CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
James looks like The Bachelor right before a rose ceremony. There has been a constant stream of women grouped around him from the time Lacy led him away to get a drink until now. As soon as one woman manages to claim his attention, another one works up the courage to whisk him away. I watch the scene unfold from afar, sipping on my second flute of champagne and pretending to bid on silent auction items with Ellie.
“Do you think I should bid on this purse?” she asks, testing whether or not I’ve been listening to her.
I say yes without looking at it. I’m too busy narrowing my eyes as yet another woman in a clingy gown touches James’ arm and titters like a little schoolgirl. I recognize her. I’m pretty sure she’s a news reporter—yes, a local weather girl. Shouldn’t she be off chasing a storm or something?
“But the bidding is already up to $85,000,” Ellie points out.
“Oh, crazy,” I say, sounding about two percent interested.
The weathergirl inches closer and drapes her hand casually on his arm. In doing so, she manages to edge a few women out of the group, and I start to see red. Clearly James hasn’t been lacking for company since I left for Spain. If this is any indication of how he’s spent the last year and a half, I’m surprised he even still remembers my name.
“I’ve got a forecast for you: cloudy with a chance of skanks,” I mumble grumpily.
“What was that?” Ellie asks.
I turn my back to him. “Nothing.”
She smiles, clearly pleased with her role as firsthand witness to my outrage. “You should just go talk to him.”
“Oh okay, Ellie. What a good idea. Do you think I should just get in line behind the blonde? Or how about the curvy brunette that could balance a champagne glass on her ass à la Kim K?”
She wraps her arm around my shoulder and tugs me into her side. “I wasn’t kidding about what I said earlier. He still loves you. He asks me about you all the time.”
I jerk away in surprise. “What do you mean?”
She shrugs and continues down the line of auction items. “Every time our paths cross at Twin Oaks, he asks how you’re liking Spain, if you’ll be returning to the States any time soon, that sort of thing.”
This is news to me. I told Ellie I didn’t want any James updates, but this is different. This is something she should have told me!
“AND,” I stress. “What do you say?!”
She leans down and studies a diamond ring that is currently going for $74,000, staring intently like she’s actually going to bid on the thing.
“Ellie!”
She stands and waves away my obvious panic. “Oh, right. I tell him you’re loving life over there and you never want to come home.”
I straighten my shoulders. “Good. Yeah, that’s what you should tell him.”
“I even tell him about all the Spanish men you have after you.”
I reach out and grip her shoulders, spinning her around until she’s facing me. “Why would you say that?!”
Her blue eyes, a pair that match my own, are so large and vulnerable that for a second, I forget I’m supposed to be mad at her.
“Because it’s the truth,” she says defensively.
Still, she had no business telling him that. I just assumed that since she wasn’t giving me updates about James, she wasn’t giving him updates about me either. Clearly, I was wrong.
Her eyes narrow at a sight just behind me before she unravels a conspiratorial smile. “Come on, sis. I’m thirsty.”
We both have champagne, and I point that out as she drags me after her, but that doesn’t stop her from leading us to the bar where James is currently waiting in line. There are half a dozen other bars in the ballroom, two of which were in between where we stood at the silent auction and this one. To anyone watching, it’s obvious that we darted across to room to get in line behind him, but hopefully no one is studying our actions that closely. If they are, they probably also saw me pick some spinach out of my teeth using my phone’s camera five minutes ago.
James isn’t alone; Weathergirl still clings to his side like a low-pressure storm system. Lacy is probably seething with jealousy. Me, on the other hand? I’m busy coming up with more weather-based insults in my head.
“James,” Ellie says, tapping him on the shoulder and drawing his attention so he turns and finds us standing there. “So good to see you. I didn’t get the chance to say hi earlier before Lacy started ordering you around. Boy, she can be a real bear sometimes, right?”
With her tone, she makes it seem like it was a happy coincidence that we got in line behind him, but James is too smart for that. He drags his gaze from Ellie to me, and there’s an extra little spark of something that wasn’t there before. Anger? Annoyance?
“When did you return to Austin?”
Yeah, it’s anger. Definitely anger.
“A week ago.”
“And I assume it’s—”
“Temporary, yes.”
“And when do you leave?”
“In a few days.”
He nods in understanding. “Enjoy your trip.”
Then he turns and picks up his conversation with the weathergirl like I’m not even there. I’ve been dismissed.
OH OKAY. Good to see you for the first time in years too.
I should follow his lead and turn away, mind my own business and finish the gala on a high note. This is a conversation best done in private, but instead, I tap his shoulder and interrupt him midsentence.
“I’m sorry, but did I do something wrong?”
My tone isn’t so gentle now that he’s pissed me off.
His gaze spits fire when he replies, “Not a thing.”
The woman at his side wraps a possessive hand around his forearm, and I’ve had enough. I’m about to walk away, but then Ellie pushes me toward him.
“Brooke was actually just telling me she’d love to dance, and I’m sure you two have so much to catch up on.”
Dance?!
No.
While there is a dance floor, it’s currently occupied by only three couples, and each person is upwards of 80. They’re just sort of shuffling around while they lean on each other. James and I would stick out like sore thumbs.
He smiles tightly and extends his arm to encompass the room. “I’m sure there are plenty of men who would be more than willing to oblige.”
My cheeks flush with embarrassment. Not only did he turn me down, he did it in front of the weathergirl, and when she snickers and tries to hide it behind her hand, I’ve had enough for one night. Martha will have to understand. I’m leaving early.
I turn on my heel, prepared to beeline for the exit, but Ellie’s hand digs into my back and she pushes me toward him.
“Plenty of men, sure, but you’re the closest!”
Cupid had enough tact to use arrows in his matchmaking. Ellie, on the other hand, seems to have chosen a hatchet.
I’m not sure if I’m angrier with her for throwing me at James or with James for standing there, actually contemplating turning me down a second time. I narrow my eyes, daring him to do it. He meets my gaze head on, and a muscle in his jaw twitches as he tries to grind his teeth to dust. It feels like I’m winning even though his searing gaze is hot enough to burn through flesh.
Finally, with a heavy sigh, he grabs my hand and turns to lead me toward the dance floor, or at the very least, away from Ellie. For all I know, he could be on his way to depositing my body outside in the dumpster. I’m sure that’s what he’d like to do, though I have no clue why. When we last spoke in Austin, we left things on good terms. Our breakup was mutual and healthy—adult, even. Now he’s suddenly acting like some scorned lover. He’s holding my hand in a punishing grip I don’t particularly enjoy, so I tug hard to extract it, right in time to nearly trip into an ambitious waiter holding a massive tray of hors d’oeuvres. James’ hand settles around my waist as he gently pulls me against him, saving me and the poor server in the nick of time. I stiffen at the familiar warmth that radiates from his touch. He squeezes my waist and then quickly releases me, taking a step away as if he’s trying to put a healthy distance between us. I glance down at the offending hand in time to see him clench it into a tight fist.
“The dance floor is that way,” he says with a cold, distant tone.
I whip my gaze to his face and for one wild moment, I contemplate leaving him right then and there. I spy an exit a few yards away; I could be outside in a minute, two tops. He sees where I’m looking and shakes his head with a quiet reprimand. “Don’t.”
I lift my chin and walk purposefully toward the dance floor, stopping at the very edge. James’ hand hits the small of my back and he continues forward, sweeping me into his arms. One of my hands rests delicately on his shoulder while he grips the other one tightly. His touch is exciting, and strangely familiar after so much time. The band is playing Nat King Cole’s “L-O-V-E” and the upbeat jazz song is no trouble for James, who’s clearly spent time learning how to lead a woman around a dance floor. He’s not making it easy for me though. I’m sure he’d love for me to stumble in front of everyone—and I do mean everyone—but too bad for him, Martha enrolled Ellie and me in a few months of ballroom dance lessons when we were teenagers. I hated every second of it, but now I can foxtrot with the best of them—that is, until James picks up the pace, spinning me out and back in with a hard tug. I collide with his chest and manage to step on his foot. He smirks and I resolve to stomp harder next time.
There’s no time to try to plan ahead for another opportunity to maim him. With James at the helm, towering over me in his midnight black tuxedo, we breeze across the dance floor so quickly that all my focus goes to trying to keep up with his long strides. The song hits a crescendo, and the trumpet player takes a solo. James uses the opportunity to toss me out and roll my body back into him before he dips me sharply toward the ground. I squeeze my eyes closed, bracing for impact, but then he pulls me back up and swings us back into the rhythm of the song with confident ease. There are whistles and claps from the crowd of onlookers. Thanks to James’ moves, I doubt there’s a guest in attendance who isn’t watching us. I hope Ellie is happy. In fact, I know she is.
Together we move to the beat, our feet in perfect sync. I’m actually enjoying the pace of the dance. It’s thrilling to be led by someone like him, right up until he opens his mouth.
“If you wanted to talk to me so badly, you could have just asked. You didn’t have to use your sister.”
His smugness rubs me the wrong way. I tilt my head back to meet his gaze and reply coldly, “I didn’t put her up to it. She’s convinced we have some unfinished business.”
He grunts as if he was expecting nothing less. “Do we?”
I ignore his question. “Y’know, you admitted yourself that I’ve done nothing wrong. Why are you treating me like this?”
He turns away, granting me a reprieve from his intense gaze, though his profile isn’t much better. His smooth jaw and sharp features are just as tantalizing as I remember, maybe more so now that I’ve had so many long nights to fantasize about them.
When he finally glances back to me, he’s removed the emotion in his eyes. He’s a cold, unfeeling blank slate as he tips his head and studies me. “What did you call it once? Self-preservation?”
I flinch. His honesty catches me off guard. I was prepared to deflect another harsh comment from his barbed tongue.
“James.” My shaky voice only further angers him. Clearly, he doesn’t want my sympathy. “You don’t have to be like this. Soon enough, I’ll be gone again.”
He furrows his brows angrily. “How would you like me to be? Polite? Talkative?”
“It’d be a good start.”
“Ellie tells me you’re popular in Barcelona,” he says acerbically.
I flush, aware of what he’s insinuating. “Ellie was exaggerating.”
“Rest assured, Brooke, I realized you’d moved on the day you boarded that flight to Spain. You didn’t need to have your sister rub salt in my wound.”
I stiffen, finally aware of the barely concealed pain emanating from him. The song fades and he tries to step away, but I tighten my hand on his shoulder. “James.”
A soft piano starts to play, introducing the next song, and I pray he won’t leave me out here alone, not when I have so much I need to tell him. My fingers dig into his tuxedo jacket and I plead with him to turn and look at me.
“You have it all wrong.”
“How?” he asks harshly. “Please, enlighten me.”
I can’t stand this version of him, the unyielding jerk who makes my legs shake and my lip quiver. I look away and try to inhale deeply so when I speak again, my voice doesn’t sound so small. “I didn’t ask her to give you updates about my time in Spain. That was her…sisterly way of trying to make you jealous.”
“Why?”
I nearly laugh. “You expect me to know what motivates Ellie?” I shake my head as we move slowly around the dance floor, and I can’t meet his eyes when I offer him the whole truth. Instead, I focus on a point just over his shoulder.
“She thinks you’re in love with me, and I suppose she thought it might spur you into action or something.”
I expect him to flinch or sigh or give me some kind of sign to prove or disprove Ellie’s hypothesis, but James is first and foremost a savvy businessman. His poker face betrays nothing. If I want to know the answer to that burning question, I’ll have to ask him outright. At the moment, I’m scared his reply will be colored by misconception and hurt. I wonder just how hyperbolic Ellie’s tales of my time in Barcelona actually were. Sure, I got asked out a time or two, and I had a pretty good setup with those free croissants for a while, but there weren’t men sweeping me off my feet right and left. In fact, there was no sweeping, whatsoever. For the last year and a half, I’ve been singularly focused on the man I left behind, the man currently doing his best to slice me in half with his gaze. Still, I trudge on, offering him a bit of honesty in the hopes that it will melt his hard exterior just a little bit.
“I would never play games with you after how we left things,” I say earnestly. “If I’d known Ellie was doing that, I would have insisted she stop, believe me. I couldn’t even handle her giving me updates about you. For the last year, she never once mentioned your name because she knew how I felt…how much it would upset me.”
His dark brown eyes widen and then quickly narrow, as if he’s trying to pick apart my words and find the deceit in between the syllables. His hand tightens around my waist and the animosity between us starts to fade, slowly, faintly, but I feel it in the way he holds me. There’s no longer malice in his grip. He presses me against him, not so he can try to outmaneuver me on the dance floor but because maybe, hopefully, that’s how close he wants me.
For a few minutes, he leads me in silence as I try to come up with some way to convince him of the truth. I could drag Ellie out here and force her to redact her wild stories, but even if he does believe my time in Spain was spent largely thinking of him, wondering whether or not he’d moved on, would it even matter? As the second song fades, so does my hope of reconciliation. He leads me to the side of the dance floor and I grasp for something to say, some way to keep him here with me.
“James—”
He shakes his head and speaks with a dejected tone. “I thought about what it would be like when you came back,” he admits with sad eyes. “And not once did I think you’d show up like this.”
“Well I’m here now,” I say, my voice brimming over with hope.
“Temporarily,” he points out bitterly.
Of course. That’s when reality hits me like a ton of bricks. This isn’t some grand gesture. I didn’t fly back from Spain with the hopes of reconnecting with James. I came here for a quick visit to see my family. I’m at the event because of Martha, not in the hopes of running into him, and he knows it. It was the very first thing I said to him. Oh, I didn’t know you’d be here—how’s that for love? Any attempt I make to explain myself here will seem half-assed and coincidental. Oh yes, sorry about all the trouble I put you through all those months ago. See you around!
He turns to walk away and my hand shoots out to stop him. “If you wanted me to come back, you could have reached out, or…”
My voice fades when he laughs incredulously. It’s a sad, pitiful sound that splinters my heart.
“I already asked you to stay once.”
I get it—once bruised, a man’s ego isn’t so easily healed, especially a man like James.
As I watch him walk away, clarity sets in like a shiver up my spine: I want a second chance with James, a chance to make things right between us now. Even though every decision I’ve made in the past year and a half has opened up millions of potential paths and parallel universes away from him, there’s nothing stopping me from turning around and retracing my footsteps back to the point where they all meet. It’s true that every time a door closes, a window opens, but that doesn’t mean the door just disappears. Hell, it’s just a closed door, and no matter if it’s jammed, locked, or broken, there will probably come a time when you can break the rusted hinges and fight your way back in.
If you truly want to.
Walking backward should feel like a retreat, but it doesn’t feel that way for me, because all that time marching forward has changed me from the person I was into the person I am. I traveled, explored, and got myself lost more times than I can count. I wallowed in heartbreak over James, but I also learned that I could find my smile again, even on my own. I think that lesson was the hardest to learn, but ultimately, it’s what matters most. I don’t need James to survive; I want him. When I dig deep for my old insecurities, they aren’t there anymore.
Now, the idea of marrying James fills me with hope, not dread. I want to share my life with him and I need him to know that, but I know it won’t be easy to convince him.
Looking at things from his perspective, his behavior tonight makes perfect sense. He doesn’t owe me kindness. He surrendered his pride and begged me to stay in Austin, and I still went to Spain. Then, thanks to Ellie’s well-intentioned storytelling, he assumed I humped around Europe without a care in the world. He must think I’m the most callous, unfeeling person on the face of the planet. Why would he believe me if I told him I want a second chance now? What have I done to try to restore things between us?
Nothing. The door is still closed, dead-bolted, and rusted over.
Welp, looks I’m going to need a crowbar.