Page 9 of Wedding Contract
“No, I think I’ll take a bath and watch some television.”
No mention of her husband. I wonder if she realizes that. We reach the entrance of The Residences. The valet smiles at her as he pulls the heavy glass and iron door open. I give him a narrow-eyed glare that silently conveys my desire to rip him apart if he looks at Annabelle wrong. The smile slides off his face, and his eyes drop to his shiny shoes.
“This is it.” She wrinkles her nose. “Very fancy, isn’t it?”
The lobby is all white and gray marble with black carpeted runners on the floor that lead to the elevators and other communal spaces. A butler comes out from behind a large cherry wood reception counter to greet Annabelle and escort her to the elevators. “I’ll handle this,” I tell him.
The butler nods and backs off.
“You really don’t have to,” Annabelle says.
“I want to.” That’s the full truth. I need to see her again and soon. There’s a charity event in three days. I’ll have someone there send her an invitation. If I remember correctly, it’s a dinner with a silent auction, so we could be there for at least three or four hours. Given the right donation, I’m sure arrangements can be made for us to sit together. A perfect plan. I almost rub my palms together in glee but stick my hands in my pockets and try to look nonchalant.
As we approach the elevator bank, Annabelle stiffens. Ahead of us, a slim blond woman and a man with too much hair gel step off the elevators. The man scowls. “How many times do you help need to be told to use the service elevator?”
Annabelle’s cheeks redden.
“She lives here,” I tell them.
“And who are you?” The woman’s eyes rake over me.
“A friend of the family,” Annabelle says. “Come on, Charles. The service elevator is this way.” She tries to tug me away.
“Why would you use the service elevator when you live on the top floor?”
“God, is that what you told this man? How embarrassing for you.” The blonde rolls her eyes. “This girl does not own one of The Residences. I know because I sit on the co-op board. The person who bought the penthouse is a Mr. Wickham, and he’s single per the application.”
I draw myself up to my full height and am about to proclaim that I am Mr. Wickham and then remember my whole charade. Fuck me.
“I guess he got married,” I say.
“To this? I doubt it. Come on, Parker. We need to report that there’s a squatter in the building. You don’t belong here.” The blonde grabs her man’s arm and tugs him toward the butler.
Annabelle’s face is fully flushed from embarrassment. I’m going to have to ruin those two for making her feel small.
“Don’t mind them,” I tell her.
“She’s right. I don’t belong here.” Annabelle runs off toward the service elevator, leaving me in the hallway holding a Tupperware container and feeling like the biggest fool in the world.
Chapter Nine
ANNABELLE
Ididn’t go back to the coffee shop the next day. I couldn’t bring myself to face Charlie again. I’d been mortified. I bet he hadn’t shown up either. He likely thinks I’m full of shit and everything I told him was bullshit, but the truth is, I can’t say he’d be wrong in that.
I’m living a charade, a lie. This is so much harder than I thought it would be. Working three jobs might be easier. At least when I was waiting tables or parking cars, I belonged where I was. Still, even there I felt out of place, but people weren't calling me out about it. Most of us were in the same boat. Here, I am way out of my league.
I hate how that other woman could so easily knock me down, but what I hate more is the fact that it affected me. It yanks me back to when I lived at home in Nebraska with my older sisters. I thought when I left, the bullying would be over in my life. I have quickly realized it’s everywhere.
My thoughts seem to conjure my past, and my phone goes off, a Nebraska number appearing. That's the fourth one in the past twenty-four hours. I ignore it and the urge to answer to make sure everything is okay back home. They wouldn't extendthat same courtesy to me. Still, it's strange that someone from there is trying to reach me.
I get back to what I'm supposed to be doing. A ladies' lunch. I had to google what they are to make sure I dress properly. I had completely forgotten about it until I checked my emails this morning and saw the invite there. I’d gotten so wrapped up in meeting with Charlie that it almost made me forget my responsibilities.
I had planned to send it to Wick to ask if there was anything I should know, but now it’s too late. He must want me to go. How else would this woman have gotten my email to begin with?
If I reach out now when I should be leaving shortly, he’ll think I’m not doing the things I should be. That I’m disorganized and not taking my duties seriously. He should have picked another woman.
“Not white,” I mutter to myself in the mirror, going back to the closet where I have now pushed my boxes. They were so out of place stacked in the bedroom, so I moved them in here, still not unpacking them. I can't bring myself to do it even though I know I need to.
