Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Stifling a wince, I trace my tongue over the tender spot on my lip, a painful reminder of Ian’s temper flaring up earlier. “How soon?” I ask, my voice laced with a hint of apprehension.
“A couple of months?” With an expectant gaze, he glides his hand up my thigh.
“A couple of months?” The words escape me in a near shriek. “That’s too soon, especially if we want to plan a big wedding. Your mom will go for nothing less.”
“Damn.” He exhales heavily, massaging the bridge of his nose in frustration. “You’re right.”
A wave of relief washes over me, grateful for the extra time. There’s so much we need to work through before saying I do. “What about next summer? Maybe July?”
A huge grin curves across his mouth. “The month we met.”
“Exactly.” Leaning in, I kiss the tip of his nose, trying to push aside my lingering doubts.
“My mom’s soror is the wedding planner for the Astorian. We can check them out if you want. It’ll be perfect. Don’t you think?”
A smile flickers on my lips. “I do.”
The Astorian is a stunning venue with a 1920s theme, replicating New York City’s revered Grand Central Station. The gold accents, dark woods, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offer breathtaking views of downtown enhance its regal appearance. It would be a dream come true to get married somewhere so beautiful.
“We’re going to be okay.” He slides a gentle hand against my cheek.
I rest my forehead against his, and our eyeglasses bump into each other, causing us to laugh. “We will.”
Ian and I spend the morning in bed, his head nestled between my legs as he brings me to orgasm with his tongue. We order room service and enjoy it on our balcony while wearing cozy robes. Afterward, we shower together, imagining what our future children might look like as Ian washes my hair.
I never imagined we’d be heading down the aisle this quickly, but then again, why delay the inevitable? The more I think about it, the more excited I become. We have a whole year ahead of us to strengthen our bond—to mend whatever rifts have formed between us.
Ian drives me home with the top down on his BMW convertible, holding my hand across the center console the entire time. My lips curl into a gentle smile as sweet love songs fill the airwaves. When Sabrina Claudio’s “I Don’t” starts to play, a bittersweet feeling tugs at my heart, dampening my smile. The lyrics tell a story about a woman who finds herself in a vicious cycle of always forgiving the man she loves, only for him to turn around and repeat the same mistakes.
I’m getting lost in the words and Sabrina’s angelic voice when Ian brings my hand up to his lips, kissing it softly. Then he lowers my hand to his lap and turns the radio off, bathing the car in silence mid-song.
We arrive at my house around noon. Because it’s a Monday, I don’t expect anyone to be home. But when I roll my luggage through the front door, Esme stands from the couch, looking past me out the open door.
“It’s just me.” As I close the door behind me, the sound of Ian’s car driving away from the house fades into the distance.
“Can we talk?”
This conversation is not something I’m excited about, but it needs to happen. “Sure. But can we do this upstairs? I have to get ready for work.”
“Yeah. No problem.” She follows me up the stairs, the old wood creaking under our combined weight.
“Are you still quitting at the beginning of August?”
“Yep. I could use a month off before grad school.” I’ve decided to quit Posh after four years there. If it weren’t for the money from my grandparents’ will, I wouldn’t have the luxury to do so.
Stepping into my bedroom, I fidget as nerves send my heart into a flutter. I settle onto the bed, seeking some semblance of calm. The air is charged with a silent tension as Esme claims her spot at my desk, her hands instinctively smoothing over the well-worn denim of her jeans. “Do you remember how Victor tried to get at me when he first saw me at the gym, but I turned him down because of how you felt about him?” Her voice, usually so bold, now carries a tremor of hesitance.
“I remember.” The involuntary push of my glasses up my nose is a clear sign of my apprehension.
“And you also know that we became sort of friends after that. We started working out together, sometimes smoking weed in his car in the gym parking lot.”
“Mm-hmm.” How could I forget? They’d become close. Not lovers-close, but still close in a way I hadn’t expected.
“You told me not to mention you, so I didn’t. But he eventually found out that you and I were best friends.”
“Through your Instagram feed,” I say, filling in the blanks.
“Right.” She chews on her bottom lip. “I didn’t tell you, but he stopped flirting with me after that. Shit went cold.”
“He was still flirting with you up to that point?” It would make sense that he was; though, at the time, I didn’t want to imagine it. It was hard enough to imagine them as friends. He and I never even got that far back in high school.
She nods, a grim sort of look in her eyes. “Things were cool before that. The chemistry was fire, even though we hadn’t taken things further. Then, one day, when we were smoking, he started talking about you.”
This is the part I’m both dreading and wanting to know. The moment of truth. “What did he say?”
“It fucking sucked when he started going on and on about how pretty and smart you were back in high school, and how you were still fucking stunning in all your IG pictures.” She rolls her eyes. “And how he’d wanted you, but he wasn’t right for you because he wasn’t ready to change his fuckboy ways. I’m paraphrasing.”
Overwhelmed and unable to speak, I clear my throat. “So he stayed away.”
“He’d already promised Isabella he wouldn’t screw around with any of her friends. That was another reason he kept his distance from you.”
My heart clenches at her words, but I try to keep my composure. “Makes sense.”
She furrows her brow. “Are you okay? I thought you’d be pissed or, I don’t know, sad or whatever.”
“I’m not sad. When I first overheard everything, I was surprised and upset.”
She looks guilty, her eyes darting away from mine.
“But I’m not anymore. I’m more concerned with how you’re doing. What he said about not seeing a future with you…”
“We cleared the air this past weekend,” she says, but the casual shrug of her shoulders doesn’t quite match the seriousness of her words. “And I only brought you up because he’d pissed me off.”
“So you guys are good, then?”
“Our shit is tight. He ain’t going nowhere.”
A wave of doubt washes over me as Liv’s warning comes back to mind. You know Esme. She will say everything is fine in her relationship, even if it isn’t.
“Good. I’m glad,” I say, trying to push away any lingering resentment toward Esme for not telling me about Victor’s feelings earlier. Despite everything, I genuinely want them to be happy together.
“I should’ve told you sooner about how he felt. But I didn’t want you all in your head about some unrequited love bullshit that never would’ve worked out, anyway. You had Ian. You guys are getting married. And I—” She cuts herself off abruptly before starting again. “I had developed feelings for Victor at that point. I didn’t plan to. I even tried not to. But it just…happened.”
“I understand.” More than she knows.
“And I know it sounds crazy that this man pours his heart out to me about my best friend—the one who got away—and I still made a move on him. I told him I didn’t care if he used to have a thing for you. I said he was right to leave you alone all those years ago because he only would’ve broken your heart. And now you were happy and crazy in love with an amazing man.” She sighs indifferently. “You know what happened next.”
I let out a quiet chuckle, trying to mask the discomfort in my voice. “I still can’t believe you had sex with him out in the open.”
“It wasn’t out in the open. It was in his car.”
“In the gym parking lot. In broad light. And last I checked, he doesn’t have tinted windows.”
She waves her hand dismissively. “I did what I had to do. I knew that as soon as I sat on it, he would be like, ‘Skylar, who?’”
My chuckle falls flat. I just don’t have it in me, so I change the subject altogether. “Ian and I are getting married next summer.”
Esme’s eyes go round. “No shit. Really?”
I nod excitedly, a wide grin spreading across my face. “In July. We have to see what weekends, if any, the Astorian has available.”
Esme claps her hands together giddily. “I already know I’m going to be your maid of honor.”
“Of course you are. But just so you know, my sister will also share that title.”
She purses her lips. “We’ll talk about it.”
Playfully rolling my eyes, I respond with a teasing, “Sure, sure.” Making my way to the closet, I search for an outfit that fits Posh Boutique’s dress code. A black tea-length dress catches my eye, one that clings to my curves in just the right way. With the dress in hand, I turn back to Esme. “Can you zip me into this?”
“I’ve got you.” After stripping down to my underwear, I step into my dress. Esme moves to stand behind me, moving my hair out of the way and zipping up the fabric. “So you and Ian are good?”
“We worked through some stuff.” It’s a vague reply, but I don’t want to get into the nitty-gritty.
“What happened to your lip?” she asks.
Panic seizes my chest as I scramble for a believable explanation. “Rough kissing.”
She lets out a snort, clearly amused. “I can’t believe you’re getting married. In a year.”
“I know, right?” A chuckle slips out, tinged with a deep sense of relief that she’s taken the bait about the rough kiss.
Esme’s next question catches me even more off guard. “Can I invite Victor?”
Shocked, I shoot her a perplexed look over my shoulder. “To my wedding?”
Her lips twitch. “No. To the Bermuda Triangle. Yes, to your wedding.”
My first thought is to say no, but I can’t do that. “Sure, yeah. That’s fine.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” she says, fastening the small top button above my zipper.
“It’s just…it’s a year out. Maybe wait a while before you ask him.”
“You think it’s presumptuous of me to think we’ll still be together a year from now, but you never know what could happen in a year.”
A frown creases my forehead. “No. You never know.”