Page 5 of The Charm of You

“I think we should talk—in private,” I offer.

“We can talk here.” His shrug of nonchalance scratches a nerve behind my eye, and it twitches.

“I need to go.” I jump out of my seat, and a sting vibrates throughout my hip from where I bump the side of the table. The collision rattles a few pieces of silverware left there. There were a zillion when we first sat down, which I normally don’t mind.

I usually don’t mind any of this elegance and extravagance, but tonight, this is all wrong.

This doesn’t make sense.

“I know it’s a lot.” Edward takes the words right out of my mouth and stands too. With the sky-high heels currently pinching and torturing my feet, I meet his height. “It’s the most exciting night of our lives to date. And just think about how much better it gets from here. You’ll finally move into my place. We’ll commute to work together. We’ll have it all.”

While he talks, fight-or-flight energy skitters throughout my anxious body, and every limb is heavy. I distract myself with the dessert and rip the tag off, then point to the cake. “Can I get this to go?”

The server sways before he pauses with obvious hesitation, as if he’s never been more confused.

I put him out of his misery and say, “Never mind. I’ll just take this as is.” I dig into my purse with shaking fingers, find a few twenty-dollar bills, and drop them on the table.

Edward continues making grand promises of a sparkling future while I sling the strap of my purse over my bare shoulder and snatch the plate with the untouched dessert on top.

Then I swipe the full champagne bottle by the neck and brush past a rambling Edward.

My heart aches with disappointment—toward him or myself, I’m not sure.

Beyond that, a deep-rooted guilt eats at me because as embarrassed as I am, I know I’ve embarrassed him ten times over.

He deserves an answer, and I can’t seem to form one. It’s like I’m floating outside of my body with no control over it.

The one thing I know for sure is that I need to get away.

With our audience’s curious gazes burning holes in my back, I practically run out of the restaurant, and as soon as I step over the threshold, I stumble. A crack echoes throughout the evening, and the bustling street around me seems to pause.

When I peer down, I release a heavy sigh. The heel from one of my Louboutins has found its final resting place on the sidewalk, but instead of concerning myself with it as I probably should, I check to make sure my dessert is safe.

“Good. That’s good,” I mumble to it. “You will be my company tonight.”

“Caroline, where are you going?” Edward asks from behind me. “I have a photographer here for our picture.”

I haven’t answered his proposal, but he’s ready for a picture. This can’t be happening.

“I’m walking home,” I clip.

“It’s ten blocks. Let me?—”

“I’ll be fine. Thank you for dinner, Edward.”

With mixed emotions warring inside me, I limp the entire way to the loft I share with my friend and ex-co-worker Beverly. She’s also a Connecticut native who moved to New York to shoot her shot, just like me.

I like living with her and don’t want to move out, especially not so I can live two trains away in Edward’s stuffy building, where the doorman calls me Mrs. Edward. I’ve politely asked him several times to call me Caroline, but he seems to think his own alternative is charming.

We clearly have different definitions of the word.

The mid-September chill sends a ripple down my spine as I wave off a few questioning glances. I reassure them with a bright smile that I’m fine, even though I’m aware of how insane I must appear with a broken heel and a plate of cake.

Right now, I look nothing like I do on the two billboards towering over Manhattan, advertising our real estate agency.

My boss—former boss, I guess—Melissa, took over last year, and her first order of business was to make me the face of Five Star Real Estate. She insisted I had been an underutilized gem for the four years I’d worked there beforehand. According to her, I possess the perfect angelic aesthetic the agency needed for the brand. She went on and on about potential clients meeting me and how they instantly connected with my Southern charm and shining, promising eyes.

I went along with her perception of me. After all, it’s no different than everyone else’s in my life. But this time, it bit me in the ass.

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