25
Iopened the text from Elena again.
ELENA
I know you aren’t in danger of wearing a dead guy’s jacket to Ford’s party, but I’ve got a tailor friend who can help you find a suit that doesn’t feel like it’s attacking you if you want. No worries if you’ve got it sorted. Just a thought.
ELENA
I’ll look for you tonight if I can steal some time. I don’t want to miss the tux.
The line about the dead guy’s jacket from the movie we’d watched together made me smile, but it was the only thing. It might seem ridiculous to someone else—hell, to almost everyone else—but I’d gone out of my comfort zone when I invited her to the gala. Everything about the event, which Mark’s wife Julianna made clear I couldn’t get out of, was well outside my comfort zone.
I could do it. I’d put on the damn tux I kept in the back of my closet and prayed I never had to wear and force myself tobe social. Elena would have made it bearable, but I understood she had to go with her client. Despite the text I wasn’t supposed to see while she was sick, I didn’t have reason to believe he was anything more and I wasn’t about to second-guess her. Elena would tell me the truth. Even when we’d only been fucking for fun, we told each other the truth.
Which meant the text was her way of telling me the truth.
The idea of meeting her friends made me anxious. Unknown social situations made me anxious. That wasn’t anything new. I had a half a dozen ways to deal with it, including my favorite, manning the fuck up. And I loved that she invited me, that she wanted me to meet the people who were important to her.
But I didn’t love the feeling that she was trying to fix me. That on my own, I didn’t quite measure up. I fucking hated the niggling feeling that she might be worried I’d embarrass her. I kept reminding myself that she’d invited me. She asked me because she wanted me to come, but sending me to her tailor felt too much like covering her bases.
Even the fact that we only ever fucked at my place had started to feel off. In the beginning, I assumed she felt safer that way, although if I was being honest, I hadn’t thought that much about it beyond being happy I didn’t have to put on real pants. Now I wondered if it was because she didn’t want me in her space. Like she was okay with being together as long as we didn’t take our relationship public.
I recognized the spiral. I knew there were big holes in my logic and the irony of not wanting to put on real pants and worrying about Elena thinking I didn’t have real pants. If I didn’t get hold of my head, I could end up in a very bad place. It had been years since I felt like a failure—like the kid who couldn’t pay attention in class and who got the easy things wrong. My work had made it possible to exorcise those demons. Most of them atleast, but rereading the text for the fourth or fifth time seemed to have woken some of them up.
Not that there was anything I could do about it now. Now I had to put on the tux before Mark and Julianna came to pick me up. Mark said my place was on the way, and they’d already gotten a car and driver for the night. I suspected it was really Julianna’s way of making sure I didn’t back out at the last minute. Tossing my phone and the text I didn’t want to think about but couldn’t stop obsessing over on the counter, I went to shower, shave, and put on the offensive clothing.
Imanaged not to fidget my tie loose on the drive, and by the time the town car stopped in front of the building, I’d convinced myself that the night might not be complete torture. Julianna looked beautiful, and Mark looked happy, and they’d both gone out of their way to make my habitually antisocial ass feel comfortable. If I was lucky, there’d be good food to go with the good company. If I was very lucky, I still might get to spend a few minutes with Elena and see her in what I knew would be an amazing dress. Maybe seeing me in a tux would put her mind at ease about my ability to wear appropriate clothing.
Maybe I needed to stop thinking about that right now before I jumped on the spiral again.
My sense of control lasted until the car pulled up to the makeshift red carpet area, and I realized we were going to be expected to walk it and pose for pictures. Or maybe not. No one knew who I was. If I timed things right, I could avoid the entire thing.
Seeing my opportunity, I jumped out of the car and held open the door for Julianna and Mark. As soon as they stepped onto the carpet and the press’s attention was focused on them,I skirted the line and walked behind the photographers yelling questions about designers. I waited for them by the door to the entrance, feeling invisible, which was a thousand times better than feeling awkward. Standing in the shadows, I watched my friend and his wife smile and pose while the camera flashes went off, amazed at how natural they looked.
They were almost through the gauntlet when another town car pulled up to disgorge its glitterati. The driver opened the door, and Elena stepped out, looking gorgeous in some kind of strapless blue dress that showcased her curves but still didn’t do them justice. I knew because I’d had my hands on every one of them. My breath caught in my throat and for a moment, all I could do was stare. Then her date climbed out of the car behind her in what even my fashion-phobic eyes could tell was a custom-made tuxedo.
He stood close to her, his arm wrapped around her waist, his hand resting on her hip in a proprietary way. My fists clenched at my sides, and I had to force myself to relax.
“Mr. Essex, over here. Mr. Essex, how do you like New Orleans? How’s the building coming?”
The photographers bombarded them with questions, while my gaze stayed fixed on Elena. Elena, breathtakingly beautiful, wearing a string of sapphires around her slender throat and her hair fastened away from her face with tiny jewels I could see sparkling from where I stood. Elena, looking like a queen next to her king.
She was with a client. The one she’d asked me to do a favor for. The one who looked like exactly the type of man she belonged with. The hotel developer radiated confidence, the kind that commanded a room, or in this case a red carpet.
“This city is enchanting. I’ve found so many things to love about New Orleans.” His accent was clipped and fast, but it didn’t take any translating to realize he was talking about morethan the city. “Ms. Patrick is facilitating the hotel, which should be completed within the year. I’m grateful for our partnership.” Keeping his arm around her waist, he reached for her hand and raised it to his lips, brushing a kiss over her knuckles and setting off an explosion of flashes.
Or maybe the explosions were in my head. I watched as the woman I’d started to hope was mine—the woman I clearly had no business being with—smiled up at him.
Julianna and Mark joined me as the photographers yelled questions about who designed Elena’s dress.
“That’s John Essex, isn’t it?” Julianna asked, trying to direct Mark’s attention away from me and back to the gala backdrop. “Who is he with?”
“Elena Patrick,” I said, each syllable of her name feeling like a small cut. “She’s one of the most sought-after designers in the city. They’re working together on his boutique hotel.”
There. I’d said the words and my head hadn’t exploded.
“I’m not feeling great.” I deliberately didn’t meet Mark’s gaze. I didn’t want to see the concern and pity I knew would be there. “You all have fun. I’ll find my way home.”
