Again.
“There have to be some ground rules,” I told him once we were settled in first class and had taken off.
“I thought we’d already covered that?” he asked, turning bright-blue eyes to me in confusion. “You have your own room at the hotel.”
“Yes, but there’s also the issue of who I am to you. You’ve obviously flown me out here to attend a very personal family event with you. They’re going to assume I’m your girlfriend.”
Nash didn’t respond, merely watched me, waiting for me to continue.
“And I’m not.”
“I’m aware.”
I blew out an exasperated breath. “So what are you going to tell them?”
His eyes met mine and he waited another beat before saying, “What do you want me to tell them?”
He had me there.
Because I had no answer.
I definitely wasn’t his girlfriend. I also wasn’t some puck bunny he was screwing. And at this very moment, we weren’t even friends. We couldn’t tell people that, though. He had enough stress with this party and the situation with his dad. My job here wasn’t to hurt him. At home, I’d make him pay for what he’d done. Probably for a long time. But this was different and no matter how angry I still was, my heart ached for him with regard to what his dad was doing to his mom.
“Let’s just say we’re good friends,” I said at last.
“People will assume we’re sleeping together.”
Part of me wanted to screech in protest, but I reminded myself that this weekend, this party, this series of events that could potentially unfold, were not about me. “That’s fine,” I said, shrugging. “We are not going to encourage it, though. We’re friends, we work together, that’s all.”
“Okay.” He paused. “Is that it?”
God, he was infuriating sometimes.
“Yes.” I looked up gratefully as the flight attendant brought us mimosas.
“Do you think you’ll ever forgive me, Sariah?” he asked as we sipped our drinks.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, twirling my glass in my hand. “You know what I went through with Theo. I don’t like liars. In fact, I despise liars.”
“I could counter that it was more a lie of omission,” he said. “But I’m guessing that distinction doesn’t matter to you.”
“No, it doesn’t. It’s almost worse because it means you knew better and continued to perpetuate the lie.”
He sighed. “I’m crazy about you, Sariah. I don’t know if I’ll be able to show you how much this weekend. My gut tells me it’s going to be a shit show. But I need you to know that I wouldn’t have asked you to come if you didn’t mean a lot to me.”
Somehow, I knew that, even if I wasn’t ready to admit it.
“My mom is going to love you,” he continued quietly. “Please don’t make me look like a douche to her. She’s going to have enough to deal with.”
“I would never—” I began, but then cut myself off. “Wait, what do you mean? Are you going to tell her about your dad?”
He looked away and was quiet for a long time. “I’m caught between a rock and a hard place, Sariah. If I don’t tell her, and let her enjoy the party as if her marriage is intact, isn’t that perpetuating the same type of lie as I did with you?” He turned to look at me, and maybe for the first time in my life, I was speechless.
I hadn’t made the correlation between the two situations, and it was jarring. He was in a terrible position.
“But if I tell her, it’s going to ruin not just the party, but her entire life. How do I make that choice, babe?” His voice was soft and his hand shook a little as he lifted his glass, downing the rest of his mimosa.
If he’d said almost anything else, I would have told him not to call me “babe,” but there was no doubt he was struggling, and I couldn’t bring myself to be a bitch when it came to this situation.
“I don’t know,” I replied gently, putting my hand on his forearm. “In our case, it was wrong to keep the truth from me, and it probably is in your mom’s case too, but it’s a totally different thing. You and I had been together once. We’re talking thirty years of marriage, family, memories, a lifetime for your mom. It’s way more complicated.”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t either.” I squeezed his arm. “But I’m here for you. As much as you piss me off, I’m here for you.”
He laid his hand over mine for a moment and the warmth went right to my chest.
I could deny it all I wanted, but his touch did things to me.
Still.
My room at the Biltmore was gorgeous and I was almost sorry I had to leave it to go to the party. Nash had told me the dress code wasn’t black tie, but formal, so he was wearing a suit and I had on a red cocktail dress that was formfitting and elegant. It was strapless but fell to midcalf and made me look long and lean. I’d actually never worn it before. I’d bought it for Theo’s company Christmas party last year but then he’d come home with an obnoxious little black number and at the time I’d felt guilty saying no to his thoughtfulness even though the black dress was ugly. I’d donated it to charity the day he moved out.