He glances through the windshield and then back at me. “Sosie, I need this to be crystal clear for you. We are what other couples dream of being. We’re both extremely attractive . . .” My eyes go wide just as the car pulls to the curb. “We were born into enviable families of wealth and means. We like each other?—”
“Not like that.”
His lips press together so hard that they lose color. He takes a breath. “You will come to love me.”
The valet opens the door before I can get another word in edgewise. I’m not sure what to even say to that anyway. If I’m not careful, I’ll take it as a threat, and I know he wouldn’t threaten me. As soon as I land on the sidewalk, I look back at him as he climbs out of the car. Would he?
No.Surely not.
He’s not like my father. It’s one of the things I’ve always appreciated about Gregory. He’s a nice guy. And I still have free will, even if I lose access to my family’s money. Trying to give him the benefit of the doubt as we walk to the door of the restaurant, I reply, “Love can’t be forced.”
Just inside the warmth of the busy restaurant, I loosen the belt of my coat. He slides it from my shoulders and hands it to the coat check before we start through the maze of tables to where our parents are already waiting. He stops me by the arm just before we reach them, and I turn back. He says, “It doesn’t need to be forced. I promise to love you enough for us both.” His chin raises, and a huge smile appears. “Hello,” he greets our parents as if he didn’t just tell me that he doesn’t care if I love him if he gets to be with me.
What in the world is happening?
Cold fingers wrap around my bare arm, and I whip my head to see my mom. “What are you doing? Come to the table.”Heaven forbid, I embarrass her . . .
I go to the empty seat and sit down between Gregory and his father like I’m a Lafoon now.Am I being difficult? Making something from nothing?I exhale a breath, hoping my bad mood leaves with it. Until I’m situated into my better-suited self, I put on a fake smile and pull the cloth napkin across my lap while pleasantries are exchanged. “You look so pretty tonight, Sosie,” his mother says, leaning into her husband as if it’s a secret no one else can hear. “Your dress reminds me that I need an outfit for New Year’s Eve. It’s so festive.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Lafoon.” I glance down at my dress as if I’d forgotten what I was wearing. I loved it the moment I tried it on—metallic threads running through it make it shine, the neckline and spaghetti straps highlight the span across my collarbone where a tennis necklace would have become the star, if I had one. I adore the ease of the A-line that isn’t going to show that I ate more than a few morsels today. I feel pretty, making my confidence bloom.
It's been so long since I felt good about myself that it’s nice to sit inside this state of mind for a while.
Clasping her hands together, she adds, “Your new hair color really suits you. Gregory always did have a weakness for blondes.” She winks at him as if they’ve discussed this before.Yuck.
“Thank you,” I reply again, not really wanting to be the center of our parents’ attention. Dropping my gaze to the menu in front of me, I tap the seafood section. “I’m thinking, the shrimp risotto.”
My father clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “We’ll start with wine or . . .” He glances at Gregory. “Or should we order champagne?”
As if I don’t even exist in the space beside him, his eyes stay forward on my father. “That’s a good idea.”
“That’s settled,” my father replies as he signals for the server.
Out-of-body experiences usually happen because of something life-threatening, but my hypervigilance has kicked in at one of the nicest restaurants in Manhattan, where I’m being offered champagne like I’m about to be gutted. It’s safe to assume I’m not in physical danger, but I’m not so convinced that I won’t be harmed in other ways.
While my dad orders, I overhear my mom say, “I was telling her how darling that shade of blond would look on her.”
Mrs. Lafoon raves quietly, “It does. It’s her color.”
My mom’s smile is genuine and filled with pride as if she constructed her own Bride of Frankenstein by piecing me together just for Gregory. The pieces come together like a puzzle as I stare at the two of them. As disbelief scrapes at my stomach, I remember how my mom had the stylist change the color when they stepped away. When my hair was dry, it was at least three shades lighter than what I had chosen.
Fisting my napkin, I slowly turn my head to the side to look at Gregory. I know he doesn’t care about my hair. Why would he? If he did, he would have made it known long before now. I’ve had all colors, including streaks running through it, and he never said anything. So before I jump to conclusions that he's colluding with my mother, I take a beat.
He looks at me, and his smile reaches his eyes. “I really do like your hair. It’s the perfect color on you.”
“Because that’s your type?” My stomach churns. I feel sicker by the second. “What I want doesn’t matter because I’myourtype. How was I this blind?” I push back in the chair, tossing my napkin on the table, and stand.
“What are you doing, Sosie?” he asks, standing as well.
I cup the base of my neck as I stagger to inhale another breath. “I can’t breathe in here. With you or them. God, I need to leave.”
“For air?”
“Yes. And you.” I slide my hand lower, flattening my palm, feeling my heart thunder in my chest. “I can’t perform this charade of a relationship anymore or live like this.”
He’s shaking his head. “What are you talking about, Sosie?” I see the way he glances nervously at others as if I’m revealing some great secret. Maybe I am. Do they really not see how miserable I am? Can they not tell this isn’t real between Gregory and me? Is everybody that blind to reality, or are we just too good of actors for them to see the truth? “You can’t leave.”
My head jerks back. “What do you mean I can’t?” I slip out from the chair that had trapped my legs and wedge around the back into an opening to escape. “I can’t do this anymore.”
