Page 15

Olivia

“D o you think this dress makes my butt look big?” Eleanor asks aloud, gazing at the pool of white fabric at her feet in the shop mirrors.

The fitted dress clings to her modest curves, the lace glittery and distracting. I’ve spent the better part of a day following Eleanor in and out of bridal shops. I had a feeling she’d be more indecisive than most, hence the need to get the shopping out of the way. People tend to forget how much time fitting and altering a dress actually takes.

Behind me, Taylor clears his throat, prompting me to speak after another quiet moment lulls by.

“I promise: your butt looks amazing. However!” I clap as she twirls, scrutinizing every detail in the mirror. “If you don’t feel like your butt looks amazing, it’s not the one.”

Eleanor pouts, shimmying off the pedestal andhopping toward the dressing room.

I flip my hair over my shoulder, my body teeming with energy after spending the entire day perched in a chair between outfit changes.

Sunlight filters in through the windows that circle the perimeter of the shop, and the delicate white dresses sparkle in the soft light. I’ve visited several times over the years, but all of the extravagant gowns are crafted in-house. Which takes time. My gaze lifts as Eleanor climbs out in a princess ball gown, and a sudden memory hits me:

It wasn’t long ago that Charlotte stood in the same position, her sparkling mess of a dress splayed around her like a white halo. She hated it.

It was her mother’s choosing after all.

For a moment, Eleanor’s fiery red hair drapes over her shoulders, and she looks so much like Charlotte that it hurts.

Call her , part of me reasons, but the guilt of having gone this long without saying anything sinks in.

She’s not gone, but she might as well be with the way I’ve treated her.

“What do you think?” Ella asks, and I snap to reality .

“I don’t think it’s your style. Have you tried on the silk one yet?” I wonder aloud, thinking of the one I’d selected to try earlier.

She sighs. “Not yet. I’m hesitant to try it.”

I practically fall into a nearby chair, forcing a smile as I watch her in the mirror. “No pressure. But who knows? You might be surprised by something different.”

Her smile is warm but exhausted. She’s clearly just as tired as I am. But finding the right dress is important.

You only wear it once.

She dredges up another smile. “Okay. Why not?”

She disappears again, and this time, I don’t bother hiding the fact that I rub at the nasty headache forming at my temples.

“Hey, Taylor?” I whisper, knowing he’s standing close behind.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Do you by chance remember what time my dad’s party is tonight?”

“In about two hours from now, but you still have to get ready and hand-off with Crew.”

I’m mentally preparing the check-list of to-dos to get done between now and home. Another overwhelming throb swims over me, but I force it down with another breath.

“This is manageable,” I whisper to myself.

“What’s that?” Taylor’s voice is closer, and I take a steadying breath, pushing myself upright.

“Nothing. We're just in for a fun night.”

My father’s never been one for throwing parties. That was a talent reserved for my mother. Hosting, picking the perfect music, pairing the perfect red wine to serve with the hors d’oeuvres…

Mom taught me everything I know. After her death, I’ve done my best to remind him of everything she used to love so much about it. I didn’t think he ever listened… until tonight.

I smile as he shakes hands with a smiling woman in a sparkling dress. She’s likely complementing the party, telling him how beautiful everything is. What surprises me most is that he smiles back. He squeezes her shoulder, leaning in to hug her.

He looks… happy. Engaged. The sight makes my eyes water, and as the sound of the music floats back to me, I swipe the emotions away.

A throat clears behind me, and I turn to see a man standing there.

“Good to see you again, Olivia.”

I’m supposed to remember his face- I know I am. Chocolate brown hair, gray eyes, and a clean-shaven face. Handsome in that condescending, I’m-rich-enough-to-buy-anything kind of way. Then again, that’s more than half the men at this party.

His eyes narrow. “Chase.”

I blink.

The man who bought my date.

“Right. My father’s coworker.”

Whether he had any part in my father’s plan, I don’t know.

He nods, bringing a glass full of whiskey to his mouth. “This event is in honor of your late mother, right? I just wanted to say how sorry I am for her passing.”

My throat tightens, the memory of her filling me all over again, and I gently swipe my clammy palms on my dress. “That’s kind. Thank you.”

“It’s an honor to be invited.” He tucks a hand in the pocket of his suit, leaning down to whisper in my ear. “I hope I’m the first to tell you that you look incredible.”

My face floods with heat, and I want to curse myself when I gape as he draws back, watching my reaction. It’s been a long time since anyone has paid me any attention. I want to like him. Yet all I can think about is the burn of his gaze on my back.

Crew stands a few feet away, but his presence is unmistakable. I almost wish it were Taylor watching me because at least then I can concentrate.

“I-“ I drag my attention to Chase- to the man in front of me who is complimenting me . “Thank you. You look pretty fly yourself.”

He smiles, but it’s all arrogance. “About that date…”

Right.

“Maybe dinner sometime?”

“There’s this great place downtown. I know the owners. It’s quiet. Intimate. You seem like you could use the break.”

I’ve heard the words before- only not out of his mouth. But my father’s. My eyes find him across the room, and as soon as I catch him looking, he glances away, focusing on his own conversation.

God, he just doesn’t quit.

I smile again. “Look, Chase. I’d love that. Really, but-“ A phone rings, buzzing in the pocket of my dress. Saving me . “Can you give me just a moment?” I say, excusing myself and answering my phone automatically.

“Hello?”

“Liv?”

I freeze at the sound of her voice.

“You picked up.” Charlotte sounds surprised. Considering how many calls and texts I’ve ignored, I don’t blame her. “How are you? I-I’m calling because I know what today is. I wanted to check on you,” she rushes. It’s unlike her to be nervous. The Charlotte I remember was never nervous.

“How are you?” she continues.

Today’s the anniversary of my mother’s death. Five years ago, she was killed in a head-on drunk-driving collision. Yet here I am at a party commemorating her death. With booze and music and people who didn’t know her.

“I’m good. Just… At my dad’s, enjoying a party.” It sounds forced, and at her silence, I know we’re both aware of it.

“You don’t have to brave face with me. You know that.”

She can see right through me, as always. It was like this even before she left. Before she took off without so much as a goodbye. Hurt is heavy in my throat, all my emotions rushing to the surface, but I shove them away.

I have to smile, I have to be happy.

For Mom. For Dad. For myself.

“Now isn’t a good time, Charlotte. Can we catch up later?”

“Of course.” Her voice wobbles. “I miss you. And I’m here for you. I miss the way it was before.”

My heart tightens. “I do too…” I croak. “I just- can’t right now, okay?”

There’s another beat of silence before her soft voice replies, “Okay. I’m here when you’re ready to talk. Whatever you need. I’m- I’m all yours.”

She means it. I know she does, but I can’t deal with this right now.

“Thank you. Talk to you later.”

I don’t know why my stomach drops as I end the call. I don’t know why my heart stops and my feet stumble, or why all of my emotions hit me at a thousand miles an hour.

I hate that I feel like crying. I hate that I feel guilty for crying.

Because I should be happy. I’m at a beautiful party, I’m close to the height of my career. My father is finally better. I have all these amazing, incredible things. Yet all I can think about is what I don’t have.

And I hate it.

I hate it more than I’ve hated anything- and I don’t hate anything. I used to love everything. Love life, love people, love doing things… but I haven’t felt that in so long.

My hands are shaking. My glass trembles in my hand, and I discard it on the bar nearby.

I don’t know how I force myself to speak, but I do, my voice strong. “Crew.”

I feel him at my back, his warmth seeping into me despite our distance. “Yes, Ms. Hughes?”

I swallow down my sadness- any crack in my smile. “I’d like to go home now.”

I expect him to object, to tell me we just got here, to ask what’s wrong, but what I don’t expect is for him to step closer, leaning down. His voice is low enough for only me to hear. “Tell me what to do.”

Tears well in my eyes at his tone- at the implication that he can see that I’m breaking- but I refuse to let him see me cry. So I stare straight forward.

“Please take me home.”