The crowd didn’t clap right away; they were waiting for the second half of my sentence, but it never came. Eventually, after a long pause, the orchestra started playing and the opera house welled with light, happy music. I turned and let the presenter usher me backstage. She was busy congratulating me and gushing about how excited I must feel. I wanted to shake off the grip she had on my shoulder. I wanted her to leave me be so I could have one second to realize that where I should have felt absolute happiness, I only felt sorrow. It felt like I’d been punched in the stomach and the feeling wasn’t fading.
The threat of tears forced me to the bathroom back stage. I played it off like I was overwhelmed with the award and no one bothered me. No one thought twice about the emotional man with his shiny-ass medal and his rapidly closing throat.
I propped my hands on the bathroom counter and the medal clanged against the granite. None of it made sense. The out-of-control feeling I’d had the last night I was with Lily was supposed to have disappeared the moment I pushed her out of my life. The idea was simple: I’d felt like I was in the driver's seat before her, so once I pushed her away and she was gone, I’d regain that control.
“Crazy feeling, isn’t it?”
I looked up to see an older man in a fitted tuxedo washing his hands in the sink beside me. He also wore a James Beard medal around his neck and I recognized him as the winner of the Outstanding Chef award.
“Yeah, crazy.”
He smiled.
“Family here tonight?” I asked.
His brow furrowed for a moment and then he met my gaze in the mirror. “No. They stayed behind in England when I moved to the States for work a few years ago.”
“Don’t you miss them?”
“I’m sure you understand better than anyone,” he replied. “The culinary world is not a field for those who want a picket fence and two and a half kids. We work nights and weekends and our days are spent dreaming up the next great idea. There’s not time for much else.”
He smiled as if he was proud of the man he was, the man who would leave his family to pursue his own selfish dreams. I’d thought I wanted to be a man like him, but my life wouldn’t be wasted in the back offices of a bustling restaurant.
Not any more.
When I walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later, I felt lighter than I had in years. I’d left the weight of the medal on the bathroom sink, and the weight of former dreams alongside it.
Chapter Forty-Six
Lily
I had too much pride to call Dean, but I loved him enough to con my way into his dumb awards ceremony. I leaned against the back wall, out of everyone’s way as the skinny bitch on stage read through the descriptions for the three nominees. I thought she smiled extra wide as she read off Dean’s accomplishments, but I was too far away to know for sure. With a flick of her wrist, she tore into the envelope and I held my breath. I wanted him to win. I hated him with every bone in my body, but I wanted him to win.
“Dean Harper! The youngest winner of the Outstanding Restaurateur award in history!”
He was so shocked and so handsome and so alone as he took that stage. My heart sank as he gripped the medal in his hand. He should have been elated, but his voice sounded flat over the mic? like he was reading off a farewell speech at a funeral. I nibbled on my bottom lip. I didn’t want to be right about what I’d told Dean—that he was alone, that no one would be there to congratulate him or hold his hand. I’d yelled that at him during a moment of fury, but now my words were coming true. Dean had no one to congratulate him. No one that mattered.
He offered the crowd a small, tight smile and then walked off stage after the shortest speech of the night. The pretty announcer trailed after him, trying to keep up with his quick pace. He disappeared behind the stage and I moved to follow after him. I was in a floor-length gown I’d borrowed from Jo, and I’d spared the time to do my hair and makeup. No one batted an eyelash at me as I swept the curtain aside and stepped into the depths of the opera house. The belly of the building was nothing compared to the ornate detailing in the auditorium. Backstage consisted of a narrow black hallway branching off to separate rooms every few feet. One sign pointed me in the direction of the stage and another directed me to a women’s changing room. I passed a few nondescript black doors and then I heard Dean’s voice over the sound of running water.
Another voice seeped through the door, but I couldn’t make out the conversation. I pushed my ear to the door and tried in vain to hear through the thick wood. It was no use—unless, of course, they were actually saying “geri hrjt hempjrh ggfffnj.” In which case, I could hear them perfectly.
A moment later, the water cut off and footsteps echoed on the other side of the door. The handle turned and the door swung out. I jumped, swiveled, and tried to flatten my body against the wall like a pancake, but the door came straight for me. I held my foot out and caught it just before it broke my face.