced at his watch, and his eyes widened. “ Shit! I didn’t—the time—I just—” His failed excuses ended with a frustrated breath.
“I wish you’d called,” I whispered.
“I’m so sorry. I meant to leave work early, but Mac and I got stuck finishing a settlement, and then the traffic across town was a complete mess. I was too paranoid to speed in case I ruined your cake. Mum said three hunks of wood are holding it together, but I didn’t want to take any chances.”
I nodded, barely listening. Zach had so many excuses, always beginning—and usually ending—with his job.
“I’m sorry.” Zach wrapped me in a hug and kissed my forehead. “I’ll get better at this. I promise I’ll try harder.”
“It’s okay.” It wasn’t. “You’re here now.” And that fact made my toes tingle.
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
Except work.
Zach’s face brightened. “Hey, I almost forgot. I’ve got something for you.” He patted his pocket. “Right here.”
Clapping my hands, I bounced on the spot.
I loved this game.
I could buy myself anything I wanted, but I still adored gifts. The trinkets Zach surprised me with proved he thought about me while he did whatever lawyers do all day. Sometimes, he hid a packet of sweets in his pocket. One time, it was tickets to the movie I’d desperately wanted to see. Not-so-secretly, some of the appeal of digging around in his pocket was sneaking a cheeky touch down there . I’d always say, “Oopsie,” and smirk suggestively, but not tonight. My classy birthday party was a hard-on-free zone.
So, even though the smile I tipped up at him was pure sin, when I slipped my hand in Zach’s pocket, the search was entirely chaste. My fingertips skimmed the sharp edges of a box. I pulled it out.
Oh.
My heart exploded at the sight of Tiffany blue, all wrapped up with a white bow.
Yvette squealed in the background.
I snuck a peek over my shoulder. Her hands were slapped on her cheeks. Andie stood beside her, scowling. We were all thinking the same thing.
Zach was proposing.
Finally.
His face turned fuzzy from my unshed tears, but…
This proposal was all wrong. I’d imagined Zach would be the type of man to do things the old-fashioned way. He couldn’t ask my father’s permission, but I thought he’d still drop to one knee, make a heartfelt speech, and present me a ring he’d designed himself. Maybe he’d even whisper, “I love you,” to catch up on the step we’d missed.
Zach grazed his nose along my cheek. “I wanted to get you something special to celebrate your special night.” His smoky voice curled around my heart and tingled over my skin. “Open it, Denny Dee.”
I tugged off the bow.
It’s really happening.
I edged the lid off the box.
I’m going to have a family. A good man truly wants me. Loves—
I choked on my disappointment. Maybe to Zach, it sounded like delighted surprise. I hoped it did.
I blinked down at the delicate diamond earrings in the box. “Zach, they’re…” Beautiful. Absolutely stunning. The teardrops dangling from platinum gold would’ve cost him an absolute bomb, but they weren’t the engagement ring I’d been hoping for. “I adore them.” I did. I did . “Help me pop them on.”
And I flaunted those damn earrings to anyone who’d look at them. I delighted in twisting my head to show off how they sparkled, and I told everyone the handsome man on my arm had given me my precious gift.
And it was precious.
But if there had been candles flickering on top of my cake, I wouldn’t have blown them out to wish for those earrings.