19. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
I could watch Monroe shovel french fries into her mouth all day and never tire of it. That’s a revelation I never thought I’d admit to. But it’s true. Something about her and I being here, even if it’s all in the name of a bet, feels right. There are no expectations to our arrangement, and it’s freeing. Normally, when I come to a place like this—most times because the board forces my hand—it’s for whatever function or gala they tell me I have to attend. Their puppet needs to be on full display. I usually just duck out early, and they’re never the wiser, but it eats at me. The need to perform. For appearance’s sake.
It’s always for appearance’s sake. My whole life is one big game of charades. One I can truly never win. That’s why I go back to The Cerulean every year, to feel something other than the anchors in my life constantly weighing me down. And then I run into her, the woman who is completely ignoring my presence right now, eating her fries like someone is going to take them away from her.
I wouldn’t say I go back each year to see Monroe. No, that just happens. When I have a habit, a ritual to fall back on, I feel in control. And vacationing in the same state, with the same people, in the same resort brings me a slight comfort.
Monroe wipes her hands vigorously on the napkin in her lap. “Are you going to eat those?” She points eagerly to the untouched plate of fries in front of me.
I shake my head, grinning as I watch her. “Go for it.” I swap the plates around.
She hasn’t stopped smiling since I brought her here, and I want to do everything in my power to make sure I don’t give her a reason to.
As I move the plates, Monroe grabs the last fry from hers and pops it into her mouth. Before she dives in, she pauses, looking around.
“Is there a reason you brought me to a hotel?” She waggles her brow suggestively. “A reason other than to watch me stuff my face.”
“It’s not just any hotel, Monroe. You won’t find a more exclusive club in New York than The Gulf’s Club Lounge.”
A fry hangs in the air near her lips, and she gulps nervously. “That’s where we are?” It’s like she hasn’t been here for fifteen minutes already as she looks around and absorbs everything.
“The monogrammed napkins and concierge weren’t a dead giveaway?” I joke. But Monroe’s expression doesn’t lighten. Instead, she seems lost in thought. “They’re not going to take your fries away just because you didn’t know where you were.”
“That’s not what I was thinking.” Her face says it all, and I raise a brow, urging her to continue. “I mean, you put a lot of effort into getting me these fries. It’s almost like…”
“Almost like what?”
“Like you enjoy spending time with me. That you want to spend time with me.” The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. “But that’s not what’s going on here. Right?”
The seriousness on Monroe’s face pierces through me, and for a split second, I don’t know what the right thing is to say.
“No. That is not what’s happening.” My hands get sweaty. “This makes us even. I don’t break promises, and I promised you fries.”
“Right. Yeah, I knew that.” She clicks her teeth. Why does she sound disappointed? “Back to my original question: why this hotel, of all places?”
I release a breath and look around the room that feels more like a home than my actual penthouse. “It’s familiar. I’m here almost every week, and I think the fries here are pretty good.” Monroe is staring at me when I glance back. “What?”
“Nothing.” She resumes eating her fries but remains concentrated on me. “You come here every week? Why?”
I’ve never had an answer to that question. I’ve never had anyone ask me about it before, either.
“It’s quiet.” I shrug. “And I enjoy watching everyone who comes and goes, imagining what important meeting they’re rushing off to or who is having an affair with the nanny.” Monroe smiles. “It’s my break from thinking about my life too hard.”
She stills. “You’re unhappy?”
I open my mouth but close it a moment later, not knowing how to answer her. Am I unhappy? “Not lately.” I didn’t mean for my words to have so much gravity behind them, but I can’t take them back now.
Monroe looks like she’s weighing my words carefully. Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t say anything. Simply telling her the truth has made me feel lighter than I have in a long time. I tell Monroe things I’d never divulge to anyone, unintentionally, but talking to her is easier than I thought. Who knew? Every time we’ve been around each other in the past, it ended in a screaming match. Now, when we’re sitting down and actually having a conversation, it flows easily.
After a beat of silence, she pushes her plate away. “I feel like I’m hogging these.” She’s suddenly all embarrassed, eyes looking down. “And you watching me eat isn’t what I signed up for.”
“But I like watching you eat,” I confess.
Her brows dip. “What? Why?”
I don’t give myself time to dwell on my answer. I just say the first thing that comes to mind. “You always seem so happy when you eat. Sharing something as natural as this with you makes me feel like I contributed to your happiness, even if just a little.”
Monroe’s eyes widen. “And does that make you happy? Knowing that you made me happy?”
A bout of anxiousness rises in my throat, so I steal a fry to distract myself from it. “I think so.” I can feel my cheeks heat, but I don’t look away from her.
She leans back in her chair, looking a little stunned. “What else makes you happy?”
“Do I have to answer this question, or is it one of those rhetorical ones you ask someone?” Monroe’s head tilts to the side, and her eyes narrow. “Okay, okay. I don’t know. I can’t think of anything else.”
“You’re not even trying,” she says, trying to hide her smile with her hand.
“My mind is completely blank right now. Why don’t you give me some inspiration? What makes you happy?” Monroe’s eyes dart across my face. “It’s not so easy when someone asks you on the spot, is it?”
“I’m thinking…”
I cross my arms. “Your time is almost up.”
“Uh, baby kittens?”
“Too generic. Pick a different one.”
“You can’t call it generic if it makes me happy.” Monroe scoffs, but her lips curve into a teasing smile. “Fine. You want something more specific that makes me happy?”
I nod. “I asked, didn’t I?”
“How about a day with no one needing me? A day without responsibilities? Where I can just sit around and do nothing. Is that specific enough?” There’s a longing in Monroe’s eyes as she tells me what would make her happy. “I just want one day where I’m not surrounded by people, where I can breathe. But I know that’s not realistic.”
She and I have very different definitions of what makes something realistic or not. It might seem impossible to her, but I think it could be doable. Very doable. I could make some calls and arrange it for her. And the surprising part of that is that I honestly feel inclined to do it.
Rather than thinking about this any longer, I change topics. “Have you had your fill of french fries, or should I order you another round?”
Monroe pats her stomach. Her silken dress rustles gently. “I don’t think there’s enough room in here for more. Thank you, though.”
“You’re welcome.”
Her eyes are glued to mine, and my breathing quickens. Our moment evaporates as a commotion gets our attention. We both turn our heads at whatever is happening outside the lounge. Monroe stands from the table, her black gown flowing around her as she takes a few steps to the glass French doors.
She opens the door a crack. “I think there’s a wedding reception going on down the hall.”
“They do have a ballroom here.” I move to stand behind her and place a tentative hand on her lower back.
“We should go check it out.”
Monroe throws the door open, and I follow her lead down the hallway. She moves swiftly; her footsteps echo off the marble floors. With a quick turn, we come to a stop just outside the extravagant ballroom. Through the open doors, my eyes take in at least a hundred and fifty people dancing and drinking, enjoying a wedding reception. Lively jazz music and laughter filter out to us.
“What are you waiting for? Aren’t you going to go in?” My hand rests on Monroe’s elbow.
As she spins around, her eyes flicker from my face to the party behind us. “Are you crazy? I’m not going to crash a wedding reception. I just wanted to look.”
“And you can take a better look inside.”
I chuckle, but she isn’t laughing. My hand slips from her elbow to her hand, my arm extending as I back away and cross the threshold of the ballroom. Monroe stands firm, resisting me.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you to join me.”
She whips her head around like she’s expecting to get caught. “I can’t. I can’t just crash a wedding.”
Without dropping her hand, I move forward. “Small moments, Monroe. Remember?”
Pride soars through me when her expression shifts, and I know I’ve gotten through to her. Her hand squeezes mine as I lead her into the room, not stopping until we are smack in the middle of the dancefloor. When I’m satisfied with our spot, my other hand finds her waist, and I pull her close. The music kicks up, and couples migrate to the dancefloor, but all I can pay attention to is how Monroe looks at me.
It’s intense, yet I don’t want to look away. It feels like it’s just the two of us. We fall into sync, swaying together to the music. Our pace doesn’t match the song that’s playing, but it doesn’t matter.
“I don’t dance,” Monroe states.
“Well, you are.”
She looks down as if to confirm it. My focus is on guiding us, but I see her lips twitch.
“I can’t remember the last time I danced.”
I smirk. “Weren’t you dancing that night at the club?”
“I meant a slow dance.” Her body visibly relaxes the longer we sway. “I don’t think I’ve ever slow-danced with someone.”
“I’m honoured to be your first, then,” I joke, but a frown takes over her face. “Do you want to stop?”
“No.” She bites her lip. “It’s nice. I just… didn’t imagine the first time I did this to be with you, of all people.”
I grunt and hold on to her a little tighter. “Why?”
She takes a deep breath. “Because you’re you and I’m me. And this day, for as great as it’s been, is a fluke. When we get back to Palm Beach, the dust will settle, and everything will go back to the way it was.” Monroe looks past me, focusing on something behind me. “It has to.”
I freeze, seeing Monroe’s hand leave mine. “We should go then before the dust settles.”
“Alden, that’s not what I meant. We can still—”
My body recoils. “No, you don’t have to keep entertaining me. I did what I came here to do, and anything more isn’t part of our agreement. I shouldn’t have kept us this long.”
I walk off before she can finish what she was going to say. Hearing those words come out of Monroe’s mouth cements the feeling I’ve been trying to ignore this whole time. She could never want me. Not all of me as I am. We’re nothing more than a warm body to each other. Who am I to want more? What sign have I given that I do want more?
I’m a fucking idiot for insisting upon this trip, an idiot for hoping she saw more to me than what I’ve shown her, an idiot for thinking that whatever we have can be enough for her. It’s based on some half-assed bet that we made when we were drunk.
Monroe hates me, and I’m too broken to tell her anything different. If she were to see me, really see me, and what lies beyond the perfected exterior, all she’d see is the dark and tangled barbed wire that barely holds me together. And that can never be enough. She already saw a glimpse. She already has a plethora of reasons to never choose someone like me. Why would she? She loathes me, and she can have anyone she wants.
My gut curdles like milk that’s been left out in the sun, and I want to disappear, suddenly overwhelmed by my unwanted conclusion.
My heart hammers in my chest, wanting to burst out of its cavity as Monroe and I sit in the back of the town car, the stillness between us. I can’t help myself from glancing at her out of the corner of my eye, feeling guilty about the way I ended our stint in New York. The look on her face the whole trip was truly something out of fiction. Blinding and bright and filled with warmth. And then I had to ruin it.
Her constant smiles had spread through the expanse of my body and cast a light on the darkest parts, replacing whatever hurt was there before with something infinitely better. A building pressure starts in my chest when I think of it, but for the life of me, I don’t want it to stop. I attempt to calm myself down as best I can, trying to get my mind to focus on something else. But when Monroe’s knee accidentally brushes up against mine, the pressure mounts. And when she doesn’t pull away from me, I feel like I’m going to implode.
Monroe leans forward and pushes the button that lowers the partition down. “It’s just the next right,” she says to my driver. Her face bunches up when she notices that I’m looking at her. “What?”
I didn’t realize that I was staring so intensely at her, so I look away. “You could have told me your address, and I would’ve told him.”
“I figured it was easier.” She looks out the window. “Since you’re mad at me and all.”
“I’m not mad at you,” I sigh.
Her fierce eyes are back on me. “Then what is it, Alden? What do you want from me?”
Monroe waits for my answer, cocking a brow. My lungs squeeze painfully, and I swallow a lump in my throat.
“I don’t know,” I say, scrubbing my face. And then softer, “I don’t know.”
The car comes to a stop outside an underwhelming but mildly charming apartment building. I peer out the window to get a better look at it. My eyes take in the faded brick exterior, with cracked windows and window air conditioners that look like they’ve seen better days. The harder I stare at the building, the more I notice. Like the pile of needles lying in the corner by the door, or a dirty diaper that someone discarded inside the clearly fake plant.
It’s not as bad as I thought, but it’s still no place for her to live. Monroe opens the car door and steps out. I think she’ll make a mad dash toward the building and leave me to stew in my thoughts, but she doesn’t.
With a dejected look, she turns back. “When you figure it out, let me know. Because we can’t keep blurring the lines, Alden. One of us is bound to get confused. So, no more spontaneous trips to New York, or thousand-dollar dresses, or fries at The Gulf.” Monroe sighs heavily. “Let’s not pretend we’re something we’re not.”
Slamming the door, she thanks my driver and runs into her building. I don’t stop her; I don’t chase after her; I let her go. Because she’s right. For weeks now, I’ve been muddling the line in the sand for her—for both of us. This is the wake-up call I need to remember the rules we agreed on. And what this needs to be for both of us.