Page 172 of The Temporary Fiancée
On the other… well, it’s Shane asking. If it was anyone else, I would probably have hung up on them by now. I know he’s just trying to look out for me. He’s worried.
“Fine,” I grumble. “I’ll come to the stupid party. Where am I even going?”
“The Waldorf. Dress nice, okay? I’ll see you at the entrance in half an hour.”
“Got it.” I hang up the call, then spend a few minutes sitting on the couch, staring down at the mess of yarn in my lap.
Slowly, as if it weighs a hundred pounds, I shift the knitting supplies off to the side and rise to my feet. I shuffle to my bedroom and force myself to get dressed.
Nothing interesting; no flair for tonight. Just a simple, black-tie suit. In the past, on New Year’s, I’ve worn ostentatious, ridiculous outfits—a gold, sequined suit jacket, or a goofy top hat.
Stuff like that was for fun, though, and for nights when I intended to draw attention to myself. The last thing I want, at the moment, isanyattention.
There’s only one person in the world whose attention I crave, and she disappeared from my life.
I down the rest of my scotch before I head for the elevator. Normally, at this point in the night, I’d already be surrounded byfriends, having the time of my life. Right now, though, I’m just miserable. I drag my feet as I wander out to the car and listlessly climb into the back seat.
At the party, I find a table in the back of the room to linger at. There’s a dance floor, and an open bar, but I don’t want to partake in either. Shane stands beside me, watching me with open concern.
“You sure you don’t want to make the rounds?” he asks. “You know a ton of people here. Don’t you want to chat?”
I shake my head mutely.
“You look miserable, man.”
I sigh. Iammiserable. I feel dead inside. Lifeless.
But I can’t say that to Shane. I can’t admit it. Instead, I shrug and tell him, “I’m good. You don’t have to babysit me. You should go grab a drink—have a little fun.”
Shane’s brows knit together. He hovers by the table for a few seconds, clearly trying to gauge what I want; then he seems to guess that what I really want is to be left alone. He pats the table once and heads off in the direction of the bar.
As I stand in the corner of the rented ballroom, watching the dancers move together on the wooden floor and listening to snippets of the conversations around me, I feel lonelier than I’ve ever felt in my life.
Like I’m on a different planet from everyone else.
I close my eyes, wishing that, when I opened them, Olivia would be standing beside me, dressed in that stunning black gown and smiling happily. When I open them, the sting of disappointment is all too real.
I can’t keep doing this.
If I’m going to be alone, I’d rather bealonealone, not alone in a room full of people.
I’m about to do something about it—to head across the room, to tap Shane on the shoulder and let him know I’m going home early—when I hear a familiar voice from behind me.
“Hey, stranger.”
I turn my head, blinking in bemusement, and see a woman standing nearby. She’s wearing a red dress that cuts off at mid-thigh, with strappy silver heels that remind me of Olivia’s stilettos.
Other than the shoes, though, her resemblance to Olivia is minimal. She’s blonde, tall, and has a willowy figure. She gives me a grin, flashing artificially white teeth.
My heart sinks.
“Eleanor,” I say, dipping my head to her in what I hope is a neutral greeting.
It’s her—Eleanor Delton, the married woman who had an affair with me. The one I told Olivia about as we sat on the back patio of the villa in Turks and Caicos.
She bats her eyelashes at me and holds out a hand—I think she’s hoping I’ll take her fingers and kiss them. I don’t; I just stare at her.
“Long time no see, Reed,” she says.
