Chapter 28

I stared at Bianca in the mirror. She was still talking to me. But over the sound of the automatic hand-dryer, just a couple feet away, I could hardly hear a thing.

I turned around to face her. "Excuse me?" I said.

She raised her voice. "I was saying," she said in a voice of overblown patience, "that if you're going to be so sulky, you might as well give me back my dress."

"Hey, you were the one who begged me to take it," I said. "Remember?"

She lifted her chin. "That was then. This is now."

I glanced down at the dress I'd borrowed. "You want it back?" I said. "Fine by me." At this point, I hardly cared. Besides, I was leaving anyway.

She wrinkled her nose. "Not after you've sweated in it."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah. That's me. Sweaty."

"You said it. Not me."

I gave her a hard look. "So what are you being paid to do, exactly?" I said. "Other than hassle me, I mean."

"You wouldn’t understand."

"Oh yeah? Try me."

Earlier, she'd called herself an event planner. If we were on friendlier terms, I would have loved to hear more about her career. Did she, like me, have a degree in hospitality management? Or had she come up the ranks a different way?

"Well, tonight," she said, "I'm apparently being paid to wear your hand-me-downs and suck up to your ex-boyfriend." She made a sound of disgust. "I can't believe I went to college for this."

"Why are you so hostile to me?" I said. "I never did anything to you."

She made a point of looking down at her – correction, my – schoolmarm dress. "Are you sure about that?" she asked.

"Hey, that wasn't my doing," I said.

She gave me a dubious look. "Right."

"And besides," I said, "you're the one who picked that thing out."

I didn't even know why I was bothering. She'd sabotaged me. She'd lied to me. She'd probably do worse if I ever let down my guard.

Stepping back, she cocked her head to give me a good, long look. Suddenly, her face lit up. "Oh my God," she said. "I just figured out what your problem is."

"Oh yeah?" I said in a bored tone. "What's that?"

She gave a little laugh. "You thought that kiss was real. Didn't you?"

Before the question died on her lips, my face was already warm. Still, I made myself say, "What kiss?"

"Awww, that's so cute," she said. "You did." She pursed her lips. "Jake's gonna love that."

I almost wanted to slap her. But instead, I stepped toward her and hissed, "Did you come in here for a reason? Or just to give me a hard time?"

"Actually," she said, glancing toward a stall. "I was in here already." She smiled. "Your lucky day, huh?"

On the nearby wall, the automatic dryer suddenly stopped, leaving the restroom a whole lot quieter. Slowly, I realized that no one else was speaking. I glanced around. So did Bianca. One girl – a cute blonde in a blue micro-dress – was staring openly in our direction. But she wasn't staring at me. She was staring at Bianca.

Bianca gave her an annoyed look. "What are you looking at?" Bianca said.

The girl glanced down at Bianca's dress. "Your costume," she said. "Are you like, part of the show or something?"

Bianca's gaze narrowed. "What show?"

"I dunno. Isn't there some historical reenactment or something? I mean, it is a museum, right? Are you like playing a prairie lady?"

Bianca glared at her. "Do I look like a prairie lady?"

"Yeah. Kind of," the girl said.

"Well I'm not!" Bianca said.

"Jeez, you don't have to be all snippy about it," the girl said, "I was just asking."

I couldn’t help it. I snickered.

Bianca whirled toward me. "What are you laughing about?" she said. "It's your dress."

"Not anymore." I gave an exaggerated eye-roll. "Not after you've sweated in it."

Through clenched teeth, Bianca said, "I am not sweaty."

I leaned forward and gave a little sniff. "Are you sure?"

"Oh grow up," she muttered, turning toward the door. "That's it. I'm outta here."

She'd gotten just a few feet before whirling back around toward me. "And just for the record," she said, "This dress sucks! There! Are you happy now? If you wore this thing in New York, they'd mug you for the fun of it. And you'd deserve it. When I get home tonight, I'm gonna burn it." Her voice rose. "And send Jake the bill!"

She turned away and wrenched open the ladies room door.

"Don't bother!" I called out. "He already paid for it! Remember?"

Did she hear me? I had no idea. I glanced around the rest room. Everyone was staring. Now, with Bianca gone, the only person actually being stared at was me. "Um, sorry about that," I muttered. Without bothering to dry my hands, I dashed toward the door and plunged through it.

Outside, Jake was still waiting in the same exact spot. He must have seen Bianca leaving, but he didn't say a word, and neither did I.

Besides, what was there to say?

He took my soggy hand in his and started leading me toward the main entrance. By the time we snaked our way through the crowd and out of the building, the car was already waiting.

Jake opened the rear passenger side door and motioned for me to climb in. I settled myself into the center spot and waited for him to push the door shut and send me on my way.

He didn't. Instead, he climbed inside and settled himself beside me.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

He gave me a curious look. "Getting into the car."

I glanced toward the museum. "But don't you want to stay?"

He pulled the car door with a decisive thud. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because," he said, "you're not staying."

"Oh," I said. "Is it because you don't want me at your place? You know, without you there to keep an eye on things?"

"I don't know," he said. "Are you planning to rob the place?"

I glanced again toward the museum. "But what about Bianca?"

"Last I heard, she's calling a cab."

"Really? When did you hear that?"

"Five minutes ago."

I winced. "Sorry about that."

He gave a soft chuckle. "Don't be. I'm paying for it."

"Oh. Well, um, sorry about that too."

As we pulled away from the curb, I watched through the car window as the museum slid out of view. It should have been an amazing night. In truth, it had been an amazing night, right up until the moment it wasn't.

Inside the car, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. I didn't feel like making small talk, and I sure as hell didn't feel like discussing anything of importance. The motion of the car, all that champagne, the pure exhaustion, it was all taking its toll.

I hadn't even danced with him. I should have danced with him. But stupidly, I'd thought there was plenty of time. I'd been wrong.

And now, I'd probably never get to dance with him. Too bad too, because I'd been dreaming of that since I'd been seventeen. Tired of thinking about the present – or heaven forbid, my uncertain future – I settled back to think about the past.