Page 34 of Fumbling for Perfection

“I get that. It’s not Jackson I’m worried about.”

“Well, fuckadoodle. You’re worried about Walker. And you’d only be worried about Walker if you had feelings for him and if you thought he could have them for you.”

My silence is more telling than me trying to argue with her.

“He feels the same?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? It doesn’t really matter, though. He lives in California. That’s not the kind of relationship I want.”

“What does he do for work? He’s been in New England twice in the past month. Maybe work has him here more than the west coast.”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?” Kendall leans forward. “I thought you guys talked a lot. Spent hours together at dinner and walking the city before you turned into sex monkeys. What did you talk about?”

“I don’t know. Nothing and everything. I didn’t bring up Dad or much about my past because I was trying to keep things casual. He didn’t mention any of his family. I know he went to school in northern New York, and he lived in Arizona and now in San Francisco.”

“And you don’t even know what he does for work?”

“Something sports related, I think.”

“Girlfriend. You need to thank your lucky gods for sending you this gift. I would give away my Dolce Gabbana heels to be you.”

“Seeing how your Dolce Gabbana heels are missing a very important ampersand, that’s not much of a trade.”

“They’re knock offs, sure, but they’re knock offs that still set me back two hundred bucks.”

“So you’re saying my life is only worth two hundred dollars?”

Kendall shrugs. “For a night with Walker? Fuck yeah.”

She may not offer me comfort with hugs and sweet talk, but she knows how to lighten the mood and distract me.

We settle into the couch, and for the next hour, we laugh about silly things while we watch meaningless reality television. Getting lost in stupid drama is a welcome distraction.

The following evening, I slip the four-carat engagement ring on my finger and inspect my reflection in my floor-length mirror. The fitted, deep-purple dress hugs my curves without appearing too sexy. It only set me back fifty dollars at T.J. Maxx, but being on Jackson’s arm, people will assume it’s vintage or custom made. It’s ridiculous how much people care about labels.

This isn’t the first time I’ve attended a charity event with Jackson, but it’s my first as his fiancée. I shouldn’t be nervous. It’s not like he’s the center of attention or needs to introduce me to all his business associates.

Those he works closest with know me from previous events. I don’t go with him often, only when he says it’s expected he’ll have a date. After years of being his plus one, our engagement shouldn’t surprise anyone.

I don’t feel like making small talk tonight and hope it’s not a late evening. The buzzer by my door rings and I slip into my long coat as I buzz Jackson up.

“Hey, gorgeous fiancée.” He greets me with a hug and kisses my temple, the same way he has for years.

“Hey.”

“Ick. Please don’t tell me you’re PMSing. I have too much ass kissing to do tonight to deal with your girly problems.”

“Watch it, futurehusband,or you’ll find yourself in the doghouse before we even say ‘I do’.” I smack his arm and pretend to go for his hair.

Jackson shields his hair and jumps away from me. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Jackson spends more time in front of the mirror than any female I’ve ever met. How he has time to make sure every hair is in place, that not a wrinkle can be found in his Tom Ford suits or on his face, and still find time to be the CFO of a multi-billion-dollar company always surprises me.

“Come on, Cinderella. The chariot awaits, and I know how quickly you turn into a pumpkin if you stay out too late.”

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