“What do you mean?”
Corinne bent over the bed, tears blurring her vision. “How can we trust each other after this?”
“We’ll earn that trust.” Will touched her back. “We’ll work at it, day by day.”
Corinne turned around to face him. He looked so gorgeous and heartbreaking that she suddenly grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him hard on the mouth. Will leaned into her, reaching his hands up over her shoulders. Every memory of their kisses rushed back to her in one sparkling tidal wave. Her whole body began to tremble, from the tips of her toes, rushing up her spine and all the way into her head. Are we doing this? She had no idea. A tornado had just struck her whole life, ripping up farmhouses and cows and cars. She was buried under the wreckage. She couldn’t breathe.
She felt herself wanting to pull him down to the bed and let him tear off her dress, snapping off the delicate buttons one by one. Everything she’d told him was so raw and true and honest, more from her heart than anything she’d ever said or done. She pressed harder into Will’s mouth, kissing deep. She wanted this to never end.
“Corinne, honey?” her mother called from the bottom of the steps. “The photographer is ready for you.”
Corinne shot away from Will. “I’ll be down in a second,” she yelled, her heart racing. Her mouth felt swollen, her skin dirty, her face on fire. “I have to go.”
She pushed past Will and staggered down the hall like she was drunk, the imprint of the kiss pulsing on her lips. But instead of going down the main stairs to the dining room, she fled to the back staircase.
It was dark and smelled like dust. She wrapped her fingers around the old wooden banister and walked down hurriedly but carefully, trying not to tear her dress. The stairs let out just behind the kitchen; pans clanged behind closed French doors. A side door led to a path that was obscured from the patio; Corinne rushed for it, not wanting anyone to see her right now. Not her family, not the photographer, and certainly not Dixon.
She navigated the stone path all the way to the beach. The sand was empty when she got there, the sky a perfect blue. A single-prop airplane loop-de-looped overhead, seemingly placed there just for her special day. She stared out at the crashing waves, craving them in a way she never had before.
I’ve been perfect all my life. I’m afraid not to be.
We’ll earn that trust. We’ll work at it, day by day.
The kiss throbbed on her lips. She glanced behind her, checking once more that no one was watching. Then she turned and ran as fast as she could toward the water. Without even hesitating, she pulled off her dress and her shoes, and waded into the water in only her undergarments, more naked than she’d ever been before.
26
Aster had been a little bit nervous, coming back to Meriweather after the disaster that was Corinne’s bachelorette party. But she had to hand it to Evan—even though she was a backstabbing bitch for sleeping with James, she’d done a fantastic job. All of the grand living room’s blue-and-white furnishings, ship’s wheels, and scrimshaw carvings were perfectly arranged around the elegant tables and chairs that now filled the space. The windows had been thrown open, the heavy brocade curtains switched out for light, gauzy strips, and the enormous Baccarat chandelier taken down and replaced with a thin wire sculpture that held hundreds of votive candles. The room smelled like gardenias, a jazz band played in the corner, and the line at the bar was three deep.
“Here we are,” Mitch said, sidling up to Aster and presenting her with a copper cup. “One Moscow Mule, extra lime.”
“You’re the best,” Aster said, clinking her cup to his. After seeing Mitch so often in Vans and jeans, she was surprised at how grown-up and polished he looked in a suit. He’d gotten his hair cut—just for her? she wondered—he was clean-shaven, and his jacket broadened his shoulders and accentuated his slim waist. Aster liked too how he kept sneaking little peeks at her legs, which looked especially long in her blush-colored Versace dress.
“Let me show you around,” she said, taking his arm to lead him down the hallway. She showed him the old seafaring artifacts her grandfather used to collect. “He would always try to find things like this at flea markets. He had insane luck, finding things that everyone else thought were worthless. We used to always say he should go on Antiques Roadshow.” Her voice broke a little at the thought of her grandpa. She wished he could have been here tonight, for Corinne’s sake.
“He sounds like he was a really special guy,” Mitch said softly, reaching for her hand.