Chapter 22
Olivia
She’s waiting for me and Sophie in a corner booth, folders spread out across the table in front of her. As I slide into my seat, she reaches into one of the folders with great fanfare and presents us each with gilded cards with embossed lettering.
COLE SULLIVAN and RILEY WINTERS request the pleasure of your company to celebrate their wedding.
The date—a few months away—and venue are inscribed below in neat, small lettering. The invitation is simple, but elegant—just like everything else Riley has chosen for her wedding.
“When did you get these?” Sophie asks, running her fingers along the edges of hers. “They’re lovely.”
“They were just printed two days ago.” Riley beams. “They went out this morning. I can’t wait to hear back from people.”
“Oh, Riley… this is so exciting!” I meet her gaze, grinning back at her. “You’re really getting married!”
“Right?” She laughs. “I can hardly believe it’s finally happening. So, speaking of wedding stuff—you two are good for Saturday, right?”
All of the bridesmaids are getting fitted for our matching dresses this weekend—and Riley is going to pick out her wedding gown. Of all the parts of the planning process, I know that this is the most important to her.
“Of course,” I say, and Sophie nods.
“Great! Okay. Let’s get down to business. I don’t want to keep you guys too long.”
Riley opens up her folder and pulls out two copies of a list, passing one to each of us.
“We need to figure out seating arrangements,” she explains. “This is the guest list. There are going to be six people per table. If you guys could help me—”
Before she can finish her sentence, she’s interrupted by my phone, vibrating on the surface of the table. I snatch it up, shooting her an apologetic glance.
“It’s my dad,” I say. “Do you mind if I—”
“Go for it,” Riley tells me. “We’ll be here!”
I step out of the booth, heading for the front of the diner to take the call away from the table. “Hello?”
“It’s me, Olivia,” says my father.
“How’s mom?”
“She’s doing much better today. Most of the pain is gone, and she was able to finish all of her stretches.” There’s relief in my father’s voice, and instantly, I feel a little knot of tension loosen in my chest.
I let out a breath. “That’s good to hear.”
“I figured you’d want the update,” he says. “Just thought I’d call and let you know.”
“Thank you, dad. I definitely wanted the update.”
“I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing. Tell Reed we said hello, alright?”
At his mention of Reed, I feel a little twinge of guilt, as I always do when my parents bring him up. However comfortable I am around Reed, I’m still not entirely comfortable navigating the huge lie that surrounds our relationship.
“I will,” I tell him.
“Love you, darling.”
After my father hangs up, I take a moment to text Reed before heading back to the table. He comforted me last night—he’ll want to know that everything’s okay now. Besides, he’s become the first person I talk to about things like this.
ME: Hey! Just got a call from my dad. Turns out my mom is doing much better today:) She’s in a lot less pain and is doing ok at her physical therapy.
Reed’s reply is almost instantaneous.
REED: That’s good to hear.
ME: Thank you again for last night. I really needed it.
REED: Of course. I’m here for you. And I’m really glad to hear about your mom.
REED: Btw—don’t forget about the party tonight! You still up for going?
He told me about this a few days ago—some shindig that’s being hosted by a friend of the family. A very wealthy friend of the family, with whom Cecily and Lionel are both determined to maintain a good connection.
I know that Reed has to invite me in order to keep up appearances—it’ll look suspicious if he shows up to an event like this without his fiancé. But I’m still a little nervous. It’ll be our first appearance together around a crowd.
Nonetheless, I know that this is part of the contract that I agreed to. It might even be fun.
ME: Of course! Looking forward to it.
REED: Good. Because I bought you a new dress, and I can’t wait to see you in it tonight.
I try to swallow my grin, but it’s impossible. Texting Reed just has that effect on me lately. Smiling to myself, I tuck my phone back into my purse and head back toward the table.
The party is being hosted in a lavish hotel downtown, the sort of place where my family would never, in a million years, be able to stay.
The party’s hosts—the Bouquet family, the wealthy owners of a luxury car company—rented out a ballroom off the main entrance, and when Reed and I pull up in a black limousine, the lobby is filled with people in black tie.
Reed fits the part in a striking tuxedo.
The dress he got me is certainly one for the occasion, too—gold, adorned with sequins.
I feel like I’m walking the red carpet, and out of the corner of my eye, I think I catch a few camera flashes, too.
There are paparazzi here—of course there are.
They seem to be everywhere in this city.
Reed holds my hand, his grip tight, like he’s trying to anchor me to reality as we step through the glass double doors. It’s a relief. I’m so distracted that I feel like I’d get lost if I wasn’t with him.
The lobby itself is striking, but it’s nothing compared to the ballroom, which is on the hotel’s top floor. There are intricate designs around all of the high windows, thick, dark red curtains framing spectacular views of Central Park—and, beyond it, the lights of downtown.
The ceiling is painted with a beautiful mural depicting constellations, and three huge chandeliers illuminate the room, light glinting from the facets of their decorative crystals. I stare up at them for a long time as we slowly enter, my mouth open in disbelief.
Reed seems to enjoy my amazement. He smiles as we walk into the room, then holds out his arm to spin me around. I yelp, unbalanced on my heels, but he catches me before I can fall, grinning.
“You seem a little dizzy,” he says, his eyes glimmering in amusement.
“Can you blame me?” I gesture to the ceiling. “This place is incredible.”
He laughs, then shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. But you know what’s really amazing?”
“What?”
There’s a flash of heat in his gaze as he looks me up and down. “The way you look in that dress.”
I blush furiously, glancing around. Surely, Reed is saying that for the benefit of other party-goers—to keep up appearances. But there’s no one within earshot of us, and the live music from the quartet playing by the dance floor is too loud for anyone to hear him.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get something to drink.”
He leads me through the ballroom, past the hardwood dance floor. Already, there are a few waltzing couples taking advantage of the music.
More than a few people seem to recognize Reed as he passes by. He nods, acknowledging several greetings; obviously, this is a crowd that knows Reed well.
He gets us both flutes of champagne at the bar, then clinks the rim of his glass to mine. “To a fun night,” he says.
I’m a little nervous, noticing more than a few stares directed our way, but I sip my champagne and pretend I don’t see them.
At first, mingling with the crowd isn’t too bad. It’s almost fun, meeting new people and learning how they know Reed. There are waiters wandering through the party with hors d’oeuvres, and while I’m too nervous to eat much, they are delicious.
Unfortunately, after a little while, Reed gets pulled away by a few other men slightly older than him.
They’re talking business, and I figure that it’s pointless to try to keep up—if I stick around, I’ll just end up underfoot.
I don’t want to create an awkward situation between him and his colleagues, even if I do feel a little vulnerable on my own.
I make my way across the ballroom, nearly-empty champagne flute in hand, until I’ve reached one of the high tables along one wall.
For a few minutes, I lean on the table, watching the dancers in their waltzes. I try to relax a little, listening to the music and letting myself settle into the party.
When I look back over at the table where Reed was talking to the group of men, I can’t see him anymore. A few of them are still there, but he must’ve wandered off. I feel a tiny flicker of annoyance that he’d disappear on me, especially somewhere like this, but I force the feeling down.
This is Reed’s element. He knows what he’s doing in a place like this much better than I do. Whatever he’s up to, it’s probably important. He’ll come back for me soon enough.
I take a deep breath, then down the rest of my champagne. After a few moments’ deliberation, I decide to grab myself a new drink, mostly to keep my hands full while I’m alone.
I set off across the room, toward the open bar. Before I can get there, though, the sound of Reed’s laugh grabs my attention.
I freeze, my gaze pulled toward him. He’s not alone—but he’s not with the group of businessmen, either.
There’s a woman I don’t recognize sitting across from him at a table. She looks like she’s around thirty or so, but she has a youthful energy about her. Her honey-blonde hair is in gorgeous, shining ringlets around her shoulders. She’s wearing a red dress, and perfectly-applied lipstick to match.
As I watch, she reaches across the table and rests her hand on Reed’s forearm. His expression, the typical easy smile, doesn’t change in the slightest. He says something to her, and she laughs, flashing white teeth.
My stomach twists at the sight of them. She’s so clearly flirting with him, and he’s doing the same thing he always does in response—being his charming self.
It’s an unpleasant, visceral reminder of a fact that’s been lingering in the back of my mind. I’m one of a long line of women who’ve been in Reed’s bed. Even though we’re pretending to be engaged—pretending that our relationship is different—it’s all an act.