Page 108 of Alexander: Alexander's Story

Swallowing past the discomfort, I set my clutch on the entry credenza and pour myself something from a decanter of brown, hoping for the best.

And then I stand there, waiting for my date because I can’t sit. Can’t risk the wrinkles.

Instead, I stare at the monument. I watch traffic, both pedestrians and cars. I imagine a world where I’m someone else. I imagine a world where I wear a ring on my hand, and a man on my arm who adores me.

A chill runs along my spine.

When I turn away from the window, he’s there.

In his tuxedo. Looking like someone I don’t know. He shaved his beard. He’s cut his hair short. He looks like someone I saw walking on the street half an hour earlier. I don’t recognize him. And it feels like that’s the point.

I hate him.

I wait, hopeful. Then, when the lack of communication becomes suffocating, I set my glass down on a side table and check the time.

We still have five minutes or so.

And then, finally, he approaches me slowly, almost methodically. Even his gait seems different. Or maybe I’ve just never seen him move in tuxedo pants and dress shoes before. I feel like I’m meeting a stranger.

He embraces me, though a smile never broaches his face, and I almost push him away so he doesn’t crumple the gown. But I’m a little more desperate than I am vain, and I accept it.

“You’ve rendered me speechless, Em.” The pain in my throat roars; it burns.

“Same,” I reply quietly, matching his volume.

The hug — if you could call it that — feels foreign…and wrong. There’s no pressure behind his touch. No warmth. His cheek is smooth, and nothing bristles as he pulls away. Nothing catches, nothing lingers. He smells like he’s wearing different cologne, too.

I want to ask questions, but I don’t think I can handle the answers.

Is this who Alex really is?I wondered who he was when he wasn’t dying. I craved to know that man, but maybe that man doesn’t exist. It’s just varying levels of discontent, and this one, standing in front of me, seems the worst of them all.

When he stands back, he drags his gaze from my head to my toes but doesn’t say anything. No compliment, no sentiments.

I shake my head, regretting not drinking more glasses of brown.

Quickly grabbing my clutch, I open the hotel door, then hold it for him, like a test. He doesn’t hesitate to exit, leaving me standing in the doorway as he walks to the elevator.

I don’t know if it’s real or pretend, but I won’t let him make me look stupid tonight.No.I will be so fucking perfect, I will act so fucking happy. I will be utterly aloof so that no matter what, no one can feel bad for me after tonight.

Even if tomorrow morning Alex tells them all he dumped me, that’s fine. As long as it doesn’t happen in front ofher. As long as she sees us together and doing fine, that’s all I want.

The ride in the town car from our hotel to the restaurant lasts all of four minutes. Neither one of us talks. When we arrive, our chauffeur holds the door for me, saving Alex from his faux neglect.

I plaster on a genuine-looking smile in case other guests happen to see. Then, I extend a hand to him instead of waitingfor him to offer, and he actually looks at my hand before taking it.

He was debating.

As we walk the few short steps to the restaurant, I whisper to him, “Whatever this is, just please don’t make a fool of me. I’ll never forgive you.” He doesn’t so much as nod, but he holds the door and gestures for me to enter first.

We follow a long corridor to a private dining room, where we’re greeted with welcome cocktails and a mostly full room. The crowd amassed is small but loud. The ages range from toddler to 80. Multiple generations present. I only know three people here aside from Alex and CT, whom I don’t count because they don’t talk. Either of them.

Liam, Brit, and Elodie are the only people I know, and I’m glad about that. I can be someone else to the rest of them. Not the pitiful girl who spent last Christmas in a coma.

Slipping a hand into the crook of Alex’s arm, I gesture for him to lead. These are his people, after all.

We make a quick stop to say hi to his nieces first. Elodie wraps me up in a warm hug, and miraculously, I stave off the tears. She introduces me to her sister, Caroline, who looks like a carbon copy of her mom. For a few minutes, Alex’s mask drops. He jokes with them. He tousles their hair. He teases them, but as soon as we turn away, he reverts back to stoicism.

We greet Liam and Brit, and while they all talk, I take CT for a lap around the room. We stop at the bar, where he gets an orange slice. We stop to look at the paintings on the walls, where I point out birds and tell him their names. Admittedly, I make up most of them.