I’d throw the arrangement away tomorrow, the last reminder of my equal y doomed relationship.
I’d gotten farther with Gideon in one week than I had with other relationships that lasted two years. I would always love him for that. Maybe I’d always love him, period.
And one day, that might not hurt so badly.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Cary singsonged as he yanked the comforter off of me.
“Ugh. Go away.”
“You’ve got five minutes to get your ass up and in the shower, or the shower’s coming to you.” Opening one eye, I peeked at him. He was shirtless and wearing baggy pants that barely clung to his hips.
As far as wake-up cal s went, he was prime. “Why do I have to get up?”
“Because when you’re flat on your back you’re not on your feet.”
“Wow. That was deep, Cary Taylor.”
He crossed his arms and shot me an arch look. “We need to go shopping.”
I buried my face in the pil ow. “No.”
“Yes. I seem to remember you saying this was a
‘Sunday garden party’ and ‘rock star gathering’ in the same sentence. What the hel do I wear to something like that?”
“Ah, wel . Good point.”
“What are you wearing?”
“I…I don’t know. I was leaning toward the ‘English tea with hat’ look, but now I’m not so sure.” He gave a brisk nod. “Right. Let’s hit the shops and find something sexy, classy, and cool.” Growling a token protest, I rol ed out of bed and padded over to the bathroom. It was impossible to shower without thinking of Gideon, without picturing his perfect body and remembering the desperate sounds he made when he came in my mouth. Everywhere I looked, Gideon was there. I’d even started hal ucinating black Bentley SUVs al around town. I thought I spotted one damn near everywhere I went.
Cary and I had lunch; then we bounced al over the city, hitting the best of the Upper East Side thrift stores and Madison Avenue boutiques before taking a taxi downtown to SoHo. Along the way, Cary had two teenage girls ask for his autograph, which tickled me more than him, I think.
“Told you,” he crowed.
“Told me what?”
“They recognized me from an entertainment news blog. One of the posts about you and Cross.” I snorted. “Glad my love life is working out for someone.”
He was due at another job around three and I went with him, spending a few hours in the studio of a loud and brash photographer. Remembering it was Saturday, I slipped into a far corner and made my weekly cal to my dad.
“You stil happy in New York?” he asked me above the background noise of dispatch talking over the radio in his cruiser.
“So far so good.” A lie, but the truth helped no one.
His partner said something I didn’t catch. My dad snorted and said, “Hey, Chris insists he saw you on television the other day. Some cable channel, celebrity gossip thing. The guys won’t leave me alone about it.” I sighed. “Tel them watching those shows is bad for their brain cel s.”
“So you’re not dating one of the richest men in America?”
“No. What about your love life?” I asked, quickly diverting. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“Nothing serious. Hang on.” He responded to a cal on the radio, then said, “Sorry, sweetheart. I have to run. I love you. Miss you like crazy.”
“I miss you, too, Daddy. Be careful.”
“Always. Bye.”
I kil ed the cal and went back to my former spot to
wait for Cary to wrap things up. In the lul , my mind tormented me. Where was Gideon now? What was he doing?
Would Monday bring me an inbox ful of photos of him with another woman?
Sunday afternoon I borrowed Clancy and one of Stanton’s town cars for the drive out to the Vidal estate in Dutchess County. Leaning back in the seat, I looked out the window, absently admiring the serene vista of rol ing meadows and green woodlands that stretched to the distant horizon. I realized I was working on Day 4
After Gideon. The pain I’d felt the first few days had turned into a dul throbbing that felt almost like the flu.
Every part of my body ached, as if I was going through some sort of physical withdrawal and my throat burned with unshed tears.
“Are you nervous?” Cary asked me.
I glanced at him. “Not real y. Gideon won’t be there.”
“You’re sure about that?”
“I wouldn’t be going if I thought otherwise. I do have some pride you know.” I watched him drum his fingers on the armrest between our two seats. For al the shopping we’d done yesterday, he’d made only one purchase: a black leather tie. I’d teased him mercilessly about it, he of the perfect fashion sense going with something like that.
He caught me looking at it. “What? You stil don’t like my tie? I think it works wel with the emo jeans and my lounge lizard jacket.”
“Cary”—my lips quirked—“you can wear anything.” It was true. Cary could pul any look off, a benefit of having a sculpted rangy body and a face that could make angels weep.
I set my hand over his restless fingers. “Are you nervous?”
“Trey didn’t cal last night,” he muttered. “He said he would.”
I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s just one missed cal , Cary. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything serious.”
“He could’ve cal ed this morning,” he argued. “Trey’s not flakey like the others I’ve dated. He wouldn’t have forgotten to cal , which means he just doesn’t want to.”
“The rat bastard. I’l be sure to take lots of pictures of you having a great time looking sexy, classy, and cool to torment him with on Monday.”
His mouth twitched. “Ah, the deviousness of the female mind. It’s a shame Cross won’t see you today. I think I got a semi when you came out of your room in that dress.”
“Eww!” I smacked his shoulder and mock-glared when he laughed.
The dress had seemed perfect to both of us when we’d found it. It was cut in a classic garden party style
—fitted bodice with a knee-length skirt that flared out from the waist. It was even white with flowers. But that’s where the tea-and-crumpets style ended.
The edginess came from the strapless form, the alternating layers of black and crimson satin underskirts that gave it volume, and the black leather flowers that looked like wicked pinwheels. Cary had picked the red Jimmy Choo peep-toe pumps out of my closet and the ruby drop earrings to give it al the finishing touch. We’d decided to leave my hair loose around my shoulders, in case we arrived and learned that hats were required. Al in al , I felt pretty and confident.
Clancy drove us through an imposing set of monogrammed gates and turned into a circular driveway, fol owing the direction of a valet. Cary and I got out by the entrance, and he took my arm as my heels sank into blue-gray gravel on the walk to the house.
Upon entering the Vidal’s sprawling Tudor-style mansion, we were warmly greeted by Gideon’s family in
a
receiving
line—his
mother,
stepfather,
Christopher, and their sister.
I took in the sight, thinking the Vidal family could only look more perfect if Gideon was lined up with them.