Evan Pierce sat opposite her, a large leather binder in her lap. “So we’ve got hydrangeas and peonies for the altar,” she repeated.
“That’s right,” Corinne answered, crossing her bare legs, which looked pale and cellulite-y next to Evan’s smooth, whip-thin ones. “And I want to add lilies to the tables.”
“Poppy’s favorite.” Evan sighed, tucking a black lock behind her ear and marking it down in the book in her spiky handwriting. Even though Poppy and Evan’s friendship was one she had never quite understood, Corinne found comfort in knowing that Evan had been close to Poppy too.
Today Evan wore a large platinum ring with a huge onyx stone. Corinne wondered who had given it to her. She wondered about Evan a lot, actually. She imagined her apartment as a movie set from the future, all white and hard lines. And what was it like to be so very single? Evan dated a lot, typically older men with a lot of money, but it was usually Evan who broke things off. And there was something about the way Evan moved, all slinky like a cat, that made Corinne think she was a ravenous lover.
“And you’re choosing the wine tonight?” Evan said, still looking at her list. “The chef from Coxswain will meet you there.”
Corinne’s stomach lurched. Evan had arranged for a tasting at the St. Regis, where Will was friendly with the master sommelier.
“That’s the plan,” Corinne said shakily, then cleared her throat. “Actually, I’m wondering why you chose Coxswain.”
Evan frowned. “It’s the restaurant to watch. I thought you’d be pleased.”
“I am,” Corinne said quickly. “I just . . .”
She trailed off. What on earth could she say? I don’t want to use this restaurant because I had a secret fling five years ago with the chef? It wasn’t like Evan knew. Poppy would never have told her what happened.
Dixon strode into the room, freshly showered from the gym and with a fluffy white towel slung over his shoulders. His skin smelled like Kiehl’s men’s products, and his hair was slicked off his face. “Hey, lovely ladies,” he crooned.
“I’m off,” Evan said, leaping up. She kissed Corinne’s cheek, then Dixon’s, and strode toward the foyer. In moments, the front door slammed.
Dixon opened the media console and grabbed the remote from inside. After checking the markets on CNBC, he switched it to the World Series of Poker, which had been his favorite show since his fraternity days. “So listen. I’m really sorry, but I can’t make it to the tasting tonight.”
Corinne stared at him. “What? Why?”
“One of our deals went south. I have to make some calls, put out some fires.”
Her thoughts scattered like marbles. “Can’t someone else do it?” She wanted Dixon to come as a buffer with Will. She needed him to.
Dixon looked torn. “Babe, I’m sorry, but I’ll make it up to you. What’s the next appointment? Florist? Designer? I’ll try on your dress for you if you want.”
“I already had my final fitting.” Corinne pouted, not wanting to joke right then. She almost thought she might cry. She couldn’t go to this alone. She just couldn’t. And worse, she couldn’t even explain to Dixon why she couldn’t.
Dixon inspected her face. “What’s the matter?”
Corinne pressed her lips tightly together. Maybe she could tell him. It had happened so long ago; surely he’d had flings during that year too. But what if telling him meant explaining everything else?
“Why did you break up with me that summer?” she blurted. Then she blinked, surprised it had come out of her mouth.
Dixon lowered the remote. “Where’d that come from?”
Corinne kept her eyes on the carpet. “Well, I was just wondering. We never really talked about it, and we’re about to get married.”
She knew what she was doing. Seeing Will had stirred up a lot of memories, most of them unpleasant. She wanted to find a way to rewrite history, to twist things around until Dixon was responsible for everything that went wrong. If he hadn’t broken up with me, I never would have met Will. If he’d answered my calls, my life wouldn’t have gone so wildly off course. It wasn’t fair. She knew that. What she’d done with Will had been her decision—including the aftermath.
Dixon stretched his arms behind his head. “I don’t know if it’s worth dwelling on, to be honest.”
“Fine,” she said haughtily, and plunged her hand into her handbag to get her Mrs. John L. Strong leather-bound day planner—she needed to enter the new appointments she and Evan had just discussed. She hadn’t even had a chance to pencil in today’s tasting, and she knew something would fall through the cracks if she didn’t write it down soon. But the planner wasn’t there. Corinne’s gaze scanned the room—maybe she’d left it on the secretary desk in the corner? But when she walked over to it, the book wasn’t there, either.
She frowned, then looked at Dixon. “Have you seen my journal?”
“You keep a journal?” Dixon looked amused.