Ariana smiled at me. “I’m proud of you, Kins. By the way, you look gorgeous.”
I looked down at the black form-fitted dress Sheridan bought me for the occasion. I cleared from my mind the conversation that surrounded the dress. I couldn’t afford to have dreams about a man who was clearly keeping secrets from me. Who wouldn’t even acknowledge my presence in public. “Thank you. Now get out of here. Go be with your husband.” I gave her a wink.
She didn’t need me to tell her twice. That was good. I had no time for idle chitchat. With the exception of trying to talk to as many people as I could who came to sample the desserts. It was a bit exhausting, but the good kind. It was weird, but I felt so grown up accepting people’s compliments and sharing my tips and tricks for making the perfect mousse or how you could make almost any dessert look pretty.
I had to say, I was beyond grateful when Sheridan came to my rescue and began serving desserts alongside me. She refused to take no for an answer, even though her son was one of the stars of the night. Not that she was far behind him; wherever she went, people gawked at her. She was the subject of a lot of gossip. How she handled it with such grace, I would never know. Sheridan jumped right in and started handing out desserts like a pro, even though she was wearing a loose pantsuit made of chiffon that probably cost $1000. She looked so elegant.
“Thank you.” I let out a big sigh of gratitude.
She nudged me with her hip. “My pleasure, darling.” At least she wasn’t ashamed to be seen with me in public.
When I could, I caught glimpses of Sheridan talking to friends and acquaintances. Inevitably, the subject of John came up a few times. People wondered where he was and how he was doing. Their tone indicated that they wanted some juicy details. However, Sheridan would put on a brave face and say things like, “Tell me how you are.” Or she’d bring up something positive she knew was occurring in their life, like, “I heard your daughter got into Harvard.” I don’t think she could bear to speak John’s name. I noted how her lip quivered and she paled each time someone asked her about him. I wanted to tell them to knock it off. Didn’t they see the pain in her eyes?
When there was a lull in the action, I put my arms around her and whispered, “I think you’re amazing.”
She squeezed back so tightly, as if she needed an anchor to steady her. I was happy to let her lean on me. Unfortunately, I barely got to offer her any sort of comfort as I soon became in need of some myself.
“Hello, love,” a debonair British accent seemed to fill all time and space.
I froze in Sheridan’s arms, wishing I were hearing things, but I would know that voice anywhere. It had seduced me and made me feel wanted for many months. It was a voice that, at one time, I’d thought I wanted to wake up to for the rest of my life. Now that voice represented rejection and pain. Not the earth-shattering kind anymore, though. On some level, his voice was a reminder that I didn’t need him. Still, it was jarring that he was here.
I caught Sheridan’s eyes, which were the exact same shade of blue as Brant’s. They were pleading with me to be cautious. She didn’t have anything to worry about. Oscar was going to be the only man in my life. I took a deep breath, knowing I could no longer ignore Tristan. I couldn’t believe he was here.
I slowly turned to find Tristan waiting for me, looking dashing as always in a suit with no tie. He had the younger Hugh Grant vibes down with his messy styled chestnut hair and killer smile. I’d admit, he could still raise my pulse. Though not as much as the man who, for some reason, was now lingering not far from the dessert table, near a postcard stand. My gaze went past Tristan and landed on Brant, and for a moment we locked eyes. For a second, I swore his pleaded for the same thing his mother’s had, but then he turned and became awfully interested in the postcards. Of course. I was foolish to think he cared about me. He wouldn’t even be seen with me.
Tristan looked behind him to see what or who was in my line of sight. He seemed to know instinctively who I had been looking at when his head ping-ponged between me, Brant, and even Sheridan, who was now focused on serving some of the partygoers. I could see the wheels turning in Tristan’s head. He had once asked me if there was ever anything between Brant and me. I’d told him no. It wasn’t a lie.