I can’t think straight. I take a deep breath, but it doesn’t help. Ryan is back and so are the ghosts of our relationship, twitching and howling as they claw to the surface after a ten-year sleep. I can feel the all-too-familiar stab of guilt starting to throb again, but I compartmentalize it and push it down. I always do when I remember what we did.
“No, I don’t think this is a good idea at all,” I say.
“Of course, it is. It’s an awesome idea. I just watched your whole interaction and he legit stared into your eyes for ten minutes straight. Plus, Jason said he was completely shaken up when he found out you were going to be at the party.”
“Well, he wasn’t shaken up in front of me, that’s for sure. He had all the calculated confidence of a serial killer.”
“Okay, are we maybe overreaching now?”
“Maybe,” I concede.
Cristina looks me over with a curious expression. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this combative side to you before. I have to admit, it’s very interesting to witness.”
“That’s because I’m not combative,” I say, taking a frustrated breath. “Something about Ryan always turned me into a raving lunatic.”
“Fine, yes, I did sense some tension between you guys, but it was nothing definitive. I couldn’t tell if you were going to tackle each other to the floor in a good way or a bad way.”
“Definitely in a bad way.”
“Agree to disagree. Anyways, he was probably being confrontational because he hasn’t seen you in years and he needed time to adjust.”
“I doubt it.”
“Look, what happened between you guys when you were younger was tough, but you were kids. We’re adults now and I promise tomorrow won’t feel like a setup. I’m a financial planner for a living, Kara. Let me plan your life. I promise you will be happy with the results.”
“There’s so much more to it than you think.” I sigh and look over the metal railing past her shoulder, seeing nothing but open air and city lights and still feeling trapped. In the midst of everything, I think of my dad, always finding him in the strangest moments. So many memories of him are faded after ten years, but not his disappointment in me. That still streaks through my mind with effortless clarity. And Ryan’s presence amplifies it by a million. Why wouldn’t it? I chose Ryan over him.
I have to get out of this dinner. It can’t happen. I let out an artificial laugh that’s meant to be subtle but winds up sounding disturbingly like the Joker’s.
“You know what? I can’t make it tomorrow. I have plans.”
“You verbatim just told me you didn’t have plans.”
I choose not to respond.
“Kara, stop. There’s nothing wrong with you hanging out with Ryan and there is zero pressure. With that being said, if you both happen to fall in love again and decide to get married and you and I have babies at the same time, that’s fine, too.”
My mouth feels dry. I look down at the champagne in my hand and wish it was water.
“I’m just kidding!” Cristina goes on. “In all seriousness, please don’t be nervous about this. You and Ryan are important to Jason and me, so the two of you spending time together is inevitable. Better to get the weirdness out of the way now than to have an awkward time at the wedding when you should be having the time of your life.”
Her eyes are soft and pleading and I know there’s no path to victory here. I groan and slump my shoulders.
“You’re the devil,” I whine.
“And you’re an angel,” she answers with a sparkling smile. “I’ll make reservations at Butter for eight o’clock. We’re going to have an amazing time.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
I down my champagne in one determined gulp, wanting and needing to erase all traces of Ryan from my troubled mind.
3
It’s just past nine in the morning as I sit on my softer-than-sin couch with my open laptop resting on my knees. Sunlight filters in through the sheer white curtains that cover my apartment’s casement windows, warming my bare feet and giving life to small specks of dust that never seem to land.
I’m staring at my computer screen, my fingers still tingling with excitement.
I’m writing again. I’ve started my novel. The novel I’ve been struggling to write for the past year. The novel that’s meant to be my glorious return to historical romance. The novel that is going to make or break me. I reread the words for a fourth time.
Charlotte Destonbury hated corsets. They hurt, they left marks on her skin and they took at least a half an hour a day to put them on and take them off.
Secluded in her sanctuary, the library of her family’s Yorkshire estate, Charlotte decided she’d had enough. She pulled at the shoulders of her emerald day gown until the muslin gathered around her lush waist—the waist that was always a drop too full to be considered delicate. She wasted no time reaching her hands behind her back, desperate to loosen the blasted strings. After enduring the deadly dull company of another suitor, forced on her by her father, she at least deserved to breathe properly.
Charlotte fell to her knees with a growl as she continued to do battle with the stays. Her mahogany hair escaped its pins, tumbling down her heart-shaped face and well past her shoulders. She had almost reached the top string when the library door suddenly creaked open. She froze as her startled gaze locked on the imposing figure now standing in the doorway.
Robert Westmond, the Earl of Stratton, stood transfixed by the untamed beauty all but rolling around on the library floor. She presented a tempting sight, wild and disheveled as she was. The top of her
