and he’s gone, thinking the worst of me forever?
It’s a thought I literally can’t stomach. I dry heave so hard my eyes send wet trails down my cheeks. If I can just talk to Dylan one more time…
Please, God.
Blotting my face, I head back inside. I’ve done my part tonight. I’m saying goodbye to Blaine and going home. I’ll send Dylan an email or get through on the phone and explain that I thought it was done, that we were done, that I never wanted him to feel like a fool, even if it’s just in a message.
And then I’ll fall apart in private.
The glass doors whoosh shut behind me, and there is Dylan, ten feet to my left, slouched in a leather chair in the lobby, eyes like a storm about to hit the shore.
Despite the anger and hurt brewing there, I walk steadily toward him and gently perch on the chair to his right. I hate that even now I’m choosing the chair more hidden from sight of the ballroom, tucked behind a large plant and a lamp, because now it’s even more important to maintain the perfect image. I hate the tension and anger rolling from Dylan more, from the agitated tapping of his foot on the floor to his fist bumping on the arm of the chair. I hate that I did this to him, made him feel this terrible. Even though I never meant to, the damage is done.
The muscles in his jaw tense a few times as he grits his teeth over and over before finally speaking in a low, hoarse voice. “Explain.”
Shaking my head, I swallow hard, every word in my vocabulary deserting me, and stare at the floor. My heart sinks with the enormity of what I’ve done to us both.
Dylan’s hand roughly forces my chin up so my eyes meet his again, and despite the situation, tingles rush through me at the contact. It could be Armageddon outside, and I’d only be able to focus on this man and how very much I want him.
But when I try to grab his wrist and hold his hand to my face, he tears his hand away. “Rachel, what the fuck was that?”
The loss of his touch devastates me all over again, and I can barely focus on words. “It’s not what it looks like.”
He barks out an angry laugh. “So, it wasn’t your fiancé announcing your engagement in front of everyone?”
I can’t explain the circumstances behind it. I can’t change the engagement or the way Dylan found out, but he needs to know my feelings were real. “That’s not what I want to tell you.”
“Actions speak louder than words. In there?” He jerks his thumb toward the ballroom, and his expression hardens. “That spoke volumes.”
This is all going so wrong. My stomach tenses. “No, it’s not like that. Please, Dylan, just hear me out.”
“Why? So you can lie to my face and tell me that I didn’t see what I just saw?”
“It’s what you saw, but not what you think.”
“Then what is it, Rachel?” He’s giving me an opening, even now.
“I…” My mind spins, stuck in a rut of the truth. What can I say? I can’t tell him the truth. There’s no way I can explain anything without explaining everything, and I absolutely cannot do that. Right now, I don’t even want to think about it; I just want to run away from reality with Dylan. My teeth dig into my lower lip hard enough I taste blood. “We…”
He leans closer. “Are you or are you not engaged to that man?”
The tears don’t drip so much as pour down my cheeks. “I am.”
He flinches and nods. “Then there’s nothing else to be said, is there?” His long, perfect body unfolds until he’s towering over me. “You made your choice before we even met.”
I spring up and follow. “Dylan—”
He holds a hand up over his shoulder, a curt motion. I crumple into the chair he left and bury my face in my hands so I can’t see him leave for good.
I’m such an idiot.
What have I done? My chest squeezes like it’s being crushed. Every inhale is a shallow battle in my efforts not to take a deep breath, because if I do, I’ll scream.
I shouldn’t have ever gotten involved
It’s a thought I literally can’t stomach. I dry heave so hard my eyes send wet trails down my cheeks. If I can just talk to Dylan one more time…
Please, God.
Blotting my face, I head back inside. I’ve done my part tonight. I’m saying goodbye to Blaine and going home. I’ll send Dylan an email or get through on the phone and explain that I thought it was done, that we were done, that I never wanted him to feel like a fool, even if it’s just in a message.
And then I’ll fall apart in private.
The glass doors whoosh shut behind me, and there is Dylan, ten feet to my left, slouched in a leather chair in the lobby, eyes like a storm about to hit the shore.
Despite the anger and hurt brewing there, I walk steadily toward him and gently perch on the chair to his right. I hate that even now I’m choosing the chair more hidden from sight of the ballroom, tucked behind a large plant and a lamp, because now it’s even more important to maintain the perfect image. I hate the tension and anger rolling from Dylan more, from the agitated tapping of his foot on the floor to his fist bumping on the arm of the chair. I hate that I did this to him, made him feel this terrible. Even though I never meant to, the damage is done.
The muscles in his jaw tense a few times as he grits his teeth over and over before finally speaking in a low, hoarse voice. “Explain.”
Shaking my head, I swallow hard, every word in my vocabulary deserting me, and stare at the floor. My heart sinks with the enormity of what I’ve done to us both.
Dylan’s hand roughly forces my chin up so my eyes meet his again, and despite the situation, tingles rush through me at the contact. It could be Armageddon outside, and I’d only be able to focus on this man and how very much I want him.
But when I try to grab his wrist and hold his hand to my face, he tears his hand away. “Rachel, what the fuck was that?”
The loss of his touch devastates me all over again, and I can barely focus on words. “It’s not what it looks like.”
He barks out an angry laugh. “So, it wasn’t your fiancé announcing your engagement in front of everyone?”
I can’t explain the circumstances behind it. I can’t change the engagement or the way Dylan found out, but he needs to know my feelings were real. “That’s not what I want to tell you.”
“Actions speak louder than words. In there?” He jerks his thumb toward the ballroom, and his expression hardens. “That spoke volumes.”
This is all going so wrong. My stomach tenses. “No, it’s not like that. Please, Dylan, just hear me out.”
“Why? So you can lie to my face and tell me that I didn’t see what I just saw?”
“It’s what you saw, but not what you think.”
“Then what is it, Rachel?” He’s giving me an opening, even now.
“I…” My mind spins, stuck in a rut of the truth. What can I say? I can’t tell him the truth. There’s no way I can explain anything without explaining everything, and I absolutely cannot do that. Right now, I don’t even want to think about it; I just want to run away from reality with Dylan. My teeth dig into my lower lip hard enough I taste blood. “We…”
He leans closer. “Are you or are you not engaged to that man?”
The tears don’t drip so much as pour down my cheeks. “I am.”
He flinches and nods. “Then there’s nothing else to be said, is there?” His long, perfect body unfolds until he’s towering over me. “You made your choice before we even met.”
I spring up and follow. “Dylan—”
He holds a hand up over his shoulder, a curt motion. I crumple into the chair he left and bury my face in my hands so I can’t see him leave for good.
I’m such an idiot.
What have I done? My chest squeezes like it’s being crushed. Every inhale is a shallow battle in my efforts not to take a deep breath, because if I do, I’ll scream.
I shouldn’t have ever gotten involved
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