Chapter 46
I found Elliot and Allegra not far from where I’d just become reluctant . . . not-enemies with Hunter Ashwood. Around the corner, at the end of a narrow hallway, whisper-shouting at each other. Huddled so close together you’d think they were discussing the nuclear codes.
My first thought was how often it had been like that in their relationship. Arguing, fighting, whisper-yelling in a corner at fancy events, dressed in fancier clothes, and drunk on even fancier champagne.
Over her shoulder, Elliot spotted me and beckoned me closer with a covert gesture. His eyes flicked back to her, and whatever glimmer of peace had been in them faded. They narrowed just slightly.
“It wasn’t like that. I only had that video on my phone because we looked cute. When we broke up, I watched it again and remembered how good we were together. We were, weren’t we?” I imagined she was batting her lashes at him, sighing dreamily.
His face twitched. Almost a grimace. “I just thought that times of crisis always made us stronger. When Adeline died, God bless her. When you decided not to go to Yale. You know?” He didn’t seem like it. “So then . . . when we broke up . . .”
“When you broke up” was the first thing I heard Elliot say. “You broke up with me. I don’t know why you keep saying it like it was my fault. It was your decision, Allegra.”
“I just thought! If I could get it out there, and Hunter got a little mad at you . . .”
“He didn’t though, did he?” Elliot huffed. “He got really fucking mad. He threatened to disown me, Allegra. He kicked me out.”
“How could I possibly have known he’d do that?” she cried. “He’s never done that before. And it worked, at first! You opened up again, we talked more.”
“Oh my God!” He let his hand wash over his face. “Because I thought we were friends. Because you said you wanted us to be friends, and I always want what’s best for you. I thought that’s what you did, too. What friends want for each other.”
“I do!” Allegra shook her head. “I do. Which is why I told you about Maeve. Why I told People—”
“You what?!”
But that wasn’t Elliot’s voice. It wasn’t Allegra temporarily imagining things and interrupting her own statement either. My hand reached for my mouth: open. They both turned to look at me.
Her eyes widened while Elliot’s annoyance morphed into something else. The corners of his lips pulled up all on their own. The argument with his ex-girlfriend was seemingly all forgotten about as he said, “I was wondering when that was going to happen.”
“Maeve,” she pleaded. But I wasn’t quite sure what for. For me to leave them alone? To understand her? To grant her the benefit of the doubt Elliot wasn’t extending this time around?
She couldn’t be asking for forgiveness; she hadn’t apologized yet.
Then again, I hadn’t apologized to Elliot when I should’ve either.
Her head cocked back and forth between us, unsure whether to continue pleading her case to Elliot or explain the situation to me. I gave her a little nudge in the right direction.
“They tried reaching out to my father for that article, you know?” I took a deep breath. “A man I’ve never spoken to. A stranger. There was a very real possibility the first time I’d hear from him was through a People article you orchestrated—”
She stuttered, groaned, took a step toward me and then back. “I didn’t—” But she stopped herself. Her face screwed together, maybe for the first time imagining the consequences her actions could have. The consequences they almost did have. “Don’t try to turn this around on me,” she suddenly hissed.
Whatever faith I had in her ability to self-reflect faded.
“You did the exact same thing! Used the press to get Elliot to move in with you—”
But we’d been over this. She’d already used that mistake of mine against us, so it held little weight. “And even though it took me a while”—guilty glance at Elliot—“I realized it was wrong. I apologized.”
Allegra ignored my words pointedly. Was in full defense mode, probably not even hearing me. “And it’s not my fault. That thing with your dad. I don’t know why Elliot would want you, if he doesn’t even—”
She cut herself off. If I had even a small emotional attachment to the man I got half my genes from, her words would’ve stung. Why would Elliot want me, when not even my own father did?
But he’d never even been part of the equation of my life. It had always been Mom and me. My grandparents and me. Paula and me. Now, Elliot and me.
Elliot loved me not out of some obligation or sense of responsibility, but because he knew me, and he liked what he saw. If I was sure about one thing, it was that.
With another groan, Allegra left. Calling someone whose name I didn’t recognize when she said it in hurried greeting. By the time she got to the point of the call, she was too far to hear.
Or maybe Elliot just got so close, I barely noticed anything else around me anymore. “Hey,” he said, his hands finding their way to my face, holding it gently. “I’m sorry. What she just said—”
I cut him off before he could feel too guilty. “It doesn’t matter.”
It never had. “It did. It does. I didn’t know she would . . . She shouldn’t have—”
And I think it wasn’t necessarily what she said that concerned Elliot; it was that she’d said it. That the girl who he’d considered his best friend—a girl he’d loved for the better part of his teens—was capable of such cruel words.
His next words confirmed it. “I’ve never seen her this way .
. .” Elliot shook his head. “I’ve known Allegra for a decade, and I know she can be .
. . a little venomous sometimes. But this .
. .” He continued trailing off, his hands falling to my shoulders, squeezing them like he wanted to make sure I was still there.
A look on his face like he’d said the words, like it was his fault I’d heard them.
“I couldn’t care less about my father. All I heard her admit was that you want me.” I nudged his shoulder with mine, hoping to lighten the gloom suddenly hanging over us. Preferably, I’d like to get rid of it completely.
Elliot smiled, even if it was hesitant. “A win is a win, I guess.”
“And look at it this way. Now that I’ve survived your scary ex and your scary grandfather, what else could tear us apart?”
Finally, Elliot kissed the tip of my nose, loosened up. “My three scary brothers?” His head shook against mine, and I felt his exhausted sigh against my lips. “I’m glad you survived Hunter, though. I was worried.”
The sincerity in his voice made my chest feel heavy and warm, full of everything I’d denied myself until now. “I think we . . . bonded?”
He laughed against the crown of my head, into my hair, taking a deep breath after. “Impossible.”
“He liked the dress,” I argued.
Contrary to his last words, he said, “Obviously.” Like it really was the most obvious thing in the world. His fingers played with the fabric. “I don’t have to tell you that you’re talented. You know that.”
I laughed. “Doesn’t hurt to hear every once in a while, regardless.”
“Like a friendly reminder?”
“Exactly like that.”
I felt the huff of his exhale against my skin when I put my arm around his neck. The way he played with my hair, it felt like we were completely and utterly alone, and he’d always had that power. To make every situation feel intimate even when it was the opposite.
We could be standing on the biggest stage in the world, and if Elliot Ashwood looked at me, I probably wouldn’t notice the thousands of people watching.
“Doesn’t happen often, does it?” he asked gently. Whispered, almost, like he knew we were having a moment and just wasn’t sure what kind. Me neither, but I liked it anyway.
“What? No, I mean—” My brows furrowed. “People tell me I’m good at things. The word they frequently use is perfect.”
“Must’ve kept you humble all these years,” he teased. “Not the same, though. Being perfect seems more like an expectation, not a reminder that you’re good at things.”
“Okay, well, maybe. But . . . I mean, it feels good. It’s a compliment.”
“I don’t doubt that.” He pushed a strand behind my ear. At this point, whatever updo I’d left the house with must’ve been a mess, so I didn’t care. “Doesn’t mean it’s not stressing you out either way.”
I waved him off. “I’m always stressed.”
“I know.” You’re proving my point, his raised brows added. “I’m just saying, maybe we should work on that. You don’t need to be perfect all the time. You can leave a sock on your bedroom floor.”
I gasped. His lazy smile widened.
“You don’t have to make your bed every morning.”
“May I still go on my morning run?”
“If you’re not doing it just because it’s part of your routine and people expect you to go running every morning.” His grin turned toothy. Sweet. Irresistible. “And if I’m allowed to join. Sure.”
“And what do you suppose I do with all this time when I’m leaving socks around, not making my bed, and, God forbid, skipping my runs?”
He took the bait, pressed me against the wall until his hand was firmly beside my head, his lips so close I could feel his breath. “I’m sure we can think of . . . other forms of cardio, no?”
“We are creative people.”
“And if that doesn’t work . . .” Elliot shrugged, planted a kiss on my lips. “You can always help me find a job.”