I glance around the living room, and even though all traces of him are gone, the whole space is haunted by Ryan. He might as well be standing next to me. I walk back over to the door and lock it, feeling utterly and chillingly numb.
18
“I’m getting married.”
Charlotte’s words split through Robert like the swipe of an ax. “I beg your pardon?”
“To Edward Brinton, the Marquis of St. Clare. He’s an acquaintance of my father. The wedding will take place as soon as possible.”
Robert was unable to disguise his confusion as every muscle in his body tightened. He studied Charlotte, finding her cheeks pale and her eyes puffy and bloodshot. “I don’t understand,” he said.
“It’s quite simple, really. Our dalliance has come to an end. I would have thought someone like you would be well-versed in these matters.”
“If something is wrong then tell me. I can fix it.”
“There’s nothing to fix. It’s true, I have enjoyed your company for the past few weeks, but it’s now time for you to leave.”
Silence stretched for what felt like a lifetime until Robert stormed forward to stand barely an inch away from Charlotte. “I don’t give a damn if you want me to leave! I’m gone for two days and I come back to find you engaged to some old letch? What the devil has happened?”
Charlotte pushed violently against Robert’s chest, forcing him back and gaining some distance. “George is gone!” she cried. “Father sent him away and he won’t tell me where he is or if he’s all right and he won’t tell me anything until I marry Lord Brinton.”
Robert shook his head as anger hammered through him. “This is ridiculous. I’ll talk to your father and put a stop to this at once.”
“No!” Charlotte’s voice was desperate. “If I interfere, Father will keep George where he is and I will never see him again. If I go along with what he wishes, he will let him live with me at Lord Brinton’s estate after the wedding.”
“I would marry you tomorrow if your father is so determined to have you gone. Why is he forcing you on Brinton?” Charlotte didn’t answer and Robert’s patience wore thin. “Answer me!” he roared.
“My father owes a fortune to countless creditors. He was on the brink of ruin when Lord Brinton offered to pay off his debts in exchange for my hand. He’s already dispensed with half. The rest will be seen to once we are married, along with a generous annual allowance.”
Robert advanced on Charlotte again, moving to stand a breath away from her. “And what about us? What of the other night? You expect me to step aside when you may already be carrying my child?”
Charlotte turned, dropping her gaze to the drawing room floor. “The odds of that occurring are very slim and I doubt it would matter much to Lord Brinton. Such things have happened before.”
“They do not happen to me!”
“Robert, please! This is my fault! I let my guard down. I was with you when I should have been looking after George and now he’s gone.” Charlotte nearly fell apart then. She wanted to go to Robert so badly. She almost did, but George’s face flashed through her mind and stopped her dead in her tracks.
“I must insist that you leave,” she instead said, her voice firm despite her anguish. “I will not risk my brother’s safety. Not for myself and certainly not for you...”
What I love the most about living in a foreign country is the total anonymity of it all. I don’t know anyone. I can walk down the street dressed like a total slob and I won’t bump into a single person I know. Not that I’m walking around Rome looking a mess, but still, knowing that I can is extremely liberating.
I’ve been here a week, staying in my rented apartment in the Della Vittoria District of Rome, and at this point, I’m leaning towards staying indefinitely. It’s been done before. People have picked up and disappeared to live a fabulous life abroad. Leaving New York behind for a villa in Italy sounds more than mysterious and sexy to me.
Because mysterious and sexy is absolutely how I’m feeling these days. I wake up, eat, write, eat, sightsee, shop for food or other things (but pretty much just food), eat, send out emails, watch a movie, write, then sleep. Yeah, it’s downright indecent over here.
The email section of my day takes a good chunk of time. I get daily updates from Cristina, Jen and Maggie. And, of course, my mom demands I write to her every day.
I’d like to say that my emails are a pleasant escape, but there’s always an elephant in the room, or rather, an elephant in the email. I obviously told Maggie what happened with Ryan as soon as we left the wedding. She was enraged and understanding and instantly offered to have her cousins break his legs—that’s what you call best-friend status.
When I spoke to Cristina the following day, she vowed bodily harm against Jason for not telling us Ryan was engaged. As it turns out, Ryan filled him in the day they went out for their tuxes and shoes, thus explaining his rehearsal dinner weirdness. Jason made him swear to tell me the truth and was under the impression that he did. Even knowing that, Cristina was still ready to go on the warpath but I begged her not to hold her new husband responsible for someone else’s actions. He was only doing what he had to for his friend, which I know she would have done for me, times a thousand.
I convinced both Maggie and Cristina that the best way they could help me move on was to never bring up Ryan again. They agreed and as much as I’m glad that they’ve respected my wishes, it’s hard to talk to them about what’s going on in my life when I refuse
