Chapter 15 So Many Questions
So Many Questions
Darcy
I have so many questions,” Zoe says over speakerphone the next morning as I style my hair in the bathroom of my hotel room. “In the first place, did you win the dance-off?”
“No idea. It didn’t occur to me to ask.”
My friend—the Olympic skating medalist—gives an impatient sniff. “You’ve got to give me something. Was Eric a fantastic dancer?”
I catch myself smiling in the vanity mirror. “He moves really well. But he was oddly nervous.”
Zoe lets out a squeal of delight. “What I wouldn’t give to see that.”
“It was…” I think of his hands resting lightly on the silk of my dress and give a little shiver. “It was fun,” I admit.
“But now your whole family thinks you’re dating? I’m going to need frequent updates.”
“Updates? There won’t be any. This so-called relationship will expire next month before the bridal bouquet.”
“You never know,” she says. “This could be the beginning of something big. Maybe someday you’ll be telling the story to your grandchildren. ‘Auntie Tessa was a skank and hit on Grandpa. So he pretended to be my boyfriend and now we haven’t spent a day apart in fifty years.’”
I snort. “Dream on. Even when it’s not fake, I never last more than three dates with anyone. Eric doesn’t date, either. He sleeps with underwear models, and then he pushes them away the second they get clingy.”
Just ask Mona. According to team gossip, she’s still turning up from time to time at Eric’s apartment building, hoping he’ll relent and invite her in. Poor girl.
“Let’s break this down,” Zoe says. “You can only last three dates because you always swipe right on assholes. And then you act surprised when things don’t work out. I’m not exactly sure what Tremaine’s deal is, but maybe he’s just been dating the wrong women.”
“His deal is that he’s a rich, attractive guy. Getting bored and moving on is part of their DNA. And even if he settles down someday, it will be with some superhuman who’s also the CEO of her own charity. And runs marathons for fun.”
“Wow,” Zoe says. “It’s almost mind-blowing how you’re the least romantic person I have ever met.”
“Accurate. But I have my reasons. You’ve heard my stories.” I always tell Zoe about my worst dates, because they’re so entertaining.
“They’re not all frogs,” she insists. “I finally found my prince.”
“Of course you did,” I say, just to keep the peace. I don’t point out that she had a terrible, soul-crushing relationship with someone else first.
Or that most of us never find an off-ramp from the dating express highway. Devoted men are rarer than quiet moments at a Legends game. I’m happy for Zoe that she doesn’t understand that. But we don’t all have her luck.
“This is going to make the wedding interesting,” she says. “And just think—you’ll have someone to slow dance with at the reception. Maybe that’s why Eric decided to make you his fake girlfriend.”
“I doubt it.” In the cool light of day, I’m still pretty confused about why Eric pulled this ruse. Tessa can be annoying, for sure. But how annoying could she have really been in the five minutes I’d left him alone?
“What are you wearing to the wedding? Should I brace myself for a fashion crisis?”
“Possibly? I need to look ravishing enough to annoy my sister, but I don’t want Eric to think I’m trying too hard. I need to play it cool.”
As if that’s possible. Last night I’d spent an embarrassing amount of time smiling up at the darkened ceiling of my hotel room, remembering the serious crease in the middle of Eric’s forehead during our silly dance number. And the weight of his hand on my waist during our cha-cha.
And the scent of his cologne at close range.
“If you need a shopping buddy, I’ll… suggest someone,” Zoe says.
I crack up. “Can’t bring yourself to walk into a department store, even for your best friend?”
“As if I’d be any help. If it’s not workout gear or a skating costume, it’s pretty much a mystery to me.”
“I love you anyway.”
“And I am grateful. Gotta go! Chase and I are going to the gym together.”
“So romantic,” I tease.
She drops her voice. “He looks really good sweaty. And pumping iron always puts him in the mood.”
“Go on, then,” I snicker. “I have to finish getting ready for brunch.”
We hang up, and I put on some music and finish my hair, until Eric’s name lights up my phone with a text. My stomach flips right on cue.
Eric: Congratulations on our win, Darcy.
Darcy: Do you mean the dance-off?
Eric: Of course! Don’t you have a text from Tessa? She told me herself.
Darcy: Nope.
Eric: Well, that’s weird.
Darcy: Is it though? Tessa hasn’t texted me in a decade.
It’s so like her to text him and not me. But who cares? I called it—we won the contest. My gimmicky idea probably helped us by, say, 10 percent. But the other 90 is all Eric—everyone wants to cast a vote for the handsome professional athlete. That’s just how the world works.
Eric: Well, maybe it isn’t that weird, because she also asked me if the Legends might need a social media manager.
I nearly drop my mascara wand in the sink.
Darcy: OMG, did you tell her no? A thousand times no? My job is hard enough without her smirking at me every day.
Eric: Didn’t respond yet. Trying to think of how to sidestep the question.
Darcy: Oh, I got this. Tell her you wouldn’t know who to call because the team outsources all that stuff to an agency. It might even be true.
Eric: You evil genius!
Darcy: At your service.
Eric: That’s what I’ll say. GTG now and take this call from Emerson. He’s having car trouble and needs help finding a mechanic.
Darcy: A captain’s work is never done.
Eric: #truth See you after lunch.
I go back to doing my face and scrutinizing the two outfits I brought with me.
What does a girl wear to brunch at a golf club with the man who gave me all my trust issues?
Do I wear the white jeans with the hole in the knee, so he knows I just don’t care that much?
Or do I wear the sleek little cotton dress, just in case Tessa shows up to make me feel like a slob?
After way too much deliberation, I go with the dress. Then I check out of my hotel and ask the concierge to call me a cab.
“No need, miss. For Diamond Members, there’s a free shuttle service.”
That’s handy. It means that I reach the club a few minutes early. The host finds a spot for my suitcase, then walks me toward our table by the window.
My father is already there, and I notice several things in quick succession.
First, his club is as insufferable as ever—polished silverware, crisp white linens, the soft clink of champagne flutes, and polite laughter.
A pianist plays something delicate and forgettable near the fireplace, and the air smells like money and hollandaise sauce.
Second, my father obviously didn’t put as much thought into his outfit as I did. He’s wearing a rumpled polo shirt, and he didn’t bother to shave. And? He’s seated at a table that’s set for three. “Expecting someone else?” I ask as he rises to kiss my cheek.
“Only Eric,” he says, taking a seat. “If he wants to join us for coffee before you two drive away.”
“Oh.” I take a seat and pull out my phone to text him. “That was thoughtful.”
“I really like him,” my father says when I look up. And he has a dreamy little smile on his face, proving that everyone is starstruck over Eric.
“He’s the greatest,” I say, and it isn’t even a lie.
“Such a gentleman,” my father gushes. “Maribel loves him. What a terrible loss they both had. It makes Theo uncomfortable sometimes.”
My hand stops on the way to putting my phone away again. “Because she was once in love with someone else?”
“No, not like that.” My father shakes his head. “Theo feels bad that she had to suffer that loss, though, in order for him to marry her.”
“Oh.” My family rarely exhibits this kind of emotional literacy. Instead, my father just takes what he wants whenever he wants, and damn the consequences.
I guess I always assumed Theo would grow up to do the same.
“She’s so good for Theo,” my father adds. “She makes him laugh. And she loves to try new things.”
“Like ballroom dancing,” I say slowly, and my father nods. “That’s great. I’m happy for him.”
The waiter comes and takes our orders. My father makes small talk about everything and nothing.
A recent business trip to California. The garden his wife planted.
The hotel chain’s new wellness amenities.
“Everyone is jazzed up about sleep therapy, so we had to source a hundred thousand weighted blankets. And all our five-star properties are getting a wellness concierge.”
Our food arrives, and my father slices into his omelet with surgical precision. I pick at my crab cake and wonder if I should become a wellness concierge, whatever that is. It sounds more relaxing than helping to run a hockey team.
But it’s hitting me that something is off. My father never invites me out for lunch, just the two of us. He likes a wider audience. There must be a reason.
I set my coffee cup down carefully. “All right, just say it. Is something going on?”
He dabs the corner of his mouth with a linen napkin before leveling his gaze at me. “You are perceptive. As always.”
My stomach clenches. “What is it?” Is he getting another divorce? No—does he have a third wife? And more siblings I need to meet?
He exhales slowly, his fingertips resting against the edge of the table. “Darcy, I’ve been diagnosed with atrial fibrillation. That’s an irregular heartbeat. And also, something called long QT syndrome.”
I blink. “That sounds… bad.”
“It can be,” he admits. “AFib makes my heart unpredictable, and long QT means I’m at risk for sudden cardiac events.”
A chill runs down my spine. “What is a sudden cardiac event?”
“It means your heart stops,” he says flatly.
My appetite vanishes. I push my plate away. “How long have you known about this?”
“The AFib for a while,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. “The long QT diagnosis is newer.”