24
Jealousy
The jealous are troublesome to others, but a torment to themselves.— William Penn
OFTEN CONFUSED WITH ENVY, jealousy is one of the worst emotions one can experience. Envy and jealousy are completely different emotions, opposites actually. Envy is wanting what someone else has, whereas jealousy is worry that what you already have might be taken away. Envy is something everyone feels — we all covet happiness, confidence, and beautiful things. As long as we don’t hate people for having the things we covet, we are perfectly healthy.
The green monster rears its ugly head when you truly care about something or someone. When that someone or something is crucial to your happiness and the possibility of someone else stealing it from you can literally drive you insane.
Jealousy, the romantic kind, the possessive kind, is a selfish, narcissistic emotion. It’s about wanting the coveted person or thing all to yourself. It’s about not wanting to share. It’s about wanting to be the only object of someone’s desire. It’s about being adored above everyone else, and wanting to be at the top. It’s a competitive emotion, an ugly emotion.
Jealousy is not unlike refusing to forgive. The only person you are hurting with jealousy is yourself.
Oscar and I clearly care for each other deeply. The thought of losing each other is a scary thing, hence the jealousy. The idea of him being jealous of Matt pulls at my heart strings, and arouses me, as much as I hate to admit it. It means he cares. It means I mean the world to him.
I’ve never considered myself a particularly jealous or hurtful person. But jealousy will make you do crazy things. Purposely trying to make someone else jealous is deceitful. It is a test of sorts. It is a way of testing whether someone cares enough. If they are consumed with jealousy, then they care. Bingo!
Oscar and I have been driving each other crazy, attempting to make each other jealous, testing each other. I know all this business with Sophie is a test. He cares and he wants to make sure I care too. He wants to see it with his own eyes.
Adults play the silliest games when they’re in love.
* * *
I really wantto speak to Matt or Nicole. I want to know the plan. This needs to go downtonight.The ceremony is Thursday. I check my watch — we officially have about a day and a half to stop this wedding.
We must focus, I think as I dig my fork into the chocolate mousse. It is mouth-watering. It’s kind of hard to concentrate while I’m eating this slice of heaven. I decide to savor and enjoy the mousse,thenI’ll turn my focus to relationship destruction.
Buzzed brains, full stomachs and happy hearts, we all retreat to Mark’s and Mom’s suite up on the top floor. Oscar is saying something in Sophie’s ear, and Mark and Mom are chatting and laughing. Nicole and I make small talk about the venue and how amazing it is.
We board the elevators in two separate groups. Thankfully, Oscar and I are separated. “We’ll have to have a good look around the suite when we first get there,” I tell Nicole.
She nods. “I am sure there are all kinds of secret spots there,” she says in her lightly broken English, a sly grin on her face. My sister eyes her with a confused expression.
The space is amazing, and huge. It’s wide and open, and there’s a spiral stairwell leading to a second floor. I’m surprised by the contemporary sleek decor, so unlike the dining room’s traditional look. As soon as we step in, Nicole and I venture through the space like giddy new homebuyers at a house showing.
There are multiple gathering areas; a small table and four mahogany chairs, upholstered in orange fabric. Lots of orange accents all around. There’s a full scale bar with a barkeep hired for the evening. There are two friendly ladies, dressed in black and white, milling about.
Tall windows surround the space, offering a magnificent view of the city and the Eiffel tower. The sun has already set and the glittering lights are dancing — it’s electric. Such a beautiful, perfect night. Too bad Nicole and I will have to ruin it. The patio doors lead to a lovely balcony, trimmed with red flowers.
Nicole and I wander around, down the hall, where we find a washroom and a secluded library. A large imposing desk dominates the room. The walls are lined with classic books, all of them French, or so it seems. “This is perfect,” I say to Nicole.
“I don’t know,” she says. “We might be better upstairs. I think that is where the bedrooms are.”
“True,” I agree as I study her; her long dark hair, false lashes, the slimming black dress with a long slit along the side showing off her perfectly toned legs and black peep-toe stilettos — the woman is sex-on-heels. I’ve heard Parisian women have great legs because they walk everywhere. If she can’t seduce Mark, nobody can.
“I will let Mark decide,” she tells me.
“So how will all this go down?” I ask, curious.
She cocks a brow in confusion.
“I mean… how will you do it? How will everything happen?”
“Oh, well, I will text him a little later and ask him to meet me.”
“Sounds easy.”
She smiles. “Oh, it is. Men are such horny bastards, they only think with their penises. You can make them do anything if you promise them sex.”
