Page 7 of Stuck With the Best Man

“You just don’t read them.”

“I like being around them.”

At that, something seemed to spark in his gaze. He held out his hand to shake mine, catching me off guard.

“I’m Ben,” he said to me. “Ben Hawthorne.”

I had to place the novel back on the shelf in order to shake his hand.

“Ruby Sullivan,” I introduced myself.

That’s how it began. Not only did we spend the next three hours perusing the shelves of the Strand together, but then we got coffee and pastries. Then, he insisted that we stop by an art gallery over in West Village. After, because neither of us could bring ourselves to go our separate ways, we had dinner at a dusty little pub in Soho.

He even walked me home and wished me goodnight like a gentleman.

There was just one kiss—brief and chaste. Barely any hand-holding at all. Honestly, there was really nothing more than admiring glances and soft secrets shared between strangers. We didn’t even talk about ourselves all that much. For the most part, we spoke about New York, art, and the beauty of the city.

I thought we had a connection. I thought that maybe, perhaps ridiculously, after spending my entire life not caring much about dating, fate might have dropped my soulmate right into my lap.

Except, when morning came, he didn’t call. Nor did he reach out that afternoon or evening.

He disappeared.

It was like that random, wonderful day we spent together had never happened.

For a while, I worried that I’d imagined the entire thing.

It was for the best, though. After Ben offered some vague details about his family and his career, I realized who his family was. They weretheHawthornes. The ones who have their names carved in the marble at the NYC Ballet because they’ve been such generous donors over the years.

Which meant that Ben was most certainly off limits. I couldn’t be seen getting cozy with a donor. It would jeopardize my reputation, because any accomplishments I achieved would then be assumed to be the result of my relationship with him, not my own work ethic.

So, maybe there’s a version of reality in which things were different and I actually did fall in love with Ben Hawthorne. Maybe, in that alternate universe, he called me in the morning, and we playfully bickered about our coffee orders. Maybe he walked me to the studio. Maybe I met him again at the end of the day and kissed him properly—not so chastely. Maybe, after that, there were a million more kisses shared between us.

Maybe, in another world, Ben and I had a happily ever after.

In this world, however, he became my nemesis.

It wasn’t just the ghosting that turned me against him. It was the fact that, about six months later, Ben reappeared in my life. Not inmylife, specifically, but in the company’s life. Word spread that he’d taken over his father’s role on the Board of Directors, a place earned by the Hawthornes’s philanthropic generosity.

I’d been more determined than ever to act like I’d never met him personally. As usual, I threw myself into dancing. When I heard that we would be doingGisellein the summer and that Katia Nikov—the primary choice for the titular role—would be receiving a minor wrist-tendon surgery that would put her on rest until September, I became obsessed with proving my prowess. It helped that Katia herself kept whispering in the producer’s ear about my potential, and how nobody was better suited to slip into her vacancy than me.

I almost had it. Everyone knew it. Rumors were flying before the announcement was made. I was going to perform as Giselle and, if I did well, I’d officially become a principal dancer.

Except, thensomeoneon the board made it very clear that he thoughtGisellewas outdated, overdone, and uninteresting. Any company could do the classics, apparently, but the NYC Ballet should be at the forefront of the more modern ballets.

Given that the Hawthornes are royalty in the New York arts world, Ben got his way.Gisellewas wiped off the season and replaced with a contemporary ballet from a fledgling choreographer. The principal roles were handed out to the experienced dancers, and I was awarded my usual lower role among the soloists.

Now, thanks to Ben Hawthorne, I’m cursed to spend the summer with a grand total of twenty-seven seconds of solo stage time. When I go back to the city after this wedding, I’ll be back at square one.

The worst part is that he has no idea he’s ruined my career trajectory.

Worse yet, he can’t even be bothered to remember who I am.

I’ve never despised anyone more in my life.

***

When the dinner is over, I join Eva and the other bridesmaids in the gardens of Blakeley Manor. The sky is clear and twinkling with endless sparks of stars. It’s the sort of thing that I never get to see in the city, and I’m quiet as I marvel at the beauty of it.

---