Chapter 17
March
Five Weeks Until The Wedding
Another day, another gender-delineated wedding event.
What’s the deal with bridal showers anyway?
As though the bride should be the only one to care about receiving household items. God forbid the groom ever pick up a pot or pan.
At least this one won’t have the typical oohing and ahing, since Sabrina’s short registry list is not exactly conducive to unwrapping a mountain of presents.
I enter the private dining space at Jean-Georges and wave to Cynthia from afar.
The early spring light pours in from the tall windows that wrap around the corner.
The color scheme is—of course—beige and white, but the room still manages to look cozy, with the restaurant’s classic upholstered lounge seating.
Not to mention, on top of each perfectly pressed white tablecloth sits a vase of tulips.
Tulips always make me think of spring—of new life and new beginnings. Which I could use right about now.
Sabrina and her mother are standing at the entrance, greeting the guests as they arrive.
I swallow down the tightness in my chest and lean in to hug her.
It’s hard not to think about Trip in her presence, but I will not let that ruin today.
I move away from the front of the room and search for a friendly face. They seem hard to come by.
An arm wraps around my waist.
“Elizabeth, darling.” Even in spring, Cynthia wears her classic black. In this case, a scarf-neck dress that hits just at her knees. “You know my daughter, Katherine, of course.” She wraps her other arm around Kit and pushes the two of us together.
Not exactly the friendly face I was looking for. Kit, thankfully, seems just as uncomfortable with this arrangement as I am.
“Don’t worry.” Cynthia leans into me. “Carter’s supposed to make an appearance at the end of this.”
I should feel relieved, but I’m not sure I do.
Carter and I haven’t interacted much since that night at the bar, and this whole mission to find the missing diamond has put my emotions on a Tilt-A-Whirl.
Will seeing him just be another reminder of our argument?
Or maybe seeing the man I do love will put things into perspective and lay this infatuation with his cousin to rest.
“Oh good.” I force a smile.
Kit rolls her eyes, but if Cynthia notices, she doesn’t show it. She sees someone across the room and leaves us with each other.
“Surprised you’d bother coming to something like this without my brother to keep you company.” Kit drums her fingernails on a nearby table.
“Actually, it was your brother who specifically asked me to be here.”
“Ah, so that’s why.” She takes a sip of her drink. “Surprised your grandmother isn’t here too, the way both of you so enjoy benefiting from my family’s generosity.”
“Babcia? I think you’re mistaken. This isn’t really her scene.”
She nods. “Got it. So she only takes our money for her spells and potions.”
I turn to face her. “What on earth are you talking about, Kit? Babcia’s a seamstress. Sure, she reads tarot cards and has her various witchy hobbies, but that’s all they are—hobbies.”
Kit’s mouth spreads in a smile. “Dumb really doesn’t suit you, Libby.” She turns and follows a server carrying canapés.
Well, she’s a peach, as always.
Sabrina appears seemingly out of nowhere and tugs on my arm. “Come, you must sit next to me.” She drags me toward one of the tables.
“Uh, isn’t that reserved for…more important people?”
“No one puts Libby in a corner.” Her grip on my arm tightens.
“Um, okay.”
She hooks her arm through mine and leans into me. “Are we okay? I mean—the other day, with what I told you. I realize you’re Carter’s friend and it probably didn’t sit well to hear me wax poetic about an ex.”
Right. That was the reason it didn’t sit well.
“Listen, you should know I am completely devoted to Carter. And I didn’t mean to dump my baggage on you, it’s just that—well, I think I’ve gotten comfortable around you, really. I honestly wasn’t thinking of you as Carter’s friend when we were at the shop the other day.”
It shouldn’t warm me so much, but it does. I’m not used to people like Sabrina seeing me—the true me—as a friend. Usually, I have to put on airs or act with a certain level of propriety. With her, I don’t feel like I need to be anyone but myself.
It feels so right, like taking off my heels at the end of a long day and slipping into my favorite pair of slippers. No more shoving myself into something uncomfortable.
The room is organized into several tables of ten. Sabrina leads me to the table where her mother, grandmother, and a few other women I presume are relatives are seated.
“Are you sure this is okay?” I whisper.
“I made the seating chart, didn’t I?” Her eyes are wicked.
I hesitate but pull out one of the plush chairs and give a half wave to the others as I sit. “I’m Libby. Sabrina’s friend.” A smile creeps its way across my lips at the last word, because it’s true.
The women nod and make a round of introductions I’ve most certainly forgotten by the time they’ve gone around the table.
The only two that stick are Sabrina’s mother, Lily—who is essentially an older-looking version of Sabrina—and her grandmother, Eloise, who is small and frail as a bird, but has Sabrina’s same feisty personality.
The servers come around to take our drink orders and place the first dish of the six-course menu in front of us.
As drinks are poured, the room fills with general chatter and laughter.
It almost feels normal. The Carmichael women ask me questions about my work, my life in the city, growing up with Babcia.
“I like a woman with ambition,” Sabrina’s grandmother pipes in when I tell them she’s had her business for fifty years.
I think about Kit’s comments about my grandmother just an hour ago and how warm this all feels compared to my typical experience with this kind of event.
The Coldwells always invited me—or, Carter and Cynthia did—but without their company I was an outsider in their social circles, forced to hug the periphery of every room.
I wait for that telltale vibration down my spine, for the hairs on my arm to pop up like they did that day at the Plaza Hotel.
That baritone voice will whisper in my ear any minute, commenting on the conversation or the decor, and this time, I’ll be ready for it.
Not only am I ready for it, but I want it.
I crave the rumble of Trip’s voice, his sarcastic commentary.
Like the angel—or devil—on my shoulder, whispering playful taunts into my ear.
A companion for these miserable events, someone to laugh with, trade knowing glances with, without needing my usual safety net.
But doubt creeps through me like ice water. After how we left things, I’m not sure those whispers will ever be mine again.
“So, Eloise, is Phillip in town yet?”
Phillip Carmichael. World-renowned diamond mogul. Sabrina’s grandfather.
“Yes, unfortunately. The man snores like a walrus. I’d finally gotten some good sleep without him next to me.”
“Did he bring the—?” The woman—Sabrina’s aunt, I believe—makes a little squeak instead of completing the sentence.
Eloise’s eyes narrow and the other women still. Sabrina looks down at her lap and my chest tightens from the tension in the air.
“Bite your tongue,” Eloise whispers.
The aunt’s cheeks flame red, and as she babbles out an apology, I turn to Sabrina.
“The chest?” My voice is a soft whisper.
“Not here.” She doesn’t look up from her lap, her voice low. “I’m actually afraid there’s some kind of blood pact and I would be killed on the spot.” She draws a line across her neck with her finger.
I turn back to the table. Everyone is silent and looking at us. Shit.
“Marjorie, please, you must tell us more about your cats. Do you have any pictures?” Sabrina asks as though this were the logical next step for the conversation.
Marjorie’s mouth opens and closes a few times like a fish’s. “Oh, well.” She reaches in her purse and pulls out her phone. “You know I do!”
Sabrina looks at me, pressing her lips together in a soft smile.
—
By course six, I need a reprieve from all the beverages and all the socializing.
I make my way out of the dining area toward the restroom.
It’s one of those fancy ones with a parlor room filled with couches and vanities separate from the physical bathroom.
I’d take more time to admire it and possibly take a moment to myself, but my bladder has other plans.
Pressing my palm to the bathroom door, I crack it open, before two voices on the other side give me pause.
“Eloise, I’m so sorry about earlier. You must know—”
“And you must know that we don’t speak of it in public.” Sabrina’s grandmother’s voice comes from the other side of the door, somewhere out of sight.
I stay still as a statue, not allowing the door to move another inch, ears perked for clues and for any sign of movement. Sabrina’s aunt lowers her voice and I have to lean in to hear better.
“But he did bring it, didn’t he?”
“Of course he did,” Eloise scoffs. “Cares more for that thing than me, if I’m being honest.”
Even after knowing her only an hour, I doubt Eloise is ever anything but honest. I shift my position to get a better glimpse of the two women. The door creaks and I wince, but I’m saved by the noise of the sink running. I catch the reflection of Sabrina’s aunt in the bathroom mirror.
She slides open a tube of lipstick and begins applying it. “And which lucky Carmichael has been given the key this time?”
“Quite nosy today, aren’t we, Janice?” Eloise scolds.
“You know Phillip doesn’t tell me.” She appears next to Janice in the mirror, drying her hands with a towel.
Her blue eyes are piercing. “And you’ll find the same answer from any one of our family members.
We ensure our secrets are kept. Perhaps it’s time you start following suit. ”
My right ankle wobbles on my high heel and I grab the doorknob to steady myself.
The door swings open and my eyes meet Eloise’s in the mirror.
I mutter an apology before turning around and exiting the bathroom, full bladder be damned.
Peeing my pants hardly seems to matter when Eloise might be following me with a pocketknife.
I move down the hallway at a fast clip, turning the corner toward the dining room.
“Ahh!” I run smack into someone and rub my forehead where I collided with their hard chest.
“Lib?” He grasps my biceps, steadying me. That familiar cologne hits me, and I tilt my head back to look at his face.
“Carter?”
“Hey.” He lets go of me and sticks his hands in his pockets. His eyes shift to the floor.
“How’ve you been?” My voice is stilted, awkward. How long will things be weird between us?
He lets out a laugh but there’s no mirth in it. “Yeah, good.”
My mind is blank and at the same time swirling with everything I just overheard. I grasp for something normal to say. “So, you want to run some—”
“I’m surprised I didn’t hear from you.” Carter’s eyes finally meet mine. In this light, the hazel is so dark it’s nearly black.
“What?”
“After the bar last month.” There’s the faintest clench of his jaw.
Oh. He’s frustrated.
I cross my arms. “Sorry. I’ve been a little busy.”
Again, he huffs a laugh. “Busy. Right, okay.” He runs a hand through his hair.
“Yeah. That’s right. Helping with inane wedding shit that you signed me up for. Which I’m doing because I’m a good friend. Your best friend, actually.”
“God, what’s going on with you, Libby? You’re acting like a completely different person.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“This.” He waves his hand at me. “That night at the bar? You were wasted and rude. The Libby I know would’ve called to apologize the next morning.”
My fists clench at my sides and my throat tightens. I rub at the spot, confused by my reaction. “I guess I’ve been a bit preoccupied.”
“Listen.” He places a hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t realize all this helping with the wedding would have this effect on you. My family—and I know Sabrina, well, she can be a lot.”
“Sabrina’s wonderful. Truly. It’s been really nice to get to know her.”
“Okay…” He cocks an eyebrow. “What else is going on, then? There’s something you aren’t telling me.”
Chocolate eyes. Your family’s curse. The missing key to a missing diamond. I nearly blurt everything out, just to relieve this awkwardness between us. I bring my hand to where his rests on my shoulder and guide it back down to his side.
“I’m sorry.” A nagging voice in the back of my head screams that I have nothing to be sorry about. But like a well-worn sweater, it’s easy to slip this version of me back on. “And I’m sorry I didn’t call.”
Carter nods, reassured I am once again the Libby he knows.
“I don’t want to lose this, Libby. I don’t want to lose us. That night…” He swallows. “It felt like you were moving on. From our friendship. From us.”
I hate having to be the adult in this scenario. To once again be the sensible one in our relationship.
“You’re getting married, Carter.” I hold my hands out, palms up.
“I don’t think there can ever be an ‘us’ in the same way again.
” I want to scream and yet my jaw clenches and my throat closes like a fist. How did he not realize this?
Did he really think he would get married and I would follow like an obedient puppy?
I’m horrified by the thought that maybe he did.
“Yeah.” He hangs his head and his throat bobs. “I guess I should get going.”