I haven’t so much as Googled the woman who ruined my life—despite the fact that I’ve thought about her every single fucking day. It has taken all the power I had not to dig anything up on her since leaving Rosefield, not to go down that rabbit hole.
It was always for the best.
No good could come from that, from ruminating in what-might-have-been.
But tonight, on the eve of her twenty-third birthday, I find myself missing her more than usual, unable to stop myself from seeking the answers to the questions I’ve asked for the past four years: What is she up to? How is she? Is she happy? Did she find someone new?
My self-control is pathetically non-existent, and six beers later, I’ve typed her name into a search engine and found a few limited results.
Her social media is pretty sparse, her pages private and locked down so tight I can’t even see her friends list or where she lives. Her Facebook profile picture, a photo of her with a grinning dark-haired girl draped around her shoulders, hasn’t been updated in fifteen months, and the rest of her photos are pretty non-telling.
Halston smiling in front of some sculpture.
Halston standing in the middle of a group of friends at someone’s wedding.
Halston volunteering at a soup kitchen.
She seems happy in all of them, and fuck, is she still just as gorgeous as before, if not more so.
Her hair is longer, her jade eyes brighter, her bombshell figure just as curvaceous. I can almost taste her berry-sweet lips on my tongue, can almost feel her soft hair in my fingers.
I take another swig of Guinness, emptying the bottle. My eyes blur, my vision darkening. In a few minutes, I’ll pass out.
Erasing my internet history, I slam the lid of my laptop down and place the empty bottle on the nightstand. She may have ruined me, but I still love her, and that’s what hurts the most.
Closing my eyes, I try to relax until I’m overcome with a heavy stupor that sinks me into a black oblivion.
Here’s to forgetting, if only for a little while.
Chapter 45
Ford
Another Year Later …
“Lighten up, Fordie.” My sister straightens my tie and dusts specks of invisible lint from my shoulders before smiling.
We’re in Sag Harbor for our cousin Bristol’s five-day wedding extravaganza, which isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, but she made me an usher and made Arlo a junior groomsman, and she happens to be our only cousin on our father’s side, so here we fucking are.
“I don’t know how you can be so flippant right now.” My jaw tightens, throbbing as it has been all week. “It’s going to take all the strength I have not to punch him in the face the second I see him.”
Nicolette laughs. “Not true. I know you, and you’re not going to do that because this is your favorite cousin’s wedding that your favorite aunt and uncle are spending a small fortune on, so you’re not going to cause a scene.”
“Aunt Cecily ceased to be my favorite aunt when she decided to become best friends with Catherine.” I haven’t said our former stepmother’s name in I don’t know how long.
Nic rolls her eyes. “Still. You’re a class act, Ford. You always have been. Just go out there, catch up with our old friends and family. And in a few days, you’ll be free to go back to … where are you staying now?”
“Prague.” I groan. “I’ve told you this. And after that, I’m going to London.”
“I can barely keep track of my ten-year-old. You expect me to keep track of you?” she asks. Nicolette steps back, inspecting my suit and tie. “You look nice, brother. Still hard to get used to you with the longer hair.”
I run my fingertips along the sides of my head, combing my hair into place. I’ve grown out my classic crew cut in favor of something a little more relaxed, something I can muss into place in the morning and go. Plus, the shorter hair was a reminder of the life I left behind, and the last thing I need is to be reminded of everything I lost five years ago …
My house. My job. My reputation. My career.
Her.
I’m not sure why Bristol’s wedding has me thinking of Halston, but today she’s particularly prominent in my thoughts. And sometimes those thoughts are so heavy, I can feel them. Physically feel them.
They’re heavy today.
“Arlo, you ready yet? We gotta go.” Nic yells toward the hotel bathroom. “God, he takes forever in there and he’s only ten. What’s it going to be like when he’s sixteen?!”
The lock on the door pops and Arlo steps out in slacks and a cashmere sweater, his blond curls combed straight and parted on the left.
“My baby.” Nicolette strides toward him, cupping his face in her hands. His eyes widen and he looks to me for help, but all I can do is fight a smirk. “You’re so grown up. Oh, my goodness. Stop growing. Stay little forever.”
Arlo tries to squirm away when my sister wraps him in her arms.
Checking my watch, I clear my throat. “We should head down. The mixer started a half hour ago.”
Only Aunt Cecily could extend an hour-long wedding into a five-day event. Tonight’s the mixer, tomorrow’s the clam bake, Friday’s the rehearsal dinner, Saturday’s the wedding and reception, and Sunday is the wedding brunch, which I didn’t even know was a thing.
Nic checks her reflection in the mirror, smoothing her hands down her sides before turning to check her ass.
Shameless.
“You trying to meet someone tonight?” I ask as we head toward the hallway.
“You never know who you’re going to meet at these things,” she says. “Five of my friends met their future spouses at other people’s weddings.”
We stand in front of an elevator bay, watching Arlo press the down button repeatedly.
“I didn’t know you were looking,” I say. My sister and I are close, but we seldom discuss her love life. I suppose I’ve always assumed she was content to be Arlo’s mom because she never alluded otherwise.
“I’m always looking, Ford,” she says as the elevator doors ding and slide open. “Isn’t everyone?”
I frown for a second before shaking my head. “I’m not.”
“That’s right. You have impossible standards,” she says, exhaling and staring up at the mirrored ceiling as we ride to the bottom floor. “Hate to break it to you, but the girl of your dreams? She doesn’t exist. I’ve yet to meet a feisty, opinionated blonde who reads Proust and swears like a sailor.”
The elevator slows to a gentle stop and the doors part. Nic and Arlo step off, making a beeline for a table covered in hor d’oeuvres.
Ahead stands none other than Mason Foster with a beautiful woman draped on his arm. Her curved body wears a slip dress that plunges low in the back and shimmers like diamond dust, and her hair, smooth as glass and the color of melted chocolate, hits just below her collarbone. A champagne glass rests lightly between her delicate fingertips, and she nods when Mason leans close and whispers in her ear.
But when she turns toward the elevator, her expression disappears the second her wild green gaze lands on mine.
It’s Halston. All grown up.
My heart thunders in my chest, but I walk past her. I don’t stop. I can’t.
I keep moving.
I may have loved that woman once, but that was a lifetime ago—before she destroyed me. And how she ended up with Mason is none of my fucking concern.
Removing my gaze from her womanly curves and her juicy mouth the color of ripe strawberries, I make my way to the end of the bar, order a double vodka, and lose myself in the crowded ballroom the rest of the night.
Chapter 46
Halston
It worked.
I found him.
I finally found him.
My skin is flushed, the room feverish. Mason won’t stop touching me. He pulls me from aunt to uncle to cousin to grandmother, introducing me as “My Halston” despite the fact that we’re not together.
I’m simply his wedding date, a work colleague he’s been chasing for the better part of a year.
“Uncle Roger,” Mason says, pulling me by the hand to a cozy corner of a giant ballroom. “Have you met my Halston?”
Roger is a tall man with slick, silver hair and a devious smirk. He takes my hand from Mason, lifting it to his mouth and depositing a kiss, like I’m some noblewoman.