I forced myself to block out everything.
Even to the point that I didn't realize that Winter wasn't following along with my plan. In fact, she was doing the opposite, pulling back, and trying to get away from me.
"Let go of me."
I tightened my grip on her hand and then panicked for a second that maybe I was hurting her injured one.
I wasn't.
"What's wrong?"
She tried tugging her hand out of mine again, but I wasn't having it.
"I'm leaving. I'm going home," she said, flashing me an angry glare.
"Correction, sweetheart. We are leaving, and we are going home."
Her anger hadn't lessened since I'd bustled her out of the goddamn ball and into Enzo's heated limousine, where she now sat as far away from me as possible. I studied her fuming quietly in the seat, arms folded beneath luscious breasts as she stared moodily out the window. In profile, she made a stunning picture against the city lights reflecting off the tiny raindrops currently drifting from the night sky.
It had taken a few minutes to get away without arousing the suspicions of the eagle-eyed gossips, who lived for the soap-opera drama like what had unfolded inside with Jan Thorndike. It spiced up their otherwise very boring lives. But was "boring" such a terrible thing? Sometimes I wished for my own life to be a lot more boring than it was at present.
After placing my bid in the silent auction, I'd gone and made excuses to my mother. I lied and told her Winter had a bad headache. Mom didn't blink an eye at my lame explanation. She just offered her cheek for me to kiss and told me to take good care of her, and that she hoped Winter felt better soon.
I fished out my phone and took a picture of her staring out the window. She might be angry, but it was still a beautiful image I selfishly wanted to keep for myself.
"What the hell, James," she shouted when she noticed the flash.
"It's just a picture of you looking furiously beautiful. I wanted to capture the moment."
"Instead of stealing pictures and dropping compliments, you might start by being honest."
"I am always honest with you, Win."
She scoffed angrily toward the window but said nothing.
"Are you planning on explaining what you mean?"
She shook her head, still staring out the window.
"Okay, then tell me what the fuck I did tonight that was so wrong." No response. "How about you look at me when we are talking," I bit out, my frustration growing with each passing second of this stupid motherfucking argument.
She turned to face me, eyes blazing across the distance between us. "I know, James."
"What do you know?"
"I know what happened between us after you brought me back from the ER. I know what you did. I know what I said to you." Her eyes welled up. "I remembered…everything…today while I…I…was getting ready for the ball."
A single tear spilled down her cheek and made me want to lick it away, even as my heart pounded out erratic beats.
"Sweetheart, no. I wanted to help you, that's all I was trying—"
"Just…how…could you keep that from me? For all these days without saying something…anything," she hissed. "Why would you use me like that, James?"
Fuck.
No.
Chapter Fourteen
WINTER
Four hours earlier.
Since The Autumn Ball was one of the better attended charity events of the year, and because the funds raised went to a variety of good causes, I couldn't fault the intent, and truly hoped each of the beneficiaries came away from the event with generous checks.
Working in the field of social work with the ludicrous trust fund I had must be an offensive irony to probably ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the population who wouldn't hesitate to call bullshit on it being true—even though it was. The other point-one percent of the population—of which my mother was at the top of the list—knew it was true and thought me a stupid fool for wanting to use my money for something other than a Tesla or a rainbow of designer handbags in every hue anyone ever decided was a good idea.
Please. Did anyone really need a purse in pumpkin-orange leopard with purple croc embellishments? Even if the whole bag were environmentally constructed from top to bottom, I'd still say no.
I had more important, long-term things on my mind.
Like being nervous as hell about going out with James tonight. Our friendship had definitely changed, but his hot and cold mixed messages had really started to mess with my head. I hadn't heard a peep out of him since his text on Thanksgiving telling me I was in trouble for not messaging him. Over the last weeks, he'd made gestures and said things that gave me hope he actually might see me as more than a friend. And then, even going so far as to offer to marry me to benefit the both of us, but I already knew that a "pretend" marriage wasn't in the cards for me.
I was unable to pretend anything with James.
Therefore, my decision was made.
I'd thank him again for offering, but there was no way I'd take him up on it. I'd find a different pathway to making my career dreams materialize. I belonged to a very generous family who were charitably minded. Maybe I would go to work for BGE and head up their philanthropic development as Caleb had suggested to me before. There were other roads I could take than torturing myself with a fake marriage to James. I hope I don't lose his friendship in the process.
And I still couldn't get over the fact that an offer of marriage was a major thing to just give away to a friend. Why on earth would James do that for me? But as soon as I started to believe he felt something more than friendship, his walls would go up and he'd back away again, putting a distance between us that left me frustrated and confused as to whether I'd dreamed up the whole thing in the first place. But that kiss he gave you in the elevator says different.
My point exactly.
Even Brooke had noticed. Earlier, when the two of us were getting hair and makeup ready for tonight, she'd asked if James and I were seeing each other. I lied and told her we were just very good friends, but I'm not sure if she believed me. She's an intuitive one, that girl. She's also the best thing to ever happen to my big brother. I hope when Caleb and Brooke are married someday, that they'll have lots of nephews and nieces for me to spoil. Caleb will be such a great father. He was so much like our own father it was scary. Caleb was pretty much our dad's clone.
It hurt my heart to be reminded again that he was gone. I missed my father so much, and I knew the rest of my family did too. He would've been here tonight, supporting the charities and enjoying himself immensely. My dad was altruistic to his core. When I announced I'd be majoring in social work, my mother said I'd been bitten by the same bug. Dad was proud of my choice, and he told me on his deathbed to follow my heart and never compromise my dreams for anyone. He made me promise to trust my instincts and not be influenced by any disapproval I might encounter from others. In particular, my mother. To be fair, she wasn't disapproving so much as unenthusiastic. Her reaction was half-hearted, and I could tell she believed I'd be wasting my life on public service when I could just support a few chosen charitable endeavors with a fat check while still spending the bulk of my time shopping and lunching with other girls who'd also inherited excessive trust funds.
But that sort of life was not me.
I wanted more—for myself, and for my life's work. I was grateful my brothers and my sister felt the same way I did. Just sitting around spending our father's money and wasting time wasn't how any of us rolled. Willow was a super successful author, and my brothers had each found their niches in different areas of business. We were all making our way in the world, as we should be.
I sighed, thinking that all this ruminating was depressing as hell, and totally pointless. Only time would tell how things would turn out. I just needed to have some faith, and believe that James really meant it when he promised to never hurt me. And I trusted James completely.