Chapter Eighteen
Alex
It’s only five o’clock, but my body still thinks it’s ten.
Eight and a half hours on a plane is never a good time, but it’s even worse when your mind won’t quiet enough for you to get some rest. Part of me feels like I’m underwater, that this isn’t really happening.
I wasn’t supposed to be back here for another four months, for Christmas.
When I could slip back into traditions and pretend that Jules and I are kids again, watching movies and eating cookies and forgetting that the outside world exists.
But here I am, facing the August heat and an unexpected eight hundred dollar deficit in my bank account just so I can celebrate something I should’ve seen coming but for some reason didn’t.
I spot Betty, Mason’s car that just won’t quit, and I’m so relieved to see him that it only just barely dawns on me that he isn’t holding up his usual embarrassing sign to welcome me home.
Instead, he hurries out of the car and pulls me into one of his comforting bear hugs, as if he knows how much I’m dreading this.
“Coffee?” He motions to my cup and pops open the trunk.
“With a couple shots of espresso.” I toss the paper cup into a trash can and drop my backpack into the trunk.
“No suitcase?” Mason frowns. “Is that all you have? A backpack?”
I shrug and open the passenger’s side door. “I mean, I’m only here for the weekend.”
Mason slams the trunk closed and hurries into the driver’s side, ignoring the impatient drivers behind him. “Expensive weekend.”
“Your best friend only gets engaged once, right?” I fasten my seat belt and lean back with a deep exhale, very exhausted.
He turns down the music, and I can feel the car pull away. “Get any sleep on the plane?”
“Way too wired.”
“Can’t imagine why,” he mutters. I’m not sure if he’s talking about the coffee or my racing mind. Maybe both.
“Thanks for picking me up,” I tell him sincerely. Pretty sure if I had to take a ride share from the city back to the house, I’d cry.
“Mom and Richard are excited to see you. And me, too, of course,” he adds, and it makes me smile. He must’ve really missed me if he’s admitting it.
“Did they clean out my room yet?”
“No, and they aren’t going to. You’re always welcome back home. You know that.” His voice is soft, and it makes me feel guilty about leaving. I don’t have it in me to tell him that I’m not sure where home is anymore.
Let’s see. So far, this trip has brought me anxiety, sadness, and guilt. Off to a great start.
Not wanting to wade in the waters of depressing topics any longer, I take another deep breath and sit up, opening my eyes and trying to sound happier than I feel. “Anything exciting going on with you?”
He snorts. “Not in the least.”
“Heart’s good?”
“Heart’s good.” He grips the wheel and focuses on the road. “Probably because I don’t drink coffee with multiple espresso shots.”
I laugh. “True.”
We drive in silence for a bit, and I stare at the scenery whizzing by.
It’s familiar but not as comforting as I hoped it would be.
In fact, the longer I’m away, the harder it is to come back.
It’s almost like I’m looking for something I can’t quite find.
A memory? A feeling? I’m not entirely sure. Whatever it is seems just out of reach.
“Man, I can’t believe Jules is engaged,” Mason says after we get out of the city. “Twenty-three and planning to get hitched. That’s crazy.”
“It’s something,” I mumble. Maybe it’s because they haven’t been together long enough. No, that can’t be it. They’ve been dating for over three years. They live together, for Christ’s sake. Maybe it’s because I don’t get the best vibe from him. Actually, scratch that. It’s definitely the vibes.
He’s old money. He’s yacht club, boat shoes, top-shelf scotch, and cigars kind of money.
He’s a pickleball at the country club, ski vacations in the French Alps, let me test drive that expensive Ferrari type of guy.
And Jules is…not. She’s a lazy Sunday morning in cozy sweats, curled up in an old chair, reading a book kind of girl.
Someone who’d rather slip on her cardigan, eat a pint of ice cream, and watch a cheesy movie. They just don’t mix.
Like hair gel and water.
Except now, Jules gets to wear a shiny new ring to say otherwise. Shows what I know, I guess.
“Any plans tonight?” Mason asks.
“Sleep,” I tell him. Although I’ve been having trouble doing that these days. Maybe crawling into my childhood bed will help. Or maybe that will also just be something that’s familiar but not comforting.
“Holy shit,” I mutter from inside my helmet.
My bike slowly rounds the curved driveway and around the fountain.
There aren’t too many cars here yet, or perhaps they’re parked in the four-car garage, who knows?
The invite didn’t say anything about parking, so I pull off to the side next to the silver Porsche and black Beamer.
I unroll the sleeves to my white button-up but immediately roll them back to how they were because it’s hot, and the sleeves had way too many wrinkles.
A bead of sweat rolls down my temple, and I run my fingers through my hair.
I’m anxious. Not because I’ll be surrounded by people I don’t know but because it’s been eight months since I’ve seen Jules, and I’m nervous.
A man in a tuxedo steps out of the two large front doors, and I take that as my cue. Realizing that I brought nothing with me, I snag a yellow rose from one of the large bushes lining the perimeter. It takes a little work to snap it off, and I suck on my thumb when a thorn knicks me.
“Please do not pluck the flowers from Madam Prescott’s prize rose bushes,” Tuxedo says in a slow, thick accent.
I quickly hide the flower behind my back, as if he didn’t just call me out for swiping it and rub my hand along my jeans. “Oh, yeah, sorry about that.”
He slowly inspects me and sounds exasperated when he says, “Miss Alex, I presume?”
I smile and flash him a finger gun. “You would presume correctly.”
He sucks in his lips, another sign of absolute annoyance, I’m sure. I’m killing it over here.
“If you would, please follow me. And do try not to dirty the carpets.” He turns to walk in the direction of the front door, and I check my boots, wondering if I stepped in some shit without knowing.
The house is huge. Like, enormous in ways I can’t even explain.
If I thought it was large on the outside, it’s nothing compared to the inside.
There’s a grand entrance, with a staircase that splits in two directions, probably leading to different wings of the house.
Wings. Inside someone’s house. It’s absolutely insane.
Everything is elegant. Cleaned and sparkling and expensive.
Tuxedo guides me straight through while a handful of people hustle to get last-minute floral arrangements into place and fancy looking hors d’oeuvres on silver platters.
“Miss Julia is in the garden,” he tells me, taking me through the back doors and onto a large deck. “Please refrain from removing any more flowers.”
I salute, and he rolls his eyes.
Once he’s gone, it takes me about three seconds to spot Jules, and my anxiety melts away. She looks like sunshine in her pale yellow sundress. Her hair, longer than it was this past December, falls delicately down her shoulders in soft, golden waves. Even from this distance, she’s stunning.
She’s too engrossed in her phone to notice me, so I head down the stairs, straight for her, unable to stay away and wondering why I was so scared to in the first place. “So this house is something, huh?” I say when I get closer.
She looks up, and I can see her sigh of relief. “Alex. Thank God.” She wraps her arms around me before I can stop walking and pulls me in for a tight embrace.
I hang on until she pulls away, and when she does, I offer her the slightly crumpled rose.
She stares at it and slowly arches an eyebrow. “Is that one of Nancy’s roses?”
“Apparently so,” I admit. “Plucked it just for you.”
Her laughter causes my heart to expand. She carefully takes the flower and twirls the stem between her fingers. She brings it to her nose and gives me the softest look. “I’m so happy you’re here.”
“Me too,” I tell her. It surprises me that I actually mean it.
Noise from the deck grabs her attention.
Her smile falters just a bit, and she takes my hand and tugs me forward.
“Walk with me?” I glance at the woman who appears to be barking orders and allow myself to be led deeper within the perfectly manicured hedges.
“How was your trip?” she asks once we’re out of sight, still holding my hand.
I slip my fingers through hers. “Long.”
Her smile is back as she takes me in. “You look good.”
“So do you. Glowing, even.” And that is, in fact, a complete understatement. She looks radiant. Stunning. Gorgeous.
But Jules must not agree if the groan that follows is any indication. “I think the word you’re looking for is stressed and exhausted.”
I’ve always heard that planning a wedding is stressful, and I remember how flustered my mom would get when it came down to making decisions. Surely, Jules isn’t at that stage yet, but I still don’t like hearing about the strain she’s clearly going through. “Can I help with anything?”
“No, it’s fine.” She squeezes my hand and stops walking. It’s then I notice the large fucking rock on her finger. It’s one thing to see it in pictures, another to get a glimpse up close.
It’s huge. A million carats in an oval setting, framed by much smaller diamonds around the perimeter and across the band.
It’s nothing like the modest princess cut she used to plaster in her dream journals growing up.
No, this looks out of place on her finger.
Large and gaudy and exactly the opposite of what she wanted.