Page 61 of I Wish I Would've Chosen You

“Oh, God. Don’t get her started.” My father smiles, too. “She hasn’t been able to shut up about that serial. Every new episode means I get an earful.”

“Do you have an ending in mind?” My mother leans forward, looking like a fangirl. “No, wait. Don’t tell me. Mr. Peterson, have you heard of this story?”

“No, there’s another of hers I’m following.”

“Really? What journal is that one being published in?”

The dinner conversation is suddenly several pounds lighter, and I stare at Liam, mouthing, “Thank you so much.”

He smiles at me, mouthing words that look like “I love you,” but I’m not quite sure.

10

GENEVIEVE

Red and blue fireworks tango across the dark night sky. My parents’ guests watch in awe from our courtyard, but all I can do is stare at Liam.

I love you, too…

When the final firework takes a bow, the audience cheers and our staff prepares turnover and valet services.

“It was nice seeing you, Miss Edwards.” Liam shakes my hand as he and Mr. Peterson approach. “You and your husband have a lovely home.”

“I’ll say!” Mr. Peterson shakes my hand, too. “It’s wonderful.”

They slip into Liam’s car and I desperately wish that I could kiss him in front of everyone.

I watch until their car leaves the gate and then I return inside.

Frank Sinatra is blasting in the ballroom, and my parents are dancing together under the dim lights.

I can say what I want about them and how out of touch they are with reality, but they’re definitely in love.

In the middle of Frank Sinatra crooning another chorus about New York, the doorbell rings.

“Miss Thatchwood left her shawl or her umbrella,” Benny says, sighing. “Why does she do this to me after every event?”

“She wants to get a private tour and see what she can steal.” I laugh. “I’ll handle it. Go home.”

“You sure?”

“I could use the company.”

He gives me a hug before heading down the hall.

I grab Miss Thatchwood’s shawl from where she always leaves it, and head to the door. When I open it, she’s not there.

It’s Liam.

“Yes?”

“I left something,” he says.

“We keep the lost and found in the first-floor guest room,” I say. “I’ll show you where it is.”

“I’m talking aboutyou.” He looks into my eyes. “I should’ve asked you to come with me instead of letting you come home for the holidays. Where can I make up for that?”

“In the pool house.”

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