Chapter 5
5
I’ve never been a morning person, but by 8 A.M. on Monday, I’m fully showered, caffeinated, and dressed in what Cher Horowitz would describe as “my most capable outfit”: an oversized plaid blazer over a crisp white tank top and wide-leg black trousers. After choosing to ignore my mom’s helpful suggestion that I pair the look with some nude pumps because “the outfit is threatening to swallow me whole,” I’ve opted instead for my favorite black booties. Despite my petite stature, I’ve always been morally opposed to wearing heels, and I’m not about to start abandoning my principles today.
I make it into the office fifteen minutes ahead of our nine o’clock meeting with Claire and her fiancé, and by the time I’m settled into my chair in the conference room, I’m radiant with confidence.
“Well, good morning, sunshine,” Asha says as she glides through the glass doors, clutching a copper Starbucks thermos. She’s looking as chic as ever in a loose camel-colored sweater with the sleeves pushed to her elbows and a pair of flared jeans, her glossy black hair cascading down her back. A pair of gold bangles glisten on her wrists.
“I think this is the first time you’ve ever beat me into the office. Did you sleep here?”
“No,” I retort, lifting my chin. “I’m just… prepared. Today is the day I prove to Antoine that I’m ready to become a full-time planner.”
“Cheers to that!” Asha replies, lifting her latte in a toast.
Just then, the doors fly open, and an uncharacteristically frazzled Antoine comes storming through.
“The one day I oversleep, the client arrives early,” he whisper-hisses. “They’re already in the lobby. I haven’t even had time to pull out the mood boards.”
“I’ve got them right here,” I say, gesturing to the fabric pinboard full of samples we’ve prepared for this morning’s meeting.
“You’re a goddess.” Antoine breathes a sigh of relief, and I feel a surge of pride. The meeting hasn’t even started yet, and I’m already proving myself to be a valuable member of the team.
The glass doors swing open again, and Trudy steps inside, bringing with her a cloud of expensive perfume. Her gray bob is perfectly coiffed, and she’s got a Burberry scarf draped around her neck in a way I could never replicate, no matter how many video tutorials I watched. Claire trails in behind her, red hair flying wildly.
“Good morning!” Claire calls, giving us one of her huge, toothy smiles.
“Good morning,” Antoine replies briskly. He glances behind them expectantly. “I thought the groom was joining us this morning?”
“Oh yeah, Teddy’s just parking the car,” Claire says. “I thought parking would be easier here than in New York, but driving in downtown Baltimore is no joke.” She pulls out a chair for her future grandmother, then takes a seat next to her. “So, how was everyone’s weekend?”
“It was lovely,” Asha says. “And yours?”
“Great!” Claire chirps. “Teddy and I had dinner at this amazing place in Canton where we got bangin’ crab nachos and drank margaritas out of hubcaps. And yesterday, we did one of those pirate cruises in the Inner Harbor. Pretty cool, except I’m nearly certain that I hit an eel with my oar, which led to some unfortunate dry heaving. Teddy says it’s unlikely that an eel escaped from the aquarium and that it was probably just a fish, but I had to abandon ship after that. Despite my passing resemblance to the Little Mermaid, I’ve never really warmed to creatures of the sea.”
I bite back a grin. Claire is really growing on me.
Just then, Antoine straightens in his chair, an expectant smile stretching across his face.
“Ah, here he is.”
Trudy lifts her head, her face alight with love and pride at the arrival of her grandson. Claire turns to look over too, but my back is to the door, so I sneak another quick glimpse at the samples, triple-checking that everything is in order before we begin. Asha stands to introduce herself, and I think I’m hearing things when I’m hit with an all-too-familiar British lilt.
“Sorry I’m late. Parking was a proper nightmare.”
Time seems to grind to a halt, and an awful, sinking feeling forms in the pit of my stomach. It feels like that moment in a movie right before a car crashes, where everything goes still, and all you can do is stare helplessly, your heart in your mouth, knowing that something terrible and life-altering is about to happen, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
In slow motion, I rotate my body to see a figure with a mop of thick blond hair filling the doorway. When our eyes meet, the air whooshes out of the room, and everything goes silent. The only sound is the hammering of my own heartbeat against my eardrums.
“Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to my fiancé,” Claire says. “This is—”
“Graham,” I say on a breath.
Every head in the room swings toward me. Antoine arches one eyebrow, looking as shocked as I feel.
“Sorry, do you two know each other?” he says.
“No, I—” I pause, my brain scrambling to catch up to my mouth as I do my best to process what’s happening. There must be some kind of misunderstanding.
“Sorry, Claire,” I say at last, latching on to the one thing that still makes sense. “I thought you said your fiancé’s name is Teddy?”
“Oh!” she says with a laugh. “Teddy’s a nickname. Get it? Like Teddy Graham? Graham pretends to hate it, but we both know he secretly loves it.” She tilts her head to the side, curious. “How did you know his name was Graham?”
“Oh, I, um…” My brain has gone completely blank as I fumble for a reasonable explanation. Ultimately deciding the best lies are the ones grounded in truth, I quickly say, “I was in line behind him at Spruce the other day. Such a small world, right?”
Asha laughs politely, but I don’t miss the curious stare she’s giving me. My attention is still focused on Graham, who’s staring back at me slack-jawed, the color slowly draining from his face.
“You know what? I’m going to run to the bathroom before we start,” I say. I jump to my feet, shoving my chair back so quickly that it scrapes across the linoleum floor with a painfully loud squeak. Antoine looks like he wants to protest, but then, deciding it’s probably not a good look to deny the bodily needs of his employees, nods toward the doorway with a strained smile.
I race down the hallway, pausing just outside the bathroom doors. Inhaling deeply, I pace in the tiny corridor, as I attempt to replicate the deep breathing techniques I learned on the Calm app. Which I could probably do with greater success if I didn’t dedicate ninety-five percent of my usage to replaying the Harry Styles sleep story.
I hear the soft tread of footsteps approaching, and fully expecting them to belong to Asha, I start mentally preparing how much I’m going to tell her. But when the figure rounds the corner, a pair of ocean-blue eyes hitch onto mine.
“Hey,” he says. His voice is cautious, tentative. “I just came to see if you were alright.”
I stop pacing then, the anxiety that has been pumping through my veins now replaced with something else. White-hot anger.
“Interesting,” I say. I’m sort of impressed by how much rage I’ve imbued into a single word. “Asking if I’m okay pretty much suggests that you know I wouldn’t be. Any reason why that might be? Could it be because the guy I was on a date with two days ago turned out to be the groom in the wedding I’m planning?”
A flush crawls up Graham’s neck at the bluntness of my proclamation. His jaw goes tight. “Ali, it isn’t like that.”
“It isn’t like what ?” I hiss, my fury now dialed all the way up. “Mansplain this to me, please, because I am dying to understand. I can’t wait to hear how you justify being a philandering, unfaithful asshole. Does Claire know you cheat on her?”
“I don’t cheat on Claire,” he says, his voice taking on a hard, indignant edge.
“Oh, really? So, you didn’t go on a date with me two nights ago? I just hallucinated that?”
“It wasn’t a date! I ran into an old friend, and we had drinks together. Last time I checked, there’s no law against that.”
My heart deflates at the unbothered way he brushes off the time we spent together this weekend. Friends. So that’s all this ever meant to him. My brain flashes back to Claire’s weekend recap, the way she was so excited to share all the adorable, couple-y things they did together, and a wave of anger washes over me. How dare he do this to her?
“And yet, you neglected to mention that your dinner plans were with your fiancée. ”
Graham’s shoulders sag with defeat and the lines on his face soften.
“You’re right. I should have mentioned Claire, and I didn’t. But when I sensed you were interested in rekindling something beyond friendship, I immediately removed myself from the situation.”
I blow out an indignant huff.
“Well, aren’t you Mr. Perfectly Fine.”
My blood curdles with blistering heat as I glare at him. Still, there’s a nagging sense that Graham was trying to tell me something at the end of the night. There was a moment, just before we were interrupted by the football fan brigade, when he tried to get a word in. But he could have tried harder. He should have tried harder.
What stings most of all is that I temporarily abandoned my emotional safeguards and let myself get invested. I let myself wonder, what if? What if Graham was someone important? I hate that he’s brought out this side of me. Being carefree and lovably detached is part of my brand. Now suddenly I’m the sort of girl who’s smitten after one date? Two thumbs down, honestly. 0/10.
I cross my arms and narrow my eyes. “Fine. You didn’t cheat on her. Technically speaking. But a lie by omission is still a lie. And why didn’t you mention anything about the Black-Eyed Susan?”
Graham crosses his arms. “I never lied to you. I told you I moved to the States to help my grandmother with the family business, and I did.”
“You didn’t find it was noteworthy that your family business is one of the most renowned hotels in Baltimore? I thought it was something wholesome and adorable, like making homemade jam.”
Graham’s lips twitch as he attempts to repress a smile. “You thought my family’s business was making jam? In Baltimore City?”
Well. He’s got me there. It’s not his fault that I was too mesmerized by his obnoxiously well-shaped lips to press him for details. I must have been in my follicular phase.
“Don’t turn this around on me! You were deliberately misleading. You made it seem like you swooped in like some British superhero to rescue your hapless, elderly grandma from financial ruin. I’ve met Trudy, and there is nothing hapless about that woman.”
Graham pinches the bridge of his nose. “The Black-Eyed Susan has been in our family for four generations. And yes, it was hugely successful for years. But it took a major hit during the pandemic, and it never really bounced back. And then my grandfather passed, and it was too much for my grandmother to manage on her own. I came here to help her try to get the hotel back on its feet, but the books… well, they’re not great. Things are a lot worse than my grandmother realizes. She’s a proud woman who waited too long to ask for help. I don’t think she was ready to admit how bad things had gotten.”
He takes a breath, as if he’s reluctant to admit the next part out loud. “We just had to let two longtime staff members go. Running the hotel the same way we have in the past is no longer sustainable. We need to do something big, something that will remind people how grand the Black-Eyed Susan once was. So, when my grandmother suggested that Claire and I drum up publicity by hosting our wedding at the hotel, it seemed like an easy way to kill two birds with one stone.”
“How romantic,” I deadpan. “Make sure to include that in your vows.”
Graham continues, ignoring the jab. “We’ve hosted a few events here and there—corporate events and the occasional quinceanera—but it’s been a while since we’ve held an event as large as a wedding. The free publicity could really help us turn things around, especially with the aid of social media, which my grandparents never used. It will remind people that the Black-Eyed Susan is just as relevant today as it was fifty years ago. That it’s an irreplaceable part of Baltimore’s landscape. That’s the kind of exposure that money can’t buy.”
“Uh-huh. Plus, I’m sure there’s the emotional component of wanting to tie the knot there.”
Graham’s face is blank, uncomprehending. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, of course you want to marry the love of your life at a place that means so much to you and your family.”
Graham blinks rapidly, clearing away the look of confusion. “Oh, yes. Of course.”
I shake my head. This dude is even more dense than I’d realized. To be honest, I’m having a difficult time reconciling the Graham I know with the guy standing in front of me. The memory of our shared history sparks another thought.
“Does she know?” I ask. “About the tattoo?”
Graham’s cheeks go pink. “I mean… she’s seen it. Obviously.” I kick myself mentally for asking such a stupid question. Of course Claire knows about the tattoo. They’re engaged. I’m sure there’s not one inch of each other’s bodies that’s gone unexplored. The thought sends my stomach roiling.
Thinking about Graham and Claire being intimate cues an unwelcome memory. Graham and I fumbling in the darkness of his tiny London bedroom, the shape of our silhouettes outlined by moonlight. Graham, stripped to the waist as he unhooked my bra. The sensation of cold air tickling my exposed chest before he captured one nipple between his lips to warm it. Judging by the pops of color staining his cheekbones, odds are favorable that he’s currently haunted by a similar thought. He pushes his glasses up his nose, a nervous habit I’m growing increasingly familiar with.
“She knows I got it while I was at university. I just… haven’t shared too many of the other details.”
I cross my arms and give Graham my most withering look. “Wow, you’re really starting your marriage off on the right foot. They do say secrets are the cornerstone to any healthy relationship.”
Graham’s eyes narrow, his expression mirroring my own. I take a fortifying breath before asking the question that’s truly been eating at me. Because Graham can insist Saturday night wasn’t a date all he wants, but it doesn’t change the fact that it sure felt like one. There’s an undeniable chemistry between us, and I know he felt it too.
“Just tell me one thing: if it wasn’t a date, then why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
Graham opens and closes his mouth a few times, but no words come out. Which makes sense since there’s no way he can rationalize his way out of this one. The fight seems to leave his body as his shoulders deflate.
“Look, what’s done is done,” he says finally. “We’re going to be working together, so let’s move forward and make the best of this.” Blowing out a sigh, he glances over his shoulder. “I should get back in there. See you inside.”
I watch wordlessly as he turns and walks back toward the conference room. The moment he disappears around the corner, I let out a shaky breath, my bravado instantly evaporating. The initial flare of anger has faded, leaving me with the unpleasant sensation of being gut punched. I can’t believe that after every crappy dating experience I’ve had, I let myself consider the possibility that Graham could be different. The feeling is followed by a pang of hurt. It’s true that I hardly know the guy, but there was something about Graham that put me at ease, that made me feel like I could let my guard down. I told him things about myself that I’d never normally share on a first date. And what did he do with that trust? Stomped all over it without a second thought.
I rock back on my heels and weigh my options. My first instinct is to march back in there and tell everyone exactly what kind of guy Graham really is. But then rational thought prevails, reminding me that doing so will put the kibosh on this wedding. And that hurts me because I need this event to be a success. Antoine made it clear that this wedding was my golden ticket to a future with the company, and consequently my future as a homeowner. Unleashing drama would not only burn that opportunity, but also destroy my credibility. I hate that Graham is getting away with this, but for the sake of my own self-preservation, he’s left me with no choice.
With a growl, I dig my nails into my palms, gather my resolve, and head back into the meeting.
“Sorry about that,” I say, as I take my seat at the conference table. “I’ve never learned my lesson about iced coffee. Stuff goes right through me.”
The corners of Trudy’s lips pucker like she’s just bitten into a lemon. Even Asha lets out a barely audible sigh. Fortunately, Claire comes to my rescue, barking out an easy laugh.
“Girl, same. Although it can come in handy when you’re, you know…” She presses a hand against the side of her lips and whispers behind it, “Backed up.”
Trudy clears her throat pointedly, as if to signal that she is very much ready to move on from this topic.
“Asha,” she says. “You were about to show us the samples.”
“Yes,” she replies, looking equally relieved by the shift in conversation. “Since you are giving us free rein with the design of your special day, we thought it might be nice to choose a style that highlights the hotel’s grandeur and old-world opulence. We envision a day that’s suited to its venue: classic and timeless, elegant, but with a vintage touch.”
She pulls out a fabric-covered pinboard, which showcases a sample invitation in the center. It’s a crisp ivory with handwritten calligraphy and a dusty pink, satin ribbon tied around its center. A cluster of vintage stamps dress up the corner of the accompanying envelope, and a handful of flowers in matching shades are pinned alongside it.
“Wow, this is beautiful,” Claire breathes, running her fingertips along the petals. “What type of flowers are these?”
“English roses,” I say quietly. They’re my favorite flowers and one of my few contributions to the vision board. Of course, I didn’t realize at the time how on the nose they’d be. You could choke to death on the irony. I sneak a furtive glance at Graham to see if he’s thinking the same thing, but he’s making a point of looking everywhere in the room but at me.
“In terms of color scheme, we think white, ivory, and dusty pink, with a few pops of blue mixed in, will highlight some of the hotel’s most striking features, such as the pink marble columns in the ballroom, the ornate chandeliers, and of course, the magnificent, gilded staircase,” Asha continues.
Trudy beams. “You know, the Black-Eyed Susan is registered as a historic landmark. When it was built in the late 1920s, it was one of the last high-rise buildings developed with classical ornamentation.” A pang of sadness strikes me as I remember what Graham said to me earlier. As much as I loathe him at this moment, the prospect of his family’s hotel closing is heartbreaking. The Black-Eyed Susan is iconic. It’s hard to imagine the city without it.
“Very impressive. I love the vision,” Trudy continues approvingly. Antoine looks so relieved I think he might pass out.
“Once you’ve got the guest list together, we can start organizing the save the dates,” Antoine says. “I think this will truly be an affair to remember.”
Well, he’s got that right.
For the first time since the meeting began, Graham steals a glance at me. Maybe I’m imagining it, but it seems like there’s sadness behind his eyes. About the Black-Eyed Susan, or our earlier conversation, where I accused him of being a cheater. Or maybe it’s something else entirely. But before I can attempt to parse out the emotion on his face, he tears his eyes away.
Antoine, who fortunately seems not to have noticed the awkward glances we’ve exchanged, shuffles the papers in front of him.
“Should we go ahead and schedule our next meeting?”