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“I love you, Kimberly, more than anything, and I would love to spend the rest of my life repaying you for what you have given me.” He bends down on one knee.
Is this some kind of fucking joke? Is everyone I know suddenly deciding to get married or is this some fucked-up cosmic joke on me?
“This wasn’t a celebration party, this was an engagement party.” He smiles at the object of his affection. “Well, that is, if you say yes.”
Kimberly squeals and begins to cry. I look away from them as she practically screams her acceptance.
I can’t help but look at Tessa as she claps her hands to her face and wipes at her tears. I know she’s doing her best to smile for her friend in this joyful moment, to pretend they’re tears of happiness. But really, I can tell that she’s only pretending. She’s overwhelmed, having just listened to her friend hear everything that she once wished she would hear from me.
Chapter eighty-nine
TESSA
My chest aches as I watch Christian wrap his arms around Kimberly and lift her off the floor in a loving embrace. I’m so happy for her, I really am. It’s just that it’s hard to sit and watch someone get something that you wanted, no matter how happy you are for them. I would never want to take even an ounce of her happiness away, but it’s hard to watch as he kisses both her cheeks and slides a gorgeous diamond ring onto her finger.
I stand up from my seat, hoping that no one will notice my absence. I make it to the living room before the tears fall in earnest. I knew this would happen, I knew I would break. If he wasn’t here, I could handle it, but it’s too surreal, too painful, to have him here.
He came here to taunt me, he had to have. Why else come, but not speak to me at all? It doesn’t make sense: he’s avoided me for the past ten days, then he shows up here, where he knew I would be. I shouldn’t have come. I should have at least driven myself so I could leave right now. Zed won’t be here until . . .
Zed.
Zed is coming to pick me up at eight. Looking at a sleek grandfather clock, I see it’s seven thirty already. Hardin will kill him, literally, if he sees him here.
Or maybe he won’t, maybe he doesn’t care at all.
I find the restroom and close the door behind me. It takes me a moment to realize the light switch is a touch-screen panel on the wall. This house is too damn high tech for me.
I was absolutely humiliated when I dropped the wineglass. Hardin seems so indifferent, like he could care less about me being here or how awkward for me his presence really is. Has it even been hard for him? Did he spend days crying and lying in bed the way I did? I have no way to know, and he isn’t giving off the heartbroken impression.
Breathe, Tessa. You have to breathe. Ignore the knife lodged in your chest.
I wipe my eyes and look at my reflection. My makeup hasn’t smudged, thank goodness, and my hair is still perfectly curled. My cheeks are slightly flushed, but in a way it makes me look better, more lively.
When I open the door, Trevor is leaning against the wall with concern clear in his features. “Are you okay? You ran out of there pretty fast.” He takes a step toward me.
“Yeah . . . I just needed some air,” I lie. A stupid lie, at that; it doesn’t even make sense to rush to the bathroom for air.
Lucky for me, Trevor is a gentleman and would never call me out on my lie the way Hardin would. “Okay, they’re serving dessert now, if you’re still hungry,” he says and escorts me back down the hallway.
“Not really, but I’ll have some,” I respond. I practice regulating my breathing, and find that it helps settle me some. I’m thinking about what to do about the impending Zed-Hardin meet-up when I hear Smith’s small voice coming from a room we pass by.
“How do you know?” he asks in his little, clinical manner.
“Because I know everything,” Hardin replies.
Hardin? Hanging out with Smith?
I stop and wave Trevor on. “Trevor, why don’t you go on. I . . . um . . . I’m going to talk to Smith.”
He looks at me questioningly. “Are you sure . . . I can wait,” he offers.
“No, I’m fine.” I politely dismiss him. He gives a little nod and wanders off. Leaving me free to impolitely eavesdrop.
Smith says something I don’t get, and Hardin replies, “I do, though, I know everything.” His voice is as calm as ever.
I lean against the wall next to the door as Smith asks, “Will she die?”
“No, man. What is with you always thinking everyone’s going to die?”
“I don’t know,” the little boy tells him.
“Well, it’s not true, not everyone dies.”
“Who dies?”
“Not everyone.”
“But who, Hardin?” Smith presses.
“People, bad people, I guess. And old people. And sick people—oh, and sad people sometimes.”
“Like your pretty girl?”
My heart races.
“No! She won’t. She’s not sad,” Hardin says, and I put my hand over my mouth.
“Yeah, huh.”
“No, she’s not. She’s happy, and she won’t die. Neither will Kimberly.”
“How do you know?”
“I already told you how I know, it’s because I know everything.” His tone has changed since the mention of my name.
I hear a dismissive little laugh from Smith. “No, you don’t.”
“Are you okay now? Or are you going to cry more?” Hardin asks.
“Don’t tease.”
“Sorry, are you done crying, though?”