“You are a lifesaver,” he exclaims, crushing me against his strong chest in a bear hug. “We’ve been going around in circles over the venue.”
“The venue?” I echo, confused.
“For the big day,” Hunter explains. “I don’t understand why we have to decide this stuff now, but apparently, the best churches need reservations years in advance.” He stands aside, and I can see for the first time that the table is covered with bridal magazines and invitation samples.
My happiness comes crashing down.
“Brit’s on deadline and can’t leave her studio,” Hunter continues, oblivious to the pain currently slicing through my chest. It’s not his fault, I deserve an Oscar for how carefully I’ve hidden my true feelings, acting as if being just good friends is all I’ve ever wanted from him.
“How is she?” I manage to ask.
“Stressed.” Hunter gives me a rueful look. “She said if she has to look at another set of calligraphy, she’ll rip my mother’s hair out.”
“She might actually do it, you know,” I warn him, teasing.
“Damn straight,” Hunter laughs. “My girl’s a fighter.”
His cellphone starts to ring, interrupting us. “Oh, crap, I have to take this,” Hunter grimaces. “I won’t be a minute.” He pulls out a chair for me, and then lands a grateful kiss on my cheek. “You always work magic with my mother. Tell her that a simple beach wedding won’t get her cast out of Charleston society forever.”
I sink into the seat, watching with an aching heart as he strides away. I was right in the end. One day he did wake up and realize the drinking and screwing around had to stop, that the girl of his dreams was right there all along.
The only problem is, that girl isn’t me.
A noise startles me out of my forlorn thoughts. Hunter’s mother, Camille, joins me at the table, her drawn face brightening when she sees me. “Alicia!” she exclaims happily, leaning to exchange air kisses. I greet her warmly. I’ve known her for years; after Hunter and I met in college, it turned out that our mothers knew each other from various charity functions and social events. As always, Camille is immaculately presented: her dyed-blonde hair elegantly styled, wearing a Chanel jacket and blue skirt, trim from hours spent playing tennis at the country club. “How are you, dear?” she asks. “I saw your mother just the other week at lunch. I told her, we all need to get together for a girls day at the spa, something fun, what do you say?”
“We’d love that.” I catch the eye of a passing waiter and quickly place an order for iced tea. I wish for a moment I could order something stronger to help dull the pain in my heart, but Camille has strong opinions about daytime drinking. Iced tea it is.
Camille settles back into her seat and looks at the wedding debris with a sigh. “Did my foolish son tell you what they’re planning now?”
I clear my throat. “He mentioned something—”
“A beach wedding!” Camille exclaims over me, clearly distressed. “They might as well get married in a barn. Just move some hay bales out of the way and say ‘I do’ by a pile of manure! It’s all her idea,” she adds with a twist of disdain, refusing to even speak the name of Hunter’s fiancée. “But then, I suppose someone from her situation can’t grasp the social importance of this event.”
“That’s not true,” I protest, quickly leaping to Brit’s defense. “This day means the world to Brit, to both of them. She’s probably just overwhelmed by the idea of organizing a big event,” I add, soothing her with flattery. “After all, she doesn’t have your experience or taste. I’m sure you’ll find the perfect solution.”
Camille doesn’t look convinced. “I just wish he was marrying someone more suited to the social demands of our position,” she says, glancing out of the restaurant windows, to where Hunter is pacing on the sidewalk, still on his cellphone. “That girl has no idea the pressure, the responsibility it takes to be a Covington. Not like you.” She sighs, clueless at how cruel her words really are.
I look away, busying myself by stirring sweetener into my iced tea. “But she loves Hunter,” I remind Camille firmly. “And he loves her. That’s all that matters.”
I can’t believe I’m defending the girl who’s half responsible for my broken heart. That’s the bittersweet irony of it all: I actually like her. Brit may be prickly when you first get to know her, but under the sarcastic shell, she’s funny and talented—and utterly devoted to Hunter.
I stifle a sigh. It would be so much easier if she was a total bitch. I could pretend like I have his best interests at heart, and tell myself he would be happier with me, but Brit is great. They’re perfect together.
But where does that leave me?
Alone, that cruel voice whispers in my head. You’ll always be alone, pining after him like this.
“She’s not even here to help decide on invitations,” Camille continues, her lips pursed. “Clearly, this wedding isn’t a priority.”
I can’t bring myself to sit here, convincing Camille how much Brit and Hunter love each other, so I pretend to check my phone. “Oh no!” I exclaim. “I’m so sorry, there’s an emergency back at the office, I have to run.”
“So soon? Oh, what a shame!” Camille looks downcast. “Never mind, I’ll call your mother and set up that girls’ day, just the three of us.”
“The venue?” I echo, confused.
“For the big day,” Hunter explains. “I don’t understand why we have to decide this stuff now, but apparently, the best churches need reservations years in advance.” He stands aside, and I can see for the first time that the table is covered with bridal magazines and invitation samples.
My happiness comes crashing down.
“Brit’s on deadline and can’t leave her studio,” Hunter continues, oblivious to the pain currently slicing through my chest. It’s not his fault, I deserve an Oscar for how carefully I’ve hidden my true feelings, acting as if being just good friends is all I’ve ever wanted from him.
“How is she?” I manage to ask.
“Stressed.” Hunter gives me a rueful look. “She said if she has to look at another set of calligraphy, she’ll rip my mother’s hair out.”
“She might actually do it, you know,” I warn him, teasing.
“Damn straight,” Hunter laughs. “My girl’s a fighter.”
His cellphone starts to ring, interrupting us. “Oh, crap, I have to take this,” Hunter grimaces. “I won’t be a minute.” He pulls out a chair for me, and then lands a grateful kiss on my cheek. “You always work magic with my mother. Tell her that a simple beach wedding won’t get her cast out of Charleston society forever.”
I sink into the seat, watching with an aching heart as he strides away. I was right in the end. One day he did wake up and realize the drinking and screwing around had to stop, that the girl of his dreams was right there all along.
The only problem is, that girl isn’t me.
A noise startles me out of my forlorn thoughts. Hunter’s mother, Camille, joins me at the table, her drawn face brightening when she sees me. “Alicia!” she exclaims happily, leaning to exchange air kisses. I greet her warmly. I’ve known her for years; after Hunter and I met in college, it turned out that our mothers knew each other from various charity functions and social events. As always, Camille is immaculately presented: her dyed-blonde hair elegantly styled, wearing a Chanel jacket and blue skirt, trim from hours spent playing tennis at the country club. “How are you, dear?” she asks. “I saw your mother just the other week at lunch. I told her, we all need to get together for a girls day at the spa, something fun, what do you say?”
“We’d love that.” I catch the eye of a passing waiter and quickly place an order for iced tea. I wish for a moment I could order something stronger to help dull the pain in my heart, but Camille has strong opinions about daytime drinking. Iced tea it is.
Camille settles back into her seat and looks at the wedding debris with a sigh. “Did my foolish son tell you what they’re planning now?”
I clear my throat. “He mentioned something—”
“A beach wedding!” Camille exclaims over me, clearly distressed. “They might as well get married in a barn. Just move some hay bales out of the way and say ‘I do’ by a pile of manure! It’s all her idea,” she adds with a twist of disdain, refusing to even speak the name of Hunter’s fiancée. “But then, I suppose someone from her situation can’t grasp the social importance of this event.”
“That’s not true,” I protest, quickly leaping to Brit’s defense. “This day means the world to Brit, to both of them. She’s probably just overwhelmed by the idea of organizing a big event,” I add, soothing her with flattery. “After all, she doesn’t have your experience or taste. I’m sure you’ll find the perfect solution.”
Camille doesn’t look convinced. “I just wish he was marrying someone more suited to the social demands of our position,” she says, glancing out of the restaurant windows, to where Hunter is pacing on the sidewalk, still on his cellphone. “That girl has no idea the pressure, the responsibility it takes to be a Covington. Not like you.” She sighs, clueless at how cruel her words really are.
I look away, busying myself by stirring sweetener into my iced tea. “But she loves Hunter,” I remind Camille firmly. “And he loves her. That’s all that matters.”
I can’t believe I’m defending the girl who’s half responsible for my broken heart. That’s the bittersweet irony of it all: I actually like her. Brit may be prickly when you first get to know her, but under the sarcastic shell, she’s funny and talented—and utterly devoted to Hunter.
I stifle a sigh. It would be so much easier if she was a total bitch. I could pretend like I have his best interests at heart, and tell myself he would be happier with me, but Brit is great. They’re perfect together.
But where does that leave me?
Alone, that cruel voice whispers in my head. You’ll always be alone, pining after him like this.
“She’s not even here to help decide on invitations,” Camille continues, her lips pursed. “Clearly, this wedding isn’t a priority.”
I can’t bring myself to sit here, convincing Camille how much Brit and Hunter love each other, so I pretend to check my phone. “Oh no!” I exclaim. “I’m so sorry, there’s an emergency back at the office, I have to run.”
“So soon? Oh, what a shame!” Camille looks downcast. “Never mind, I’ll call your mother and set up that girls’ day, just the three of us.”
