Later That Night

I stared at my bedroom ceiling, watching shadows move across the ceiling as headlights passed outside my window. It had to be well past midnight. I’d been trying to fall asleep since ten. I was so exhausted I couldn’t move. And somehow wide awake.

Robert. I imagined he was here in my bed. I imagined I hadn’t run from the party tonight, and instead had slipped my hand around his lapel and asked him to come home with me. We’d made love right there on my living room floor the second the door closed. Then we’d cried—and laughed—over the cold leftovers from last night’s takeout. He’d said he loved me.

I’d said it back. Because I believed him. Rob would never get the guarantee that he wouldn’t turn out like Alexander. Just like I’d never get the guarantee that Rob wouldn’t disappoint me again.

I needed to take my own advice and have some Goddamned faith. Maybe it was foolish. Maybe I’d get hurt. But the alternative—being so scared that I stayed in the same place, always—seemed much worse.

I blinked, coming back to the present. I swallowed. Then I grabbed my phone and typed out a text and sent it to Rob, my heart pounding all the while. I didn’t know what it meant or what I intended or what I hoped would happen.

I just knew I had to tell him. Because I couldn’t bear the loneliness on my own anymore.

I miss you.

* * *

I read the three words over and over again until they swam inside my head. My pulse even began to beat in time to them. I. Miss. You.

I considered calling her right then and there. I considered replying to her text with some long-winded confession about how I wanted her so badly it had taken over my life.

What I really wanted to do was hop in my new car and invite myself into her flat and make love to her until next week. But I’d already made the mistake of showing up unannounced.

I wouldn’t be making that mistake again.

Instead, I’d make a grand but thoughtful gesture. At least I hoped to. This was my last chance. I wouldn’t bungle it by rushing or giving in to impulse. As practical as Aly could be, she had a real appreciation for romance. A need for it. Not only had she told me so outright; I’d seen it dozens of times. How she’d blushed the night of Kit and Em’s engagement party when she’d caught me looking at her. How she’d blushed again when I’d caught her looking at me. How her eyes lit up when she took in the stars as we cruised the River Thames. The way her whole being softened—mood and mouth and cunt—in the warm dark water of the Caribbean.

After Aly’d left me standing at the bar earlier tonight, I’d rung up my private secretary, who then connected me to the director of the Victoria & Albert museum. I’d apologized profusely for bothering her so late, but would she be so kind as to consider opening up the forthcoming ‘History of the Dress’ exhibit a few days early for a private tour?

I’d intended that the tour be for Aly and Aly alone. I’d meant to keep my distance, like I’d promised I would. But her text (hopefully) changed everything.

Check your email, I texted Aly. Hope you can make it.

I waited with bated breath for her to reply. Finally:

Oh my God Rob this looks amazing! You’re coming, right?

I let that breath out. Allowed myself a small smile as I typed my response.

Fuck yes.

* * *

The Next Evening

I’d left the office with barely a minute to spare. Hopping on the Tube, I checked my watch about a million times, praying I wouldn’t be late.

It wasn’t every Friday night I got invited to a private tour of The Victoria and Albert’s newest exhibit. Rob hadn’t said what the exhibit was in his email. I’d meant to Google it, but today had been my new assistant’s first day at EP Designs. That, on top of the usual pile of emails, paperwork, and proposals I had to get through, meant I’d hardly had time to pee, much less to dick around on the internet.

Holding on to the handrail above my head, I lurched sideways when the train skidded to a stop. A woman jabbed me in the ribs, trying to get to the doors before they closed.

Ah, the Tube.

But even the Friday night commute—crowded and smelly—couldn’t put a damper on my excitement. I was excited for the exhibit, sure. But really I was excited to see Rob. I hoped it was just the two of us.

I smiled. Gripped the handrail a little tighter. Closed my eyes and sent up another prayer. This one was all about gratitude. Thank you, thank you, thank you for letting Rob be my date tonight. Thank you.

Even if he wasn’t my date—honestly, I didn’t know what he was at this point—at least I wasn’t out with another Gregory. Another Philip. Another guy I wanted to like but didn’t. For the first Friday night in a while, I was going exactly where I wanted to go with exactly who I wanted to be with. I didn’t have to force myself to go. Force conversation or feelings.

It made me feel light as air. My first impulse was to fight that feeling. Question it. But I was too tired to fight it, for one thing. For another, I didn’t really want to. Maybe tonight would be great. Maybe it’d be a bust. Either way, I didn’t want to waste it by fixating on the past or worrying about the future. Right now, I was happy. And I’d stick to that feeling like glue for as long as I could.

I pretty much floated off the Tube despite the seven hundred thousand other people clogging South Kensington station. It was a relief to breeze into the Victoria and Albert and see that the crowds were thinning out, despite the fact that it was open to the public until eleven tonight.

Per the instructions in the second email Rob had sent me today, I went to the ticket counter and gave my name. A docent immediately whisked me down a long marble hallway. He removed the velvet rope in front of a pair of sliding glass doors that were covered on the inside with brown craft paper.

“Madame,” he said, holding out his arm. “We do so hope you enjoy the exhibit. You’re the very first visitor to see it.”

I was so excited—and so nervous, always so nervous and excited when it came to Rob—I could hardly breathe.

“Thank you.” I smiled and stepped through the doors.

The space was cavernous, with soaring ceilings and white walls. There was music playing. Something soft and classical. I caught a glimpse of the entrance to the exhibit. A History of the Dress.

My heart skipped a beat.

Before I could get any further, another docent appeared, this one bearing a flute of champagne.

“I’m allowed to drink in here?” I asked, taking the flute from her.

She winked at me. “Not usually. But we make exceptions for special occasions. Robert is due to arrive presently. We invite you to look around in the meantime.”

Sipping my champagne, I made my way toward the exhibit. My footfalls were loud on the wood floors, echoing off the high ceilings.

I gasped—literally gasped—when the dresses came into view. Each was displayed inside a plexiglass case that you could walk all the way around so you didn’t miss a single detail.

There were dresses of every shape and size. An enormous ball gown with an impossibly small waist and an Elizabethan ruff at the collar. A sparkling flapper dress. A tiny gown of fine white muslin that looked like something straight out of a Jane Austen novel.

As I made my way into the exhibit, I noticed there were green and yellow post-it notes stuck to the glass beside the display cards. Standing in front of the flapper dress, I furrowed my brow and lifted the post it note with my finger. It was scrawled with close but neat handwriting.

A—I imagine you’d wear something like this to a ridiculous themed party Kit and Em would throw.

I bit my bottom lip, smiling. Looked up, expecting to see Rob. But it was still just me in the exhibit.

I headed for the next dress, nursing my champagne. This one was a riding habit from the eighteenth century. The yellow sticky note said This is what you’d wear when I taught you to ride. A horse, I mean. Not me. Although if you wanted to ride me, too, I’d be okay with that.

My smile was getting so big it started to hurt. My throat was thickening, too.

You wouldn’t be wearing this for very long at all. I’d tear it off you, said the note on a Balenciaga mini dress.

My eyes filmed over when I read the message he left on a Grace Kelly-style 1950s evening gown. You’d look so beautiful in this.

“Robert,” I breathed, putting my hand over my mouth.

“Do you like it?”

I startled at the sound of his voice. He stood at the entrance to the exhibit, hands in the pockets of his suit trousers. The display lights caught on his hair and eyelashes. He was looking at me, hard, brow a little puckered. Eyes a little uncertain.

I could. Not. Breathe.

“I love it,” I said. I plucked the sticky note off the plexiglass. “I especially love your notes.”

One side of his handsome mouth kicked up. “I was hoping you might.”

I looked at him. “This is so perfect, Rob. Really. You didn’t have to—”

“I did.” He began to walk toward me. Slowly but confidently. “I do have to try as hard as I can to show you how lovely you are to me. When you were looking at those dresses in the shop window—you said you wanted to be the sort of woman who’d wear them. I need you to know that you’ve always been that woman to me, sweetheart. The ballsy, accomplished, sexy-as-hell woman who knows what she wants and who she is. The one who deserves romance and the happily ever after.”

Tears were streaming down my face now. Rolling down my neck.

Rob knew. Knew who I was and what I wanted and what I dreamed about.

He was making those dreams come true right this very moment.

“But I thought we agreed we didn’t know who we were,” I replied. “Remember? On the boat?”

Rob stopped in front of me. He didn’t touch me, though. Didn’t reach out.

“Of course I remember. I’ve thought a lot about that night. And I want to amend our statement. One of the things I love most about you is your soft heart. You know who you are, Aly. But you also keep an open mind.”

I blinked. “I do?”

“You were willing to keep an open mind about me for far longer than anyone else would have. You were willing to rethink things you thought you knew were true. I learned that from you, sweetheart. I rethought my assumptions. You made me question everything. Well. Almost everything. I never—not once—questioned how I felt about you.”

He held up his hands. “What happens next is up to you. I’m not going to press you. But you know how I feel, Aly. I would give anything”—his voice broke—“to be with you. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“But your heart.” I put my palm on the center of his chest. His tie was silky and warm against my palm. “Your heart was always in the right place, Robert. You’ve got a soft one, too.”

He scoffed, even though his eyes were wet. “A pair of softies, are we?”

“Whatever we are,” I said, “we’re a pair. I wanted to get over you. I won’t lie, Rob—I fought this. But you’re the real deal. More than any other guy will ever be for me.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I need to hear you say it.”

I stepped closer to him. I could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“Yes,” I said simply. “Please, God, yes!”

And then his hands were on my waist and I was jumping into his arms, straddling him with my legs as I kissed him, hard and messy and desperate.

I said yes to us. I said yes to happiness, despite uncertainty. I said yes to now and to him and to myself, too.

This was it. Rob was it. I’d never felt more certain of something—someone—in my entire life. Especially when he kissed me like the world was ending.

At last he pulled back, breathless, his eyes and his hair where I’d run my hands through it a little wild.

“I can’t promise you I’ll be perfect,” he said. “But I do promise to love you as well and as hard as I can, sweetheart.”

Love.

“I’m in love with you, Aly.”

I plucked at his lips with mine. “I love you, too, Robert. And I don’t want perfect. I just want you.”

His smirk returned. So handsome. So him.

“How much of me d’you think you can handle?” he asked, adjusting me on his hips so I could feel him pressing against me. Right there.

Right where I wanted him.

“Not so soft now, are we?” I murmured, grinning.

He laughed. “Can’t help it when I’m around you.”

“Let’s go home,” I said, nodding at the entrance. “As much as I’m enjoying the exhibit, I think I’m going to enjoy you more.”

He cocked a brow. “Home?”

“Your place. Mine. As long as you’re there, it’s home to me.”

Rob may have been hard as a rock between my legs, but his eyes, like his heart, went soft.

“Really?”

I grinned. “Really.”

“Good.” Now his eyes flashed with mischief. “How about some riding lessons, then?”

I nipped at his earlobe. “What are you waiting for?”

He turned around, still holding me at his hips, and took me home.

Home, where our happily ever after began.