Fading Out (9 page)

“
O
h
, crap.” I’m throwing clothes around the room, angry with myself for being so out of it lately, for forgetting.

“Ari, just relax.” Vee plunks down on her bed and proceeds to peel a layer from her cinnamon roll and pop it into her mouth. My belly twists, a queasiness coating my stomach lining.

I haven’t eaten anything since lunch—and even then, I pushed aside my tray after Ryder’s invasion, having only taken a few bites of dry salad and toast. Subconsciously, I was aware of tonight, my body on high alert, even if my brain wasn’t keeping up.

“Ugh, where is it?” I’m practically growling. “I can’t believe I forgot about tonight. Why didn’t Becca call me, like she always does? She never misses a beat to wear me out.” I straighten my back and drop the hamper to the floor. Giving up, utterly. “It’s like she did it on purpose.”

“So what. Eff your stepmom.” Vee sits up, crossing her legs underneath her. “You said she was having some gown made, right? Just go on over and let her doll you up. Or”—she bounds up and comes toward me with a devilish glint in her eyes—“you could blow off the rents and go out with Ryder, instead.” She cocks her head, challenging.

“Right. Because my family wouldn’t make me pay dearly for that disgrace.”

Vee shrugs and tosses the last bite of roll into her mouth. “You only live once, A,” she says around a mouthful.

I look up at the ceiling and release a heavy breath, my constricted chest heavy. Vee’s words remind me so much of what Mel would say in this moment. Maybe it’s good advice. Maybe for once telling my father and Becca where they can stick their pretentious ways would feel damn good.

Only the knowledge of what I’d suffer during the aftermath stops me. It’s not worth the headache.

Or the fallout.

Normally, a charity function wouldn’t be so critical for my father. But with him trying to rebound his reputation from the recent tarnishing, I’m expected to support him publically. Upstanding children—who will probably marry one of their sons—matter to this crowd.

I have to be at my best.

“At least I have his number,” I say, going right for my nightstand table. I pick up my iPhone and tap the message icon. The last text I sent was to Ryder. “I’ll just tell him it’s off. For now.”

Vee groans. “He’s going to think you’re blowing him off.”

“So,” I say. “Why do we suddenly care what The Ryde thinks?” I look over at her before starting my message. I need a second to sort out what I’m going to say.

“I’m being selfish. Sorry.” She walks toward the closet. “I was hoping that maybe the next time, we could do a double or something.”

Ah, crap. “Vee…”

She waves me off from over her shoulder, brushing away my sympathy. “Gavin’s so far up Laney’s—” She cuts off, then turns to face me with a black maxi dress in her hands. “Well, he’s literally so far up her vag, that I don’t stand a chance. It’s just a dumb infatuation.”

I do think Vee’s level of interest in Gavin has gone supernova—to the point of near obsession. But I keep my mouth shut. I don’t have much room to talk. “What is that?” I nod to the dress.

“I got this for Christmas last year, but it doesn’t fit. Too small.” She shrugs, as if this fact doesn’t bother her in the least. I envy her nonchalance toward her body so hard. “I really don’t get why you’re so worried over what you’re wearing to your parents when your stepmom already has clothes—probably something gorgeous—already picked out for you. But,” she adds, crossing the room toward me, dress held out, “I have stopped trying to figure out your brain. Take it.” She shakes the hanger.

“Thanks,” I say, accepting the dress as she lays the silky material over my arm.

She smiles and then heads out to who knows where. She’s always doing that—up and leaving, after making some crucial statement. Like a bad sitcom. I laugh to myself.

Only, she just doesn’t get it. Becca’s going to scrutinize whatever I wear. You don’t just show up anywhere, even home, looking less than “put together.” And, she’ll size me up. Inspecting how much weight I’ve gained or lost. Whether my curves are too curvy...or not curvaceous enough. Judging if I’ve been working out too much or too little.

I’m exhausted just thinking about the first five minutes with her…never mind the whole evening.

With a resigned sigh, I slip out of my clothes and into Vee’s form-fitting dress, deciding I can wear my Dolce & Gabbana cardigan over it. So Becca has less unconcealed areas to evaluate me.

And oh, I think, getting my head through the tight neck, I completely forgot to text Ryder.

I quickly type out a message to him, explaining that I have a party to attend with my parents. It’s the lamest excuse in the history of excuses, but it’s also the truth. So there’s that.

He replies right away:
You could’ve just said you can’t make it. The book wasn’t necessary, although I appreciate the thought you put into your standing me up excuse.

I shake my head. You’d think a guy being stood up—if that was the case—would be a bit less cocky. Not Ryder. His conceit in the face of rejection is astounding. And absolutely infuriating. I can almost envision the night we would’ve had, the attention centered on him, my embarrassment at his witty remarks. I’m almost relieved I have to cancel. Almost.

Me:
It’s the truth. I simply forgot

Ryder:
Subconsciously? Should I be hopeful?

I laugh. Me:
Absolutely. Believe it or not, I’d rather go to your conspicuously anonymous event with you.
As soon as I hit send, I realize it’s true. There are worse things than spending a night affecting a fake smile and listening to boring people talk money, but not many. At least with Ryder, there’s no expectation—only the anxiety-inducing hours of being near him. Unlike my father, who insists I flatter and stroke the egos of all the “right” men.

I cringe, and look at my screen when my phone beeps.

Ryder:
I’ll blow off my thing if you blow off yours…

A full-on laugh flies from my mouth, unguarded.

Ryder:
Please do NOT take that the wrong way. I swear, was meant totally innocent

He has to do this on purpose. No one stumbles over this many innuendoes all of the time. But even if I’m willing to trust that, and maybe even him…a little…I can’t back out of my father’s banquet.

Me:
I feel you say these things on purpose to get a rise out of me. But no, sorry. Not doable. Rain check?

My breath stilled in my chest, I wait for his next message. Not sure why, other than possible hope his next words will alleviate some of the stress gathering inside me.

Ryder:
You do realize I will now be even more persistent. You said yes once…

The air in the room ceases to stir, as if time halts, my gaze hard on the phone in my hand. A tingling sensation prickles my stomach, the air in my lungs finally escaping with a long, careful exhale. Who talks like this? Who makes you feel this significant with just words?

Right. Shaking off the unsettling chill, I remind myself he’s the school “it” guy. He’s well versed at saying the right things to set my heart aflutter. But still, that doesn’t quite fit the stereotypical jock. Stephan tried hard at playing the romantic angle, but it always felt forced. He wasn’t the least bit suave or smooth. And Ryder’s attempts don’t feel practiced.

Me:
Laters

Ryder:
Xx

Hmm.

Placing my phone on my bed, I only consider his last text long enough to roll my eyes at myself, then I find my cardigan, my anxiety quickly catching up with where it should be at this point. I’m now only minutes away from being in Becca’s presence.

I’m out the door when I receive the text from her that she’s waiting out front in the town car.

“
I
wish
you’d have been honest with me, Ari.” Becca swirls the drink in her hand, her French manicured nails polished to a high gloss and glinting more than the crystal. A classic French twist leaves her shoulders bare, so that her long layers aren’t in competition for attention over the black Armani dress.

Simple. Elegant. What I was supposed to aspire to tonight.

Setting my sparkling water on the table, I say, “I didn’t realize—” I stop. Compose. Then, “I was a size two just a month ago,” I whisper, refraining from tugging on the pins Becca stuck in my dress to keep it from slipping. “Maybe it’s stress from school. Life changes, and all that.” I force my shoulders stiff, stopping myself from shrugging. I’m already getting reprimanded on my weight, I don’t want her to start in on my shrugging and how it’s a weak gesture.

Becca takes a sip of her red wine. Her eyes dart around the room above the rim. She’s dismissing the conversation—or rather, interrogation—completely. I failed her, so there’s no reason to hear my input on the matter. But had I showed up a size four… Oh, how the world would’ve ended.

There is no safe, middle ground.

Stepping to the side, I put some much-needed breathing room between us. The orchestra starts a piece by Bach, and I try to lose myself in the comfort of the familiar melody. Ignoring the many too-wide, stretched smiles on the seemingly happy faces in the banquet hall.

A charity event. Which in itself isn’t a bad thing; they do a lot of good. This one in particular is to raise money for a homeless housing project that’s being funded locally. But that’s not truly why we’re here, why any of them are here. This is a way for big CEOs and top lawyers and other people of wealth to spend their money lavishly while pretending it’s for a good cause.

It’s about them showing off for each other, making new, high-on-the-ladder contacts, and creating new business opportunities. I’ve been to so many of these things I can’t even attempt to put a number on it; I’ve seen it all before.

The lights dim, setting the scene on the dance floor now that the dinner portion of the evening is through. Fake candle sconces illuminate the walls and rafters of the banquet hall, filling the cool room with ambient warmth. It’s beautiful, but also a slight reminder of the fakeness of these events.

When my father finishes his first round of greetings and mingling, he walks over to us and wraps his arm around my waist. “Ari, love,” he says, turning me to face the man behind him. “You remember Lucas.”

My spine locks stiff. I feel my father’s prodding gesture against my back, and I step forward, accepting Lucas’s outstretched hand. “Hi. Yes, of course. What are you doing here?”

He chuckles, enclosing both his large hands around mine. “Our parents are conspiring again,” he says, giving my father a crooked smirk. The air vacates my lungs. Lucas must sense my unease. He clarifies, “The merger. My father is bringing new clients to Wyndemere Enterprises. They’ve been dragging me to boring meeting after boring meeting for days now.”

I laugh, pulling my hand free of his. That may be the truth, but it’s not the full disclosure. I never once thought of Lucas and me as anything…but I should’ve seen it coming. Our fathers are best friends, having attended Dartmouth together. Then they ventured into the same business. It wouldn’t be a crazy stretch to imagine my father’s intentions by inviting Lucas here. Now.

I’m only angry that he’s forcing this on me so soon. I thought I had until I graduated.

I suck in a breath, steel my nerves. “How long are you staying in town?”

My father interrupts. “You two kids go dance and talk.” He makes a shooing motion. “This event needs bodies on that dance floor.” Then he offers his hand to Becca, making a grand gesture. “May I have this dance?”

Becca’s gleaming white smile nearly glows neon amidst the mock candlelight. And I think
, it didn’t used to be this way.
As I watch them stroll onto the dance floor, my father’s strong arm wrapping Becca’s lean waist, a memory surfaces of the three of us: slow dancing to Christmas music in the living room, twinkling lights, a roaring fire, laughing.

I look away, breaking the memory.

My father has already said his piece to me for the time being. He commented on my weight also, hinting not too subtly about his concerns on “the speed”, but he wasn’t as harsh as Becca. He’s more preoccupied with his never-ending quest at husband matchmaking.

Between the both of them relentlessly stoking either queasy topic, it’s a wonder I eat at all.

Lucas grasps my elbow and begins leading me to the floor. “We should keep your father happy.”

I grin wide. “But of course.”

As the song wears on, I listen as Lucas enlightens me on the details of the merger. I smile and nod in all the right places, but I couldn’t be more bored. I have never feigned interest in business; that’s one thing I can say with certainty that sets me apart from the other Wyndemeres. My single, identifying ownness.

“So,” Lucas says, shifting gears. His arms enfold me to him, and my heart races. But not in a good way. “I was hoping I could see more of you while I’m here.”

I lick my lips, stalling. “I’m sure we’ll be attending many of the same functions, Lucas.” It’s not that he’s not attractive. With his smoldering brown eyes and tan skin, his lean, muscular build and impressive portfolio, he’s all but perfect. It’s simply that I knew ages ago I didn’t feel that way toward him. There was never a spark.

But truly, that’s one of the rare luxuries I don’t get to indulge.

He smiles. “I meant just us.” He runs a finger along my jaw, and I try not to pull away.

“I have classes. Just so much makeup work…” I trail off. I’m unsure how much my father revealed about where I’ve been for the past few months. Although, maybe outing the fact that I was in rehab would get me out of this awkward mess.

That’s a stupid thought. Rehab doesn’t stop family mergers. In fact, they’re probably the reason why half of society is admitted into rehab.

Thankfully, the song ends and I step out of Lucas’s grasp. When my father returns to collect Lucas for a discussion happening across the room, I sigh with relief.

“Sorry,” Lucas says, as if it’s any real loss that he’s leaving me. I can only shrug.

Becca has found her own group to gab away to, which isn’t a disappointment at all, either. Deciding I’ve stood post long enough, the three-inch heels killing my feet, I slip down into the seat at our table.