New York or someone’s assistant sent to escort Austin to his meeting. In a few minutes, the three of us would be laughing about the misunderstanding. It would be awkward but understandable. If she wasn’t a business associate . . .
I couldn’t allow myself to linger on that possibility.
The man at the registration desk slipped Austin an envelope and told him his room—the Edwardian Fifth Avenue Suite—overlooked the Pulitzer Fountain from the eighteenth floor. Austin turned to pick up his suitcase, and I almost wished he would glance up and see me hovering beside the fern.
He didn’t notice me.
Now that he had his hotel key in hand, I prayed he would say good-bye to the woman. Bid her a good day. But there was no handshake as they parted ways. Or the kiss of the French on both cheeks. The woman trailed Austin to the elevator and slipped inside.
As the doors began to close, I saw Austin lean down. Even though I knew the scene would haunt me, I couldn’t look away. Before the doors shut, I watched the man I was supposed to marry kiss her lips.
The bright colors of the lobby fused together and I felt as if I might faint. Air. I needed fresh air. Rushing back out the lobby doors, I collapsed against a column and pounded my fists against the stone, gasping the warm, fume-laden air. The relentless horns of taxis rattled my head. Messy tears flooded my cheeks.
How could I have been so stupid?
I punched the column again. I’d known something was off the moment Lisa mentioned the trip to New York. Or perhaps it was before, when Austin lectured me on the importance of my commitment and then put me on a plane to France.
No wonder he hadn’t wanted me to call him during my layover. And why he’d neglected to invite me on this trip. His meeting would indeed encompass all of his time.
My head whirled as I pressed against my brows. It was too much to comprehend.
“Are you all right, miss?”
I looked up at the tall form of a uniformed bellhop. My body shook as I tried to right myself. “It’s just a headache,” I said, pointing to my forehead.
What else could I tell him—that I feared my fiancé was sleeping with another woman? That my relationship, my future, was crumbling before me? He might tell me to ditch the guy, but it wasn’t that easy.
“Can I get you some Advil?” he asked.
When I shook my head, he backed away.
I’d given my heart, along with my dreams, to the traitor upstairs. If I ended our engagement now, the media would feast on the story of Austin’s indiscretion. My closest friends would pity me, while those who didn’t know me—including the hundreds who’d already received a wedding invitation—might wonder what I’d done to make my fiancé unfaithful. Others might joke about a last fling before he tied the knot.
I thought Marissa had been jealous of what Austin and I had, but I’d been a fool. She and my parents would tell me to march upstairs and break it off.
Instead of confronting him, I could take a taxi back to the airport for the night and then fly on to Paris in the morning. PretendI never saw him kissing that woman. Guzzle mint juleps all the way across the Atlantic until my heart was numb.
A picture slashed violently through my mind. It was me, thirty years from now, the miserable Mrs. Vale. Like Austin’s mother, I would have to tolerate his sorties for the sake of—for the sake of what? Being the wife of a politician or the money that came from being married to a successful man. Or to hold my broken family together by pretending that everything was fine and then demanding that everyone join me in looking the other way while my husband flaunted his latest affair. Instead of standing up to my husband, I would ask our precocious son to pass the potatoes.
No one respected Mrs. Vale—including Mrs. Vale. If I tolerated Austin’s unfaithfulness, I would never be able to respect myself either.
If I broke our engagement, I’d be the punch line of late-night jokes
I couldn’t allow myself to linger on that possibility.
The man at the registration desk slipped Austin an envelope and told him his room—the Edwardian Fifth Avenue Suite—overlooked the Pulitzer Fountain from the eighteenth floor. Austin turned to pick up his suitcase, and I almost wished he would glance up and see me hovering beside the fern.
He didn’t notice me.
Now that he had his hotel key in hand, I prayed he would say good-bye to the woman. Bid her a good day. But there was no handshake as they parted ways. Or the kiss of the French on both cheeks. The woman trailed Austin to the elevator and slipped inside.
As the doors began to close, I saw Austin lean down. Even though I knew the scene would haunt me, I couldn’t look away. Before the doors shut, I watched the man I was supposed to marry kiss her lips.
The bright colors of the lobby fused together and I felt as if I might faint. Air. I needed fresh air. Rushing back out the lobby doors, I collapsed against a column and pounded my fists against the stone, gasping the warm, fume-laden air. The relentless horns of taxis rattled my head. Messy tears flooded my cheeks.
How could I have been so stupid?
I punched the column again. I’d known something was off the moment Lisa mentioned the trip to New York. Or perhaps it was before, when Austin lectured me on the importance of my commitment and then put me on a plane to France.
No wonder he hadn’t wanted me to call him during my layover. And why he’d neglected to invite me on this trip. His meeting would indeed encompass all of his time.
My head whirled as I pressed against my brows. It was too much to comprehend.
“Are you all right, miss?”
I looked up at the tall form of a uniformed bellhop. My body shook as I tried to right myself. “It’s just a headache,” I said, pointing to my forehead.
What else could I tell him—that I feared my fiancé was sleeping with another woman? That my relationship, my future, was crumbling before me? He might tell me to ditch the guy, but it wasn’t that easy.
“Can I get you some Advil?” he asked.
When I shook my head, he backed away.
I’d given my heart, along with my dreams, to the traitor upstairs. If I ended our engagement now, the media would feast on the story of Austin’s indiscretion. My closest friends would pity me, while those who didn’t know me—including the hundreds who’d already received a wedding invitation—might wonder what I’d done to make my fiancé unfaithful. Others might joke about a last fling before he tied the knot.
I thought Marissa had been jealous of what Austin and I had, but I’d been a fool. She and my parents would tell me to march upstairs and break it off.
Instead of confronting him, I could take a taxi back to the airport for the night and then fly on to Paris in the morning. PretendI never saw him kissing that woman. Guzzle mint juleps all the way across the Atlantic until my heart was numb.
A picture slashed violently through my mind. It was me, thirty years from now, the miserable Mrs. Vale. Like Austin’s mother, I would have to tolerate his sorties for the sake of—for the sake of what? Being the wife of a politician or the money that came from being married to a successful man. Or to hold my broken family together by pretending that everything was fine and then demanding that everyone join me in looking the other way while my husband flaunted his latest affair. Instead of standing up to my husband, I would ask our precocious son to pass the potatoes.
No one respected Mrs. Vale—including Mrs. Vale. If I tolerated Austin’s unfaithfulness, I would never be able to respect myself either.
If I broke our engagement, I’d be the punch line of late-night jokes
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