Volition (38 page)

I stared at the door he’d just walked through because he’d just admitted guilt in this relationship a second time in less than twenty minutes.

He’d walked out, so I could concentrate.

He knew that I would fail it with him sitting next to me or with him in the room now that I was aware of his presence.

Jesse had just forfeited an entire credit’s tuition and a semester’s worth of work, so I could pass this class.

And I did it.

I passed.

Now

I REFUSE TO try on wedding dresses until Hayden explains to me what Jasmine was doing in his office.

“Tate, if you don’t get down here right now, Austin isn’t going to make your dress. He’s not going to have time to get you another appointment, so if I have to come burn thousands of holes in your floors, I’m going to.”

“No, I’m not doing it,” I tell Colin.

Catherine couldn’t convince me, so she called him in for backup. She knows he can guilt me far better than anyone else can.

“Tate,” Catherine says.

I hear her craning her head to get to the speaker over Colin’s shoulder.

“You’ve wanted Austin to make your wedding dress ever since
Project Runway
, and this is your chance. You’re marrying a Rockefeller, for heaven’s sake. It’s a good business venture for you both. Please come here. Hayden doesn’t have to know.”

She’s right.

Hayden doesn’t have to know, and I do love Austin’s designs more than anything else I’ve ever seen.

“Fine.”

I hang up the phone and pull myself together. Five minutes later, I’m downstairs, asking my doorman to hail a taxi.

Austin greets me the second I walk in the door, and I immediately feel bad for making him wait.

“Darling, darling,” he says, taking one of my hands and turning me around, “so tall, so svelte. You’re going to be perfection. Sit. I’m going to have you try on a few styles, and then we’ll get to sketching.”

Catherine and Colin are already seated on a plush white couch across from me. Colin’s looking smug, and Catherine rushes up to hug me.

“Thank God you reconsidered. Otherwise, you’d be getting married in something unoriginal at the wedding of the decade.”

“Don’t remind me,” I say, pressing at my forehead to stave off a headache I’m sure is coming. All this white does nothing for me, and neither do the first two dresses Austin puts me in.

When he walks away to get a third, I sit down in defeat.

“Don’t they have something in black? I look so much better in black.”

“It’s a wedding, Tate. You wear white.”

“No,
you
wear white. I want to wear black.”

“Actually, in Indian culture, brides wear red.”

“Really?” Colin asks.

“Really,” she says pointedly. “And you both knew that.”

I know I did, but Colin looks genuinely surprised. Sometimes, I worry about his memory.

“I just want black.”

I look around the shop, but I see nothing but blinding white.

“Maybe Austin can dye the dress black for me.”

Catherine starts to protest again, but Colin interrupts her.

“Okay, Wednesday,” he says, referring to my Addams Family counterpart, “what are you going to do? Walk down the aisle to ‘Danse Macabre’?”

I stand and put my hands on my hips, ready to go find Austin to escape his sarcasm.

“Not a bad idea.”

“Speaking of which, who’s going to walk you down the aisle?” Catherine asks loudly in an attempt to placate us like children who can’t get along.

“I could ask Julian, but I’d rather have you do it,” I tell Colin.

He doesn’t look utterly shocked because he knew I would ask him. He’s the closest thing I have to a brother. Julian is my grandfather, and we’re amiable, unlike my relationship with Lara, but we’ve never been close. If he walked me down the aisle, it wouldn’t mean anything, and I’d rather just walk alone.

For tradition’s sake, I need Colin.

“I’ve really been waiting on Hayden to ask me to be his best man, so I’ll consider your offer and get back to you.”

Catherine punches him in the arm, so he stands and kisses me on the cheek.

“I’d be honored.”

Sentimental is one of my favorite versions of Colin, so I’m grateful he’ll be there for me when I’m shaking down the aisle.

Austin comes back with a sketchpad and begins to draw because we aren’t getting anywhere with the samples.

“You’re not like other brides, Tate. I love a challenge!”

He shows Catherine and Colin, and by their gasps, I know it must be beautiful. Catherine nods at me, and I expect Austin to show me, but he doesn’t.

“No,” he tells me, holding it against him. “You can’t see it. If you do, you’ll tear it apart in your mind until you hate it, and then you’ll hate it on the day. If you see it right before, you’ll love it.”

I hug Austin with his sketchpad between us because I see a little bit of me in him, a little bit of that edge people are so wary of.

This is why I need him to be the one to make the dress I become a Rockefeller in. It needs to have that little flair of darkness, so I can feel at home, not like I’m playing dress-up for thousands of people.

If I don’t feel like myself when I get married, I’ll never last. Hayden deserves better than that.

I deserve better than that, and I hope with all my heart that this dress is a sign that all this will be what it needs to be.

Now

I SAY GOOD-BYE to Catherine and Colin and head to Evanna Wyatt’s favorite coffee shop in New York, so I can try to channel her while I write.

My boss, Chad Holstrom, wants two new stories by the end of the week. Normally, I’d be fine with that, but nothing I’ve written lately is good. My brain is clouded, and I’m not myself.

Everything comes out generic instead of sounding like me.

“I want them to know it’s Tate McKenna before they read the byline,” was what he said when he threw my last short story in the trash right in front of me.

I need to get my edge back, or I’m going to be out of a job.

They know my order, so it’s ready in seconds, and I choose a secluded corner where I can see the rest of the shop, but I’m not noticeable.

New York is kind to celebrities, but since I’m now on Google for my writing and my ring, I like to blend in rather than stand out.

I pull my laptop from my bag and start to write, but after ten minutes, I hate it all. I need something that’s going to shove me over the edge, so I can write like myself again. What I have so far isn’t going to cut it.

“I’m going down to the Red Cross,” Jane announced. “I’m really doing it this time.”

“Jane, why on earth would you do that?” Her mother pursed her lips.

“Daddy and John are over there, and I should be, too. I can help. I have to help.”

“Here.” Her mother held out a letter. “The mail came.”

Jane snatched the dirt-caked tattered letter and opened it. She twisted her ring around her finger as she read it.

They say I’ll be home for Christmas, Janie. I hope you got my last letter. We haven’t had any incoming mail in weeks. I promise I’ll be okay. I look for you in everyone.

Yours, John

Jane ran to get her coat. She scribbled a reply. If there were even a small chance it would get to him, she would send it.

As she ran out the door, she shouted to her mother, “I’m off to post this!”

She kissed the letter and dropped it in the box before skipping and smiling all the way home.

She took off her coat and rubbed her hands together to warm them.

Ten days.

A military car pulled up and Jane ran out, sure it was John. Instead, two officers stepped out in full regalia. One man removed a flag from the car and presented it to Jane, her cheeks still rosy from the walk.

Too much, but not enough. I don’t like it. I slam my computer shut and look around the shop.

A woman is putting a sleeve on her coffee, and we make eye contact as she turns to find the napkins. She strides over to me, a faint smile on her lips.

“Tate,” she says, “how are you?”

“I’ve been better,” I tell Addison because I don’t want to admit I’m angry with my Rockefeller since she doesn’t have the luxury to be angry with hers.

She sits down in front of me without invitation.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” she says. “Are you getting stressed out?”

“Yes,” I admit. I take a sip of my lukewarm coffee. “I’m not really a wedding person.”

She laughs lightly.

“I wasn’t either. It’ll get better once all the hype dies down, I promise.”

She glances at her phone.

“I have to run. My sister’s in town. If you ever need anything, give me a call. It might help to talk to someone who has been through it.”

She places a hand on my arm like that’s supposed to reassure me, and she picks up her bag and leaves. As she walks away, a tiny business card flutters out of her purse and onto the floor.

I look up, but she’s already on the phone and walking outside.

I lean down to pick it up, and I flip it over out of habit.

ADDISON SARO ROCKEFELLER.

Shiny words reflect off the light, and although they’re beautifully made, I hate every letter.

I’m fuming.

Saro is not a common last name.

I’ve never heard it, save for one person.

I’m not sure how I didn’t see this coming, but I’m stunned.

My sister’s in town.

It doesn’t make any sense that Jasmine and Addison are related, but I have to know.

I pull my phone out of my purse and text Hayden. If he’s not at his penthouse now, he’d better be in the next ten minutes. I want to do this at his apartment instead of mine, so I can leave. So I can get away if I have to.

I delete all the words I have written so far. Then, I type out a single sentence.

Seven guns fire three times, and Jane collects a flag.

It’s a sentence, but it’s an entire story, too.

I send it. Chad will either love it or hate it.

I gather my computer and throw my half-full drink in the trash.

My phone buzzes with Hayden’s reply that he’s home, so I walk the four blocks to his penthouse and demand to be let up.

The guard knows me by now without me flashing the ring at him every time, so he lets me in the elevator immediately.

I don’t know what I’m going to say to him. I couldn’t plan this out because I’m too angry. I was upset before about Jasmine in his office, but that could have been work-related. I could have written that off.

But then for Addison’s last name to suspiciously match Jasmine’s? That’s too much.

I climb out of the elevator like a hurricane to find him standing at the bar with a drink in his hand. I feel murderous.

I throw the business card at him to see if it’ll mean anything while I pour myself three fingers of the nearest bottle of alcohol.

He looks at it and sets it on the counter, but his brow is still furrowed.

“The Saro sisters?” I try to see if I’m right.

“What about them?” he responds quickly.