Southern Charm (32 page)

Pick Your Battles and Fight Them

I
n Charleston, March means springtime. In New York, it means at least another month of snow, slush, and below-freezing temperatures.

I didn't even really care so much about the lack of sun and biting windchill. I'd just had it with layering! I think my legs had forgotten what it felt like to
not
wear tights. Also, I don't think I've ever seen so many scowling faces as I did walking the streets of Manhattan after a snowstorm in early March. It was hard not to feel bummed out!

Kevin told me to channel my winter doldrums into ideas for the handbag collection, which was set to debut in the fall, so that's what I did. By the time Tripp was due to return from London, I'd already filled a whole sketchbook with design ideas. I'd never felt more inspired.

Zeke and I met Tripp at JFK. As downtrodden as I was feeling, I was trying my best to stay positive. Maybe things would be better after he came back? Maybe we just needed a little space? Things
had
moved very fast between us.

Zeke and I stood together outside of the gate area and waited while businessman after businessman passed by in their tailored suits
with their carry-ons. I held up a sign that said
TRIPP DU PONT
. We were meeting May and Harry for dinner that night at Cipriani, so I was already dressed up in a bright pink Tibi dress and little black suede Chanel booties. I'd borrowed Zeke's round black chauffeur's hat to wear as a joke. We must have looked like an interesting odd couple, the grumpy old driver standing next to a blonde girl in a goofy-looking hat. When Tripp spotted us, he immediately started laughing. I felt like he'd been gone for years.

“You look adorable,” he said.

“Good, that's the point.” I smiled.

Zeke took Tripp's luggage and started walking ahead of us. I looped my arm through Tripp's. It was nice to have him back, to have a man in my life again who was not Spencer or Kevin. Spencer and I had spoken once since our drinks date. It probably had something to do with the fact that everything he said about Tripp was right, even though it was the last thing I wanted to hear.

“So, you were able to survive without me?” Tripp asked as we reached the car, a naughty grin on his face.

I rolled my eyes. “I managed,” I said.

We stepped into the car and Zeke closed the door.

“Any more drama about the wedding?” he asked.

“Well, Scarlett refuses to acknowledge that we're technically married already. She keeps referring to the fact that I said it was ‘just a piece of paper' and changes the subject whenever it comes up. She's never reacted well when I've gone ahead and done something without getting her permission first.”

“Her permission?” Tripp scoffed. “You're almost twenty-three years old.”

I narrowed my eyes. “As if
your
parents don't still try to control you in one way or another?”

He smiled. “Fair enough.”

As we rode toward Manhattan, I snuggled into the crook of his arm, which strangely smelled like some sort of flower. What was that? Maybe he'd had his coat dry-cleaned at the Dorchester.

“You smell different,” I said.

He looked at me, an eyebrow raised.

“Nah,” he said, smiling. “You probably just forgot what I smell like.”

There were a lot of things that needed to be said that weren't being said. About Tabitha, for one. And what about London? We'd talked only three times in the last two weeks. Was it normal for a husband to go on a business trip and basically cut off all forms of communication? I was new to this marriage business, but it didn't feel normal to me.

“So, how was London?” I asked.

Tripp stared straight ahead. “Brutal,” he said. “Busy.”

“Did you and Harry at least get to have a little bit of fun?”

He shrugged. “A few nights,” he said. “Honestly, I was so tired from pulling basically eighteen-hour days that I pretty much crashed straight from work. The few times we went out, Harry had to drag me.” He shook his head and glanced in my direction briefly, without making eye contact. “I'm an old married man these days.”

I narrowed my eyes and stared out the window. “That you are.” I pursed my lips. Why did I feel like we were making small talk? “So did you get a chance to do any sightseeing at least?”

Tripp smirked. “Mints, I've been to London a million times.”

“I know,” I said, feeling stupid. “Just . . . no museums? Did you see a show in the West End? You were there for two weeks!”

“It's one thing to go there for two weeks of vacation,” he said. “It's another thing to go there for two weeks of work.” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Anyway, what did I miss in New York?”

“I've been really busy working on my bags,” I said. I tried my best to ignore his attitude. “I'm meeting with the design team next week and going over my ideas, and then we're narrowing it down to five different designs and Kevin said supposedly we should have samples by the end of May! The whole thing has just happened so fast and—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Tripp said. “I thought we were going to discuss this. You're off and designing already?”

I stared at him.

“Well, yes,” I said. “What do you mean we have to ‘discuss' it? What is there to discuss?”

“It's just,” he began, “you have to keep in mind you can't just go running around accepting every offer that comes your way.”

“But I'm not,” I said. What the hell was he trying to say anyway? “Kevin Park is an amazing brand and this is an opportunity that most people would die for. It's not like I'm selling bags on the street. Tripp, what is this about anyway? I thought you'd be happy for me.”

He softened a bit and put his hand on my knee. “Mints,” he said. “I just thought when we talked about it before, you were going to wait until I got back. I told you that my family can be a little sensitive about this kind of thing. I'm just trying to protect you.”

How come every time he said he was just trying to protect me, it felt like he was locking me away in a cage? My husband had just spent two weeks in another country and our communication had been limited, to say the least. If I hadn't had my job with Kevin to keep me busy, what would I have done? There were only so many spa days with Emily and late brunches with May I could take. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!

“Ugh,” I said. “This sucks.”

Tripp actually cracked a smile. The nerve.

“Mints,” he said, “baby. It's nothing. Let's forget about it, all right? I didn't mean to get you upset.”

“Well, you did,” I said. “And instead of congratulating me and making me feel good about something that is very exciting and, to be honest, a real honor, you're thinking about how your stupid family is going to freak out or whatever.”

There, I said it.

“This isn't about me not being proud of you,” he said. “This is just about me . . . well, yes, maybe I do care a little too much about what my family thinks.”

I almost wished I had recorded that statement so I could play it back for him the next time his mother freaked out over something that was none of her business.

“Thank you,” I said.

Tripp leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. He had been back in New York for less than an hour and we'd already spent the majority of the time bickering. Now we had to go meet May and Harry for dinner at Cipriani. We pulled up to Tripp's building and I waited on the curb as he and Zeke unloaded the luggage.

“Thanks, Zeke,” I said, taking one of Tripp's bags.

“You take care of yourself, now, Ms. Davenport,” he replied. He held my gaze longer than usual.

“I will,” I said.

As I walked through the entrance of Tripp's building, I couldn't help but think, Why did Zeke look at me that way?

Tripp's apartment was more than twice the size of mine with an extra bedroom. The first time I stayed there, back in the beginning of our courtship, I'd immediately started mapping out where I would put my—our—furniture, the prints my mother had painstakingly hung and framed, the rugs she'd spent days on end searching out and sizing just so. Tripp mentioned I could start moving my belongings into one of the closets in the bedroom, although he hadn't gotten around to cleaning it out just yet.

I sat down on the edge of the bed as Tripp unpacked.

“So, no stories at all?” I asked. “No late nights at Buckingham Palace?”

Tripp made a face. “The royals were otherwise engaged.”

“Oh well,” I said. “I was hoping for a bit of dirt. Maybe Harry will have a story or two to share.”

Tripp froze for a moment.

“Doubt it,” he finally said.

I watched as Tripp changed out of his traveling clothes and put on a fresh shirt and pants. He seemed worlds away, like he was trying to avoid something.

“What's going on, babe?” I finally said. “You're acting like you forgot my name or something and you're trying to get around it. It's Minty, by the way.”

He made a pouty frown and dove in to kiss my neck, blowing a raspberry for comedic effect. “Minty,” he repeated in a silly, high-pitched
voice, “how could I forget? You're not getting much attention, are you? Let's give you some.”

He tackled me onto the bed and nuzzled my neck. It was cute at first, but it also felt like a diversion. We continued on for a minute or so. We kissed. But it . . . God, it felt weird. So after a minute I pulled away.

“We should probably get over to Cipriani, no?” I asked.

W
hen we walked into the restaurant, Tripp told the hostess we were meeting Harry Van der Waahl.

“Oh! Yes, of course,” she said, guiding us toward the back of the room.

As we approached, I saw a group of people sitting around a long table. There were Catherine Dorson and Perry Hammerstein—the girls from Baron Guggenheim's party. And Baron! What were they all doing there?

Before the hostess could even take us to our seats, the entire group erupted into applause.

“Surprise!” they all shouted.

I gaped at them and turned to Tripp. He looked more mortified than I did.

“I have no idea,” he said.

Just then, May came gallivanting into the room with Harry trailing behind looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Almost immediately, I realized that this was May's doing. She had planned a surprise “welcome back” dinner for Tripp and Harry and conveniently failed to let me in on the surprise.

“Sweetie!” she squealed. “How fun is this?”

“Wow, May,” I said. “There's like twenty people here.”

“I know!” she said, waving to everyone as she spoke. “I hope you don't mind. I wanted it to be a surprise. You know”—she lowered her voice—“remind them what they've been missing.”

“Well,” I said, “this is definitely one way of doing it!”

She laughed. “Have a seat! Have a drink!”

I scooted into the banquette side of the table, toward the center. “Good to see you, Baron,” I said across the table.

“Stunning as ever, Mrs. du Pont.”

“To Harry and Tripp,” Baron said, standing up and holding his glass of champagne in the air. Everyone else followed suit. “For giving us a reason to celebrate for no apparent reason.”

Everyone clinked glasses.

A
fter the appetizers, a few people slipped out to smoke cigarettes. Perry leaned over and asked if I was ready for the wedding.

In the midst of explaining the color scheme and the florals, I heard something that was definitely not meant for my ears. It was Harry whispering to Tripp, clearly louder than he'd intended.

“Dude, that girl in London was hot,” Harry said. “Hot! How much did you pay for that ass?”

And then Tripp replied as if I were not sitting several feet away.

“She wasn't a hooker,” he said.