Thankfully, she doesn’t notice, not with my shield up high and tight, not with my beingon,my face perfectly trained to be sweet and serene at all times when I’m WillaStone. I just guess I never realized that the shield wasn’t just hiding a lonely, scared woman, unsure of who she is or what she really, truly wanted.
It also hid a girl who had never felt like enough.
“Maybe—” I start, but her eyes are already locked on something in the distance, her focus no longer on me.
“I have to go, I think I see the event coordinator, and I have some questions for her. But have Jackie call me, will you? We need to have lunch soon.”
“I’d like that, I–”
“Tell her that I’m free on Wednesday, will you? I can’t wait to catch up and hear about her new client. Chris, I think his name is?” My stomach churns as I realize she doesn’t want Jackie to schedule a lunch withme. “And I think my assistant will bereaching out soon, with your new album coming out, we’d love backstage passes for an auction.”
Even with the shield, I know my smile is brittle.
“Of course,” I say with a nod, my voice weak even to my own ears, but she doesn’t notice.
She never does.
“Kisses!” Then she’s off, following someone else and arguing about place settings or timing or something else…I don’t know, as I’m left here, baffled.
It’s another reminder, sharp and cruel, of things I’ve long ignored. Slights that ached for years, but I never had any reason to question, not when they always fit into what I thought I was allowed to have, the expectations that I had created for my life.
I had my career, and that was enough. Asking for anything more was selfish. Ungrateful.
Tonight, though, everything seems a little less easy to brush off.
Because Leo and Hallie and Nat and Wren and all of Holly Ridge showed me that it was okay to want—no,demand—more from my life and not feel bad when I do.
Wren, Hallie, and Nat, who dropped everything on a moment’s notice more than once for silly things like helping me move or getting me ready for my first date, never expecting anything in exchange. They just did it because we were friends and they’re kind. On the other hand, here I am, dropping everything to help out my mom, who can’t seem to find it in her to spend more than two minutes talking to me.
That now-familiar heartache, that longing for a home I have only known for three months, scores deep inside me again, the pain throbbing, raw, and persistent. It’s another reminder that I desperately need to restructure my priorities.
As I contemplate that, Gabe leads me to a room where I am supposed to relax until it’s time for me to walk the red carpet. Tokill time, I reply to a text from Leo about thoughts on the kind of cabinets we should look at for the kitchen redo, then wade into the group chat where Nat and Hallie are arguing about whether a garter toss is tacky. Hallie is strongly opposed, citing thatJesse’s daughter will be present,while Nat says it’s a tradition that cannot be ignored. Wren and I try to find a compromise, and somehow we’re headed towards Nat picking a lucky single guy to take offhergarter, when I’m interrupted by the door opening. I begin to stand, but then sit down with an eyeroll when Chris pops his head in.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, irritated. I’d been able to push away my frustration with Chris after some space, a conversation with Leo, and chatting with my friends, but it seems the merelookof the man brings my irritation right back to the surface in an instant.
“What, you’re not going to let your boyfriend in?”
“You’re not my boyfriend, Chris,” I say, but he ignores that, stepping fully into the room and closing the door behind him. I watch with utter irritation as he moves through the room like he owns the place, then pulls a chair up across from me and sits in it. He's in a perfectly fitted black tux, his hair tamed and his face cleanly shaven. I can see the appeal, of course; he might be an asshole, but I can’t say the man isn’t good-looking.
Still, having him here makes me uneasy, especially with the way he’s smiling at me.
“You’re right. I’m not your boyfriend,” he says, sitting back, legs spread, and looking me over like he has some kind of claim to my body. He nods with approval at what he sees, and an uneasy chill moves through me. “Because I’m about to be your fiancé.”
A beat passes.
Two, even as I take in his face, the smug grin on his lips, the way he is sprawled in the chair like he’s on a photo shoot.
Finally, I let out a laugh. A loud one, because what he’s saying is, in fact, funny.
Unfortunately, he isn’t smiling.
Instead, he expands. “At dinner tonight, right before the auction begins, I’m going to stand up to toast your mother’s charity work. Then, I’m going to propose to you,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow at him.
“And you’re going to be blasted on every single tabloid and social media channel when I say no. That will be pretty embarrassing for you. I don’t know how that actually works in your favor, breaking up this early. I don’t think that we’ve really done all the work to rehab your image just yet.”
“I won’t be embarrassed,” he says.
