As my eyes adjusted to the transition from the bright garden to the cool, dim living room, I stopped a maid and asked if she’d seen a woman in a linen suit. She pointed toward a bathroom at the end of the hall. The door was slightly ajar.
I pushed it open. Kelsey was there, her blazer in hand, frantically trying to scrub the wine from the delicate fabric.
"I'm... sorry about the blazer," I murmured. She turned off the faucet, the silence that followed feeling heavy and electric. She stared at me, her green eyes burning into mine with an intensity that made my skin prickle.
"I understand why you did it, Megan," she said, and the sound of my name, not a nickname, but my name, felt like a physical ache. "But God... I miss you so much." She leaned heavily against thesink, dropping her head as if the weight of the confession was too much to bear.
Hesitantly, I took a single step into the room. "Don't say that to me. Not if nothing is going to change." I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe as a final, pathetic line of defense.
"You have no idea how terrified I am," she whispered, her voice cracking. "The thought of them using us, using this, to destroy the life you’ve worked for... it haunts me, Kitty."
She turned fully toward me. I knew I should retreat; we were inches apart now, and the air between us was thick with a year and a half of unspent longing.
"And your solution is for me to pretend we never happened?" I challenged.
Kelsey didn't answer with words. She reached out, grabbed my arm, and pulled me inside, kicking the door shut with a decisive click.
"Don't talk shit," she hissed, her face inches from mine. "Of course it happened. It was everything. But the risk to your career..."
"To hell with it," I breathed. The scent of her, the real, unmasked scent of the woman I loved, overwhelmed my senses. My pride buckled. I reached out, my arms finally finding their home around her shoulders, pulling her into me.
"What if I want to risk it?" I challenged, my gaze locked onto hers, searching for any sign of the woman who used to be my partner in everything.
"I wouldn’t let you. I wouldn’t even ask you to make that choice," she whispered. Closing that door had been a catastrophicmistake. Kelsey reached out, her fingers tangling in my hair as she tossed my hat aside. "But I can't help telling you how much I’ve missed you."
Before I could protest, I was pinned against the cool tile of the wall. Her hands claimed me with a possessive, bone-deep grip, and her mouth crashed into mine with a desperate urgency. Our tongues met in a feverish tangle, hungry, aching, and raw from a year and a half of starvation.
My nails dug into the fabric of her shirt, scratching her back with a ferocity that matched the storm in my chest. A low, broken moan escaped me when she caught my lower lip between her teeth, pulling slowly until I was lightheaded.
Her hands slid down, tracing the line of my thighs before pulling me flush against her.
Just as the world began to blur, I found a spark of clarity. I shoved her back toward the opposite wall, my chest heaving, my hand raised like a shield.
"I can't do this," I gasped, my voice trembling with rage. "I can’t do this only to be ignored by you the second we leave this room."
Kelsey reached out, her expression a mask of longing, but I dodged her touch and snatched my hat from the floor. I felt the burn of tears behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of her.
"Kitty, wait," she pleaded.
I raised my index finger, a sharp, silent reproach as I gripped the door handle. "You don't have that right to call me like this anymore."
I left her there, looking stunned and breathless, as I fumbled to put my hat back on. I fled up the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs, and collapsed against a stone pillar to catch my breath.
Donald found me almost immediately. He didn't ask questions; he just pulled me into a silent, steady embrace. It was the anchor I needed to dry my eyes and reclaim my posture. I tried to apologize, to explain, but he silenced me with a gentle look.
"Later, Megs," he whispered. "We’ll talk later."
We spent the rest of the afternoon tethered to one another. I felt Kelsey’s gaze like a physical heat, watching us, her glass never empty, her eyes dark with a discomfort she couldn't entirely mask.
I was just as unsettled. The memory of that bathroom encounter was a loop I couldn't break; I could still feel the phantom pressure of her hands claiming me, even as Donald held me close for the crowd.
Our paths crossed in the shifting circles of conversation. A few times, our fingers brushed, an almost unconscious magnetism, as she lingered near Donald’s friends. Kelsey was, and always would be, my favorite drug. My most exquisite sin.
But as much as I hated it, her logic was sound. The risk was real.
As dusk bled into a vivid sunset, the theater reached its crescendo. Donald dropped to one knee in front of fifty guests, his expression a masterpiece of sincerity.
"Meg," he began, his voice carrying across the silent garden. "When our lives crossed paths again, I knew I could never let yougo. Today, in front of our friends and family, I want to ask: will you marry me?"
