these people would’ve shown up for just me.”
I grab her hand and squeeze. “I would have.”
Something warm flashes in her eyes. “I’m so happy you’re here. Chase keeps making me talk to these snooty people, like I’m required to make nice just so they’ll buy art. I’ve told him, like, a million times — it’s a gallery, not a social hour. Does he listen? Nope. Overbearing caveman.”
I hear a muffled chuckle from Cormack’s direction. Gemma looks at him abruptly, seeming to notice him for the first time, then glances back at me with raised brows.
“Date?”
I nod.
Her happy expression crumbles and I know it’s because of her dreams for my happily-ever-after with a certain someone. I don’t have the heart to tell her that life isn’t a fairy tale.
Not my life, anyway.
She quickly recovers, offering him a dazzling smile. “Well, hi there. I’m Gemma Summers. Phoebe’s… friend.”
Her beat of hesitation makes my heart skip a beat.
Aren’t we friends?
I take another sip of champagne and try not to dwell.
“I’m Cormack.” My date steps forward, hand outstretched. “You have a gorgeous gallery.”
Gemma’s eyebrows go up, up, up as she listens to his introduction. She shakes his hand politely, then leans close to me and whispers in my ear.
“Holy shit. That accent?! ”
“I know ,” I whisper back.
We’re both laughing as we pull apart. Cormack stares at us, amusement flickering across his face.
“You two wouldn’t be joking at my expense now, would you?” he asks.
“Absolutely not,” I deny immediately
“Oh, definitely,” Gemma confirms at the same time.
We look at each other and dissolve into laughter again.
“Thanks for clearing that up,” Cormack says, his voice wry.
When we’ve stopped giggling, Gemma grabs me in another tight embrace. “I suppose I have to go mingle .” She says it like a dirty word. “But let’s plan lunch sometime this week, okay?”
“Of course,” I agree, hugging her back.
With a smile for me and a wink for Cormack, she’s gone again, winding into the crowd and disappearing.
“Another childhood friend?” Cormack asks, stepping into the space she left behind.
“Actually, we just met about a month ago.”
His eyebrows lift in surprise.
I can’t blame him for being skeptical. Sometimes, I have to remind myself I barely know Gemma. There’s just something about her that makes me feel totally at ease. Like I’ve known her forever, could tell her anything. I can’t really explain it, so I just shrug lightly, wrap my arm through his, and lead us toward the canvas on our left, making sure my eyes never wander to the shadowy corners of the room.
Dark-eyed ghosts have a tendency to lurk there.
***
An hour later, I’m several grand poorer and the proud owner of a gorgeous new pastel abstract by Sartre. Lila and Padraic have joined us again and, judging by the faint hickey blooming on Lila’s neck, it’s not hard to guess what they’ve been up to in our absence.
I’m on my fourth glass of champagne for the evening — at this point, mustering enough indignation to scold her about necking like a teenager in the back hallway of Gemma’s black-tie event seems a daunting task. I watch Lila lean into Padraic’s arm, watch his mouth twist into a knowing smirk as he whispers secret nothings into her ear and a giddy smile blooms on her lips, and feel a pang of sadness sweep through me.
I can’t help wishing that at any point in my life, even for an instant, I’d felt that way. Happy and carefree and in love with nothing but the moment.
As handsome as the man standing beside me is, I know we’ll never have that.
I’ll never have it with anyone.
“Another champagne, Phoebe?” Cormack asks politely, as a waiter passes by. I notice he doesn’t grab a glass for himself. In fact, he hasn’t been drinking at all.
“I’ve had plenty.” I rub at my temple. “I’m actually starting to get a headache. I’m going to
I grab her hand and squeeze. “I would have.”
Something warm flashes in her eyes. “I’m so happy you’re here. Chase keeps making me talk to these snooty people, like I’m required to make nice just so they’ll buy art. I’ve told him, like, a million times — it’s a gallery, not a social hour. Does he listen? Nope. Overbearing caveman.”
I hear a muffled chuckle from Cormack’s direction. Gemma looks at him abruptly, seeming to notice him for the first time, then glances back at me with raised brows.
“Date?”
I nod.
Her happy expression crumbles and I know it’s because of her dreams for my happily-ever-after with a certain someone. I don’t have the heart to tell her that life isn’t a fairy tale.
Not my life, anyway.
She quickly recovers, offering him a dazzling smile. “Well, hi there. I’m Gemma Summers. Phoebe’s… friend.”
Her beat of hesitation makes my heart skip a beat.
Aren’t we friends?
I take another sip of champagne and try not to dwell.
“I’m Cormack.” My date steps forward, hand outstretched. “You have a gorgeous gallery.”
Gemma’s eyebrows go up, up, up as she listens to his introduction. She shakes his hand politely, then leans close to me and whispers in my ear.
“Holy shit. That accent?! ”
“I know ,” I whisper back.
We’re both laughing as we pull apart. Cormack stares at us, amusement flickering across his face.
“You two wouldn’t be joking at my expense now, would you?” he asks.
“Absolutely not,” I deny immediately
“Oh, definitely,” Gemma confirms at the same time.
We look at each other and dissolve into laughter again.
“Thanks for clearing that up,” Cormack says, his voice wry.
When we’ve stopped giggling, Gemma grabs me in another tight embrace. “I suppose I have to go mingle .” She says it like a dirty word. “But let’s plan lunch sometime this week, okay?”
“Of course,” I agree, hugging her back.
With a smile for me and a wink for Cormack, she’s gone again, winding into the crowd and disappearing.
“Another childhood friend?” Cormack asks, stepping into the space she left behind.
“Actually, we just met about a month ago.”
His eyebrows lift in surprise.
I can’t blame him for being skeptical. Sometimes, I have to remind myself I barely know Gemma. There’s just something about her that makes me feel totally at ease. Like I’ve known her forever, could tell her anything. I can’t really explain it, so I just shrug lightly, wrap my arm through his, and lead us toward the canvas on our left, making sure my eyes never wander to the shadowy corners of the room.
Dark-eyed ghosts have a tendency to lurk there.
***
An hour later, I’m several grand poorer and the proud owner of a gorgeous new pastel abstract by Sartre. Lila and Padraic have joined us again and, judging by the faint hickey blooming on Lila’s neck, it’s not hard to guess what they’ve been up to in our absence.
I’m on my fourth glass of champagne for the evening — at this point, mustering enough indignation to scold her about necking like a teenager in the back hallway of Gemma’s black-tie event seems a daunting task. I watch Lila lean into Padraic’s arm, watch his mouth twist into a knowing smirk as he whispers secret nothings into her ear and a giddy smile blooms on her lips, and feel a pang of sadness sweep through me.
I can’t help wishing that at any point in my life, even for an instant, I’d felt that way. Happy and carefree and in love with nothing but the moment.
As handsome as the man standing beside me is, I know we’ll never have that.
I’ll never have it with anyone.
“Another champagne, Phoebe?” Cormack asks politely, as a waiter passes by. I notice he doesn’t grab a glass for himself. In fact, he hasn’t been drinking at all.
“I’ve had plenty.” I rub at my temple. “I’m actually starting to get a headache. I’m going to
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