“ZIP ME UP,” I coaxed, glancing at Grady over my shoulder. I stared at my reflection falling in love with the dress all over again—a cornflower blue, sleeveless, lace midi. I even found adorable floral print heels and a gorgeous set of off-white baubles for flair.
“Gladly,” he said, stepping into the bathroom. “You look fucking stunning.”
I fluffed the ends of my hair, adding a few more curls with the iron. “I’m not upstaging the bride, am I?”
“That’s a loaded question,” Grady replied, adjusting his silver cufflinks.
Splashing some perfume onto my wrist, I laughed. “Yeah, I know that’s not a fair question to ask. But, I’ve got to say, James, you have a body designed for tailored threads. That navy suit is giving me too many reasons to skip this wedding.”
It was true. I swore he was even more handsome than I’d ever seen. Designer suits, casual jeans and tee, or even a towel, Grady was the epitome of male perfection. I was a lucky girl.
His hands slipped over my shoulders. “This dress is the only reason I need to skip this wedding,” he whispered, his lips drifting up my neck. “Actually, what’s underneath it has me crafting a lengthy list of all the ways to get you out of it.”
I batted his hand away and turned on my heel to face him. “I paid way too much money for this dress to let it sit in a garment bag, but, yeah, you are so getting laid tonight.”
His hands danced over the curve of my hip. “As much as I love the idea of messing you and this dress up, I’m proudly showing you off tonight.”
I laughed. “Remember when this wedding was just part of the original deal?”
“Seems like a lifetime ago,” he replied, banding his arms around my waist.
Grady grasped my hand when the string quartet played Michael Bublé’s “Everything.” We stood as Holliday emerged onto the expertly manicured lawn at the De Belles Estate Vineyard. A vision in an ivory, charmeuse sheath, atelier dress with an illusion beaded v-neckline; the smile on her face had all of us grinning like we’d slept with hangers in our mouths. As Holliday passed our seating row, the back of her custom gown was equally as stunning as the front adorned with jeweled appliqués at the shoulder. The groom was outfitted in a black four-button Prada tuxedo.
I imagined the headlines that would be splashed across the glossy magazines at super markets from coast to coast. Rumor had it that One Park Avenue magazine was the highest bidder for the exclusive wedding photos—price unknown. It had to be more than the $14 million People and Hello! magazines dropped for the exclusive photos of the Jolie-Pitt twins.
No one needed to point out that the groom was absolutely taken with the bride. Everything was beautiful, the couple dropped a cool $100,000 on flowers alone, which may not seem like much, but everything was covered in roses, wisteria, and plenty of greenery, and looked like something out of a true fairytale.
It was dreamy and romantic and we hadn’t even heard the vows, although they were beautiful and poignant. Declarations of love and protection mixed with humorous promises—Holliday vowed to wake Ronan up and urge him to come to bed whenever he fell asleep reading by the fireplace. Ronan promised to start the Christmas festivities as soon as the clock struck midnight on Thanksgiving.
Before we knew it, the ceremony was over. U2’s “All I Want Is You” played as the newlyweds walked down the aisle taking a shot of Irish whiskey and then smashing the glasses to the ground.
Grady snaked his arm around my waist, his lips coasting against the nape of my neck. We made our way towards the terrace for cocktails and hors d’oeuvres.
Dusk fell away to evening and toasts went on forever, but no one seemed to mind because it was more like dinner and a show and that went over well with this crowd.
After Ronan and Holliday completed their first dance, chatter erupted once more and the bubbly flowed.
With the mic in her hand, Holliday stood. She had changed into a cocktail dress adorned with floral appliques along the bodice and sheer long-sleeves. “Okay, so most of you know how Ronan and I met.”
Cheers and applause erupted from the crowd along with whistles and the occasional “Ow, Ow.”
“What you might not know is that our first official fight was not clean,” she admitted, grasping Ronan’s shoulder. “In fact, it was dirty . . . and it involved many shots of Irish whiskey, but Ronan, my love . . . you’ll always be as smooth as Irish whiskey too me and sweet as a chocolate kiss.” She bent to kiss him. “Babe, I have a surprise for you. Ladies and Gentleman,” she shouted and pointed to the left of the stage. “Cash Knight of Rebel Desire.”
Ronan’s face was priceless, all I could make out was—“Oh my God”—when Cash emerged from the Tasting Room stepping onto the terrace plucking the strings of his guitar.
“Could they be any cuter?” I whispered to Grady.
He nodded. “They’re going to be very happy together.”
Even though the bride and groom had long said their goodbyes, the party continued well into the night.
Grady pressed his hand to the small of my back. “Dance with me,” he whispered, kissing just below my earlobe. The rush of bubbles tickled my throat. Breathing in his scent, I pressed my cheek to his shoulder.
The Robertsen’s glided casually across the dance floor laughing and holding each other close. Alex dipped Ella, and then brought her up for spin. Very smooth. Matthew Barber had led Tinley Atkinson to the far side of the dance floor where they swayed to the beat of the music.
With one hand at my back, Grady took me in his arms and we sailed around the dance floor. “When I get married, this would definitely do,” I breathed. “Tasteful and elegant, it’s perfect.”
“I suppose that it is,” he murmured.
“You prefer something different?”
“No, I don’t plan on getting married again,” he said, matter of fact.
Heat spread like wildfire across my skin and my heart slammed into the pit of my stomach. What? He joked about a second marriage earlier this summer. Was he serious about not marrying again?
Reigning in my emotions, I formulated my questions. “So, you don’t want to get married again?”
He pulled back to look at me. “No, I don’t need piece of paper to dictate my love for another person.”
Sharp panic spread through me. His mouth was tender as he brushed his lips over mine, but I couldn’t shake the harshness of his words.
I want to get married.
How could I have not seen this coming?
Maybe, he’s messing with me.
“Ha, ha,” I mused, grasping the lapels of his jacket. “You almost had me there, James.”
We stayed on the dance floor through two more songs. We walked back to our table and I grabbed my clutch. A visit to the ladies’ room was in order.
Grady grasped my elbow. “What I said out there, Harlow, it wasn’t a joke. I don’t intend to marry again.”
My hands flexed around my clutch. “Then, what’s this all been for Grady?”
“What do you mean?”
I knew better, that was the sad part. I was just a distraction to mend his heartbreak, but unable to heal his soul. All along I’d known better than to take up with someone who’d been jilted by love.
“How, I am so stupid, fuck.” My fingers splayed against my forehead. “You let me fall in love with you!”
My heart splintered into a thousand pieces as I stomped down the steps and onto the grass. Grady grasped my arm, spinning me to face him. Those blue eyes pierced through my soul. I loved this man and the shock to my system was too much to bear.
“I didn’t lead you on, Harlow. I love you. I don’t understand why a piece of paper is make or break for us. I’ve been there and trust me it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
We glared at each other under the twinkling lights, the sounds of upbeat music drowning out the ugliness of our tone.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I seethed. “We’re at the wedding of two of your best friends and you have the nerve to stand here and tell me that marriage isn’t worth it?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Marriage isn’t for everyone.”
I threw up my hands. “Marriage is for me, you bastard.” I scowled, pointing my clutch at him. “Keeping the fact that you didn’t want to get married again, isn’t fair to me.”
“So, the fact that I love you,” he said, taking my face in his hands. “That I’m in love with you means nothing?”
Tears slid down my cheeks. “How can it hold any value, if we don’t want the same things?”
He kissed me through the sobs of my tears. “Harlow, please,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to mine. “I love you, please.”
“I can’t, Grady. I want a marriage and a family.” My hands gripped his collar, and my knees buckled. “Falling for you was the easiest thing I’ve done, but its killing me to be near you right now.”
I stormed off with the little dignity I had intact, but the further away I walked from him—from us—the floodgates burst. My heart felt as if it was being ripped from my body, as I rushed to the ladies’ room. Unable to catch my breath, I pushed open the door feeling my chest tighten.
As I held onto the door handle, I blinked the tears from my eyes bringing more focus into the room. I stumbled to the vanity, and dropped to the chair.
Staring at my reflection, I thought to myself that I should be the last fucking person in the world who wanted to get married. My father cheated on my mother, on top that he left her when she was sick. In sickness and in health, it’s part of the vows.
“It’s just a piece of paper.” Dabbing the wetness under my eyes, I swipe away the smudged mascara. “Is it really that important?”
“Yes,” a sweet voice answered.
I stood up and peeked around the room. Ella was sitting on the love seat with Tinley Atkinson. Ella formally introduced me to Tinley and we exchanged the usual small talk, getting all that out of the way.
“In case you’re wondering, we’re hiding out,” Ella said, picking a piece of lint from her skirt.
“Here,” Tinley said, pointing a bottle at me. “You look like you need this more than I do.”
I laughed, it was a miserable laugh. “Thanks,” I replied, lifting the bottle to my lips and swallowing a big gulp.
Ella patted the cushion of the empty seat next to her. “This is the second time I’ve seen you wiping away tears in less than a week.”
“Yeah, instead of auburn hair being my trademark, it seems crying in public wants that label.”
“What did Grady do to you?” Tinley asked, fluffing the ends of her blonde hair.
“Oh, he just told me that he doesn’t plan to ever marry again.”
“Fuck,” Tinley exhaled. “We need something stronger than champagne.”
Ella sighed. “What the hell is the matter with him?”
“Heather Young,” Tinley answered. “She fucked him up and broke his heart.”
“She did,” I admitted, taking another pull from the bottle. “He said marriage wasn’t for everyone—which I understand that it’s not, but it is for me. At least I think that it is.”
Tinley stood and plucked the bottle from my hands. “No, don’t do that, don’t bargain or settle for something based on someone else’s choices.”
Tears welled in my eyes. “He made me fall in love with him. He was . . . is charming and thoughtful.” My words were heralded by a wave of sobs. “What I have with Grady I don’t want with someone else. I want him.” The words echoed around the room, each one hitting me in the chest harder.
Ella leaned forward, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. Tinley bent down in front of me, squeezing my knee and offering me more tissues.
Ella swiped the tears from my chin and handed me the bottle of champagne. “Sweetie, you love him and he’s totally in love with you, maybe he needs time.”
I sniffled, my gaze darting between the two of them, my hands wringing the tissues. “He seemed pretty firm in his decision.”
The three of us stood and I attempted to pull myself together. I loved Grady that was true enough, and maybe that in itself was enough.
“Clooney said he’d never marry again,” Tinley pointed out, slicking her lips with a blushing pink color. “Look at him now, married and a father.”
Ella stood, and joined Tinley at the vanity. “That’s true. People change their minds as fast as they change their underwear.”
“That would imply that I would be waiting for something that might never happen,” I argued, swiping the bottle from the vanity.
Eyeing me in the mirror, Ella arched an eyebrow. “You could always marry that ex of yours. He apparently wants to marry you.”
I laughed. “I’m not looking to get married anytime soon. I know that marriage doesn’t guarantee a forever. It’s the work that you put in day in and day out, and a combination of love, respect, trust, friendship, and understanding. I think it’s about making the other person happy and vice versa.”
“I get it,” Tinley said. “It’s the little things in life that really are what love is all about.”
We exited the bathroom and I knew that I couldn’t face Grady, not tonight any way. I needed time to think and I didn’t have the strength for a counter-argument. This had to be a world record for heartbreak twice in less than five months. It was a special kind of hell being a hopeless romantic stuck in a hookup culture.
“Aren’t you coming, Harlow,” Ella asked.
“No, I’m just going to catch an Uber and call it a night.”
Tinley marched up to me. “You are not taking an Uber,” she disagreed, pulling her phone from her clutch. “I’m calling my driver, Anthony. He will take you home or anywhere you want.”
I nodded, wrapping my arms around my body. The chill of the evening air danced over my skin. As we stood waiting, my eyes drifted back to the terrace and the vineyards. Was Grady still out there or had he gone home? This wasn’t at all how I saw this evening ending.
The limo pulled around, and Tinley instructed Anthony to take me anywhere that I wanted.
“Harlow, hey, where are you going?” I whirled around to see Grady bounding down the stone steps towards me. Shaking her head, Ella stopped him in his tracks. He skidded to a halt, his blue eyes met mine. By the look passing over his face, I could tell that Ella had instructed him to let me go. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I turned away from his gaze blinking back tears. My legs vibrated as I climbed into the limo. The weight of the evening and the entire summer started to crush me. The sobs grew stronger as I dropped into the seat sinking lower.
“I still can’t believe the two of you are married,” Tiffany squealed, unfolding her napkin.
“Yeah, sometimes I can’t either,” Afton admitted, snuggling into Nicholas’ side.
“In my wildest dreams, I don’t know how I got so lucky to find this woman,” he said, giving Afton a chaste kiss on the lips.
“The lobster salad here is terrific,” I said, interrupting their love fest. My mood was sour. Afton and Nicholas chose Nancy’s Diner as this Sunday’s weekly brunch spot. It was much too soon to be brunching with the newlyweds.
Tiffany babbled on, recapping their love story. Afton and Nicholas bumped into each other at Eataly in Chicago. She was in town on business and he was out having dinner with friends. Blah. Blah. Shut up.
“It was the one night,” Nicholas chimed in, “that I had off in weeks and it was good luck this lady was sitting at a table by herself.”
“No, it was painfully embarrassing,” she said, picking up her menu. “You rescued me from being gawked at as if I was a sad, single woman eating alone. I hate being a cliché.”
My eye rolled into the back of my skull. I had heard this story at least five times in various narratives. Over it.
I needed to get my hands on a margarita rimmed with salt to compliment my salty mood.
“Tara had been an excellent cover during Pour Fest,” Nicholas boasted.
“A year and a half of dating, and Harlow never suspected a thing.” Tiffany stated, flipping her menu over.
Nicholas shook his head. “Nope, but then again, Harlow was in Europe for the majority of our relationship.”
“We were almost busted the morning after, when I was in the kitchen,” Afton recalled, gripping her coffee mug with both hands. “I’ll spare you the details, but my back bumped against the light switch . . .”
Gasping, Tiffany covered her mouth with her hands. “That’s when Harlow texted and asked if you were making coffee.”
They nodded in unison. Nicholas kissed her cheek. “I knew that weekend that I wanted to marry her.”
“So cute,” Tiffany gushed, resting her chin on her palm.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s a cute story. Can we please order?”
Our server had been by our table at least three times, but we were still chatting and hadn’t had the time to “make a decision.” Only, I had made a decision, food wise anyway. I wanted the French toast with a side of crispy bacon. All other decisions outside this moment were minute by minute, day by day.
I needed to hurry this brunch along and get the hell out of here before Nancy, or worst yet Grady, spotted me. I wasn’t ready to face him. On the way to the diner, I tried to come up with at least half a dozen excuses to bail. However, with Tiffany home from Yale, and given the fact that this was the last weekend of the summer season, it felt wrong to cancel. My mood would have been improved if Nancy’s served booze. Could you really call it brunch if Mimosas and Bloody Marys weren’t involved?
“So, Harlow, how’s the business going?” Nicholas asked.
I plastered a smile. “Wonderful, just really great.”
Afton cut me a narrow glance and I chose to ignore her.
Our server skirted up to the table and before she asked, I rattled off my order. “It will be one check,” I added. “On them.” I nodded towards the lovebirds across the booth.
After our server walked away, Nicholas leaned across the table. “I want to talk to you about selling Mom’s place in the city.”
“Okay, let’s chat.”
“We don’t have to do this in front of them.”
“Why not?” I lifted a shoulder. “She’s your wife and Tiffany is your sister-in-law now. Um, hello they’re family.”
Nicholas raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine with me,” he said, blowing out a harsh breath. “Since Afton has a place in Manhattan, there’s no need for us to hold onto Mom’s.”
I tapped my finger to the table. “I disagree. You two are married and that’s fine if you want to keep a place in the city, but when I come to visit or if I want a getaway where would I stay?”
“With us,” Afton replied brightly.
“No thanks, I like my space,” I grumbled.
“Sorry, I mentioned it,” Afton said, before taking a sip of her coffee.
“It’s just that,” I began, ripping the edges of my napkin. “What if I get married and my husband doesn’t have a place in the city? I think it might be nice to have the family home option—it’s a lovely place for holiday gatherings.”
Nicholas shook his head, draping his arm over the back of the booth. “And when exactly was the last time you were there?”
I’d stayed there for a few days when I returned from Italy, but I didn’t tell anyone. I spent the first few days lying in my mom’s bed ordering takeout, watching episodes of 13 Reasons Why and Frontier. When I felt the urge to do more than be a slug, I went through Mom’s closet trying on her vintage Halston and Dior couture gowns.
As the week progressed, I spent time ripping my father’s face out of several photographs while listening to Beach Boys records and drinking red wine from our mother’s private collection. When Trudy, my mom’s longtime personal secretary stopped by to let the cleaning crew in, she found me face down on the sofa in nothing but my underwear. Mortified didn’t even begin to describe my state of mind. That’s when I cleaned up, packed up, and called Afton.
“Before I took up residence in Afton’s guest house,” I replied. “I dropped in, and happened to see Trudy.”
There was a long silence, and then our server re-appeared refilling coffee mugs and water glasses.
Nicholas cleared his throat. “About that, you staying in my wife’s . . . our guest house. Have you found a permanent place of residence yet?”
Afton’s eyes went wide. It was the kind of expression that told me they’d discussed the subject, but at the same time, she wasn’t ready to call attention to the matter.
“Nicholas,” Afton nudged his arm. “Harlow can stay as long as she wants.”
I slapped my hands to the table. “Actually, Afton, your husband brings up a good point. I should be getting a place of my own. In fact, there are several open houses this afternoon for properties I’m particularly interested.” I slid out of the booth and dropped twenty dollars onto the table. “For my part of the tip, I hate being a mooch. And I’m not selling Mom’s place, but I’ll buy you out, since you’re so very eager to unload that property.”
“Harlow, wait, come back,” Afton called after me.
Waving her off, I walked out of Nancy’s with my head held high. On the inside though, I felt as if someone had taken my heart, tossed it into a blender and pressed crush.