Chapter 24
When I exit the ladies’ bathroom a modest five minutes later, Zayn is leaning against the opposite wall, waiting for me.
My steps falter at the sight of him looking sexy as sin with his hands in his pockets, but I manage to rectify it quickly and pass it off as an alcohol induced misstep, even though the wine from Anna’s house has well and truly worn off by now.
“You didn’t have to come find me,” I say as I pass him, popping my lipstick back inside my purse and clasping it shut. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
He pushes off the wall and falls in to step beside me as we weave back towards our table.
The journey back is much smoother as most of the guests have now found their seats and the lights have been dimmed in that ‘the show is moments away from starting so sit your ass down’ way that everyone understands.
“Had to make sure you weren’t running again.”
My stomach lurches. He has so little faith in me he thought I’d bail and leave him looking foolish in front of his colleagues?
A flush creeps up my neck as we pass by the DJ booth, where a cute young guy is setting up his decks, ready for what I’m sure will be a dance-floor after the formalities end.
“Running from what? Your lady friend?” I smile demurely over my shoulder at Zayn, who meets my eyes with his own unamused glance.
He doesn’t deny it, which twists the knife, even though I’m loathe to admit the silent confirmation hurts.
“I haven’t run from your past.”
The fake smile falls from my face. “You are my past.”
“Not all of it, unfortunately,” Zayn says, careful to hide the ice that drips from his every word. “There’s a rather noticeable speed bump along the way.”
“At least it’s only one,” I retort sweetly, my eyes landing on the back of Monica’s glossy head as we approach our table. How many more are there? Do I even want to know? Are there any more of them wandering around this ball room tonight?
The knife twists.
Getting through the night unscathed suddenly isn’t going so well, and I’m only five minutes in to my resolve, for fuck’s sake.
How does this man get under my skin so damn easily?
When women would flirt with Daniel blatantly in front of me, I never even used to bat an eyelid.
One of Zayn’s (hopefully past) lovers sits next to him and I’m ready to pick up my butter knife and stab her with it.
I take my seat and make a point of leaning as far from Zayn as humanly possible, putting me in the unpleasant situation of leaning against David’s arm instead, but I guess I’ll have to pick my poison.
David isn’t capable of hurting me like Zayn can.
I’m in fight-or-flight mode now, and I will not flight.
David, the gross asshole, slightly pushes back against me to make our contact even more noticeable. His date Laura is none the wiser, gulping back what I hope but suspect isn’t her first glass of red wine.
The lights dim further so that we’re plunged into near darkness and a spotlight appears on stage, highlighting the podium and the portly man in a waistcoat standing behind it.
Zayn uses the distraction to grab a hold of my chair and yank me towards him, making his point. I make mine back when I ensure not even an inch of my body connects with his.
Monica, I notice, doesn’t have the same qualms as she drapes an arm right up against Zayn’s, which he has resting on the white tablecloth.
He moves his hand to his thigh, and I actually wait for a moment to see if she follows him there too.
She doesn’t.
The ceremony is long and arduous, and I spend it sitting still as a statue for two hours trying not to make contact with either of the men sitting beside me.
Zayn takes home a collection of awards, more than anyone else, and despite my conflicting feelings for him, my heart swells with pride every time his name is called out and he moves to the podium to accept his awards.
I break my no contact rule after the fourth accolade and give him a hug, congratulating him for making his dreams come true.
He responds with an unexcited ‘except the one that counts’ and I wonder which award takes that place and if he’ll win it tonight.
Loud applause greets him with every return to our table, louder from the harlot on his right and noticeably more quiet from the man on my left, who I might add has won no awards this evening, but Zayn doesn’t respond with overzealous enthusiasm at his achievements.
In fact, he may as well have been told he’s next in line for a root canal for all the enthusiasm he showed, bar a few strategically placed smiles where necessary.
The ceremony finally concludes with an announcement from the MC of ‘Enjoy the dessert, it’s creme br?lée!
’ As the high of the wins dwindles and the music becomes noticeably louder, I regain my composure and go back to avoiding touching Zayn like he’s succumbed to leprosy and attempt to eat my dessert with my elbows tucked into my waist.
“Zayn, come on over here. There’s someone on table thirteen I’d like you to meet!” Martin, now a few wines deep and exceptionally jovial from the esteem Zayn’s success this evening has no doubt brought to his firm, waves at Zayn frantically to follow his lead then stumbles off.
“Will you be okay if I leave you here for a minute?” Zayn says softly into my ear as I lick custard from my spoon. The br?lée is truly delightful.
“You’re leaving me alone for a whole minute?” I ask, mock outraged. “How ever will I survive?”
I know I sound like a snarky bitch, but I can’t help it with Monica sitting mere inches from me. Although when David sniggers at my words, shame floods through me. No matter how badly I need to maintain distance from Zayn, I’m still on his side over David’s.
It seems Zayn heard him too.
“Hope you didn’t buy a new glass case for all your awards,” Zayn drawls with a smirk in David’s direction. “Would be such a waste.”
David just grins at Zayn.
“Seems like you’re not so much a winner tonight, either, if you ask me.”
Confusion furrows my brow as I take in the way the two men glare at each other, hostility lacing the air between them.
“What does that mean?” I ask David, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Zayn as he answers me.
“I think Zayn knows.”
Hating knowing that there’s something going on I’m not aware of, I avoid turning to face Zayn as he stands and walks away. It doesn’t take long for his spot to be filled by Monica.
“So, Gianna. How do you and Zayn know each other?” Monica’s voice is soft like butter, feminine to match her beautiful face, but there’s a subtle stand-offishness to her demeanour, like she doesn’t know how to take me. My spine stiffens as I swallow my mouthful and turn to face her.
“We went to school together.”
“Ah. You were friends at school?” she inquires not-so-subtly, running her fingers along the stem of her wine glass. Her eyes, which were doe-like in Zayn’s presence, narrow to slits as she stares at me.
I hover my spoon in front of my lips, my shoulders rigid. “Not quite. He was my first love.”
“Ah.” She nods slowly, more to herself than anything. Then her gaze slides over my shoulder, her eyes softening as she stares at something, or someone, in the distance. “He would have been hard to get over, yes?”
I almost respond you have no idea, however, something in her voice makes me pause. Longing. Maybe she does have some idea about it.
My heart crumples inside my chest. Is Zayn in love with her, too? Why didn’t they come to this event together?
Like she read my mind, she says, “You know, Zayn and I have attended these events together in the past.”
I swallow down the lump forming in my throat and turn, seeking out Zayn amongst the crowd.
I find him easily, my eyes forever drawn to his beautiful face, laughing at something someone said.
His dimples flash, and an ache so intense it threatens to eviscerate my heart completely settles inside my ribcage.
“We usually leave together, too.” It’s spoken softly, more like a fact than an insult intended to cut, still my head snaps back to the woman beside me.
I guess social etiquette has left the chat.
I study Monica’s face, which is even more stunning up close. I can see how Zayn would easily fall in love with her. Not only is she beautiful, but she’s obviously incredibly smart to become such a prestigious lawyer. Like Zayn, she’s taking home more than a few awards tonight.
Useless. Dumb. Nothing.
How could I, a divorced mess of a woman, ever compare to her?
I have a flicker of a vision of what they would look like at their wedding. A perfect couple. The breath escapes my lungs.
“Well, don’t break tradition on my behalf,” I find myself saying, my voice nearly unrecognisable with forced joviality. “We’re just friends. He’s all yours.”
The knife is no longer being twisted, instead it’s been yanked clean and I feel like I’m bleeding out from the wound.
I stare longingly at my empty wine-glass.
I haven’t had a drink out in public since I was drugged, and right this very moment is the first time it’s been a problem for me.
I would absolutely love to smash back a glass of liquid courage right now.
Wouldn’t say no to a bit of foggy memory loss tomorrow morning upon waking up either, to erase this very moment from the old temporal lobe.
“It was so nice to meet you, but I think I can see someone calling me over to the bar.”
I stand abruptly and head straight towards the makeshift bar that’s been set up next door to the DJ booth.
Lingering near the end of the bar so not to catch the bartender’s attention, I wait for him to be distracted by a group of already half-cut patrons ordering shots before I slip my hand behind the counter and snatch an unopened bottle of wine.
“I saw that.”
I turn, startled, to see the smiling face of the young DJ lad. With a hand over my racing heart, I step closer and rest my hip up against his decks.
“You gonna snitch on me?”