Working in PR, you learn to put a good face forward, even when you’re falling apart inside. I have no shortage of practice at maintaining a front of upbeat calm while inside I’m panicking or rolling my eyes or resisting the urge to strangle a client’s parent. So even though I walk into the room for the wedding reception with my stomach churning, I slide into the role of overjoyed best friend without a hitch. Smile, laugh, a hug here and there—no problem.
But I’m still in agony underneath. Every time I spot Will amid the milling guests, from the back or in profile—he’s never even facing me—a fresh jab of pain shoots through me.
What does he think of me? What am I supposed to do?
I can tell myself we never made any promises—that he’s the one who hasn’t talked about what we are, or ever even seeing me again—but it still feels wrong that he heard me say those things.
“Wasn’t the ceremony lovely?” Trevor’s aunt the photographer gushes to me. I nod enthusiastically. One of Brooke’s work friends spends ten minutes dissecting how the vows were so much more meaningful than the ones at some other wedding she attended last year. Then Brooke’s mom grabs my elbow.
“Oh, Ruby,” she says. She’s still a bit choked up from the ceremony. “They’re going to be very happy, don’t you think?”
“I do,” I say honestly. “I’ve never met a better couple.”
She beams and gives me a little nudge. “I wonder if this afternoon makes you reconsider your dating plans. The sooner you’re open to something serious, the sooner you could have a happy ending like this.”
I suppress a wince and also the urge to point out that Brooke’s story has hardly ended, because thankfully life is not a Shakespearean comedy. Although maybe if it was, I could count on this mess of misunderstandings coming untangled in a way that leaves everyone unscathed.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell Mrs. Tanner, and flee to the wine bar.
Gripping my glass of white, I survey the room again. If I could just talk to Will for more than a second, explain why I said everything I did . . . But I can’t do that in the middle of the crowd.
As I watch, he strolls from one group to another, never leaving much of an opening in between. But when I’m halfway through my glass, he steps aside to speak to the ma?tre d’. I dash over there and manage to catch him just as he’s turning back.
“Will.” His face shutters the second he sets eyes on me, but I barrel ahead anyway. “It wasn’t—Can we just talk?”
“I don’t think there’s anything we need to talk about,” he says, cool and even. Before I can get another word in, he’s sidestepped me to launch into a conversation with Brooke’s grandfather.
Maggie comes up beside me. “What’s going on?”
Shit. I didn’t want anyone to notice. The last thing I need is Brooke realizing something is up and worrying about me instead of celebrating.
“It’s okay,” I lie. “Nothing that can’t be worked out later.”
I redouble the effort I’m putting into my fake smile. I am not broken-hearted. I am sparkles and light to everyone I speak to. But after a half hour of that, I am exhausted. I duck out into the lobby to use the restroom. In the stall, I take a few deep breaths and tip my head back against the door.
It shouldn’t be that big a deal. I didn’t think I was going to see Will again after tomorrow anyway. So we’ve cut the fling one day short. Does it make that much of a difference?
It does. It does because I can’t stand him spending every day after this thinking I’m an unfeeling bitch who used him to get my rocks off without caring how he felt about it. And even more so because it looks he was feeling more about it than I’d let myself hope.
What if he did want more than just a fling?
I collect myself and head back out. My feet start to drag in the lobby. If this were a client’s case, I’d be looking for a way to spin it in my favor. But maybe I’m too close to the situation. I’ve got nothing, not when he won’t listen to a thing I say.
“Is everything all right?”
I look up at the smooth voice. Helene has come around the desk. Her gaze slides over me briskly but not without sympathy. Something inside me wobbles.
“Not really,” I admit sadly, “but I have to make it be anyway, at least for today. In your line of work, I bet you know what that’s like, right?”
She raises her shoulders slightly, elegant even when she’s shrugging. I’ll take that as a French yes.
“You know,” she says, “I have found that while this approach may be useful in work, it’s far from ideal for matters of a more personal nature.”
My cheeks warm. Does she know? I can’t imagine Will telling her, but Lord knows how much she’s seen in the last few days to be able to draw conclusions.
“What do you mean?” I say, as steadily as I can manage.
“If you hide what’s in your heart when it’s what is in your heart that matters, the people it matters to may misread your intentions. And that helps no one.” She tips her head. “It’s not my place to meddle. I’m only making the observation.”
“Well, uh, thank you.”
She retreats behind her desk. I turn my attention back to the reception room.
Maybe I do have the answer. I gave it to Kenneth just yesterday. Change the narrative. Put a different, more powerful story in place of the one you want to kick aside.
Be yourself. Share your heart. All that jazz.
I even know what kind of story to offer. I don’t need to justify what I said to Brooke last night. I need to tell Will what I actually feel. Be real, like I told Kenneth.
The thought makes my throat tighten, but that’s no excuse. All my clients are putting themselves out there all the time for millions of internet strangers to see. How can I let myself be too scared to acknowledge the contents of my heart to the one guy it’s all for?
There’s still the problem of getting Will’s ear. But as I march back to the reception room with renewed resolve, it occurs to me that I’ll have one moment this evening when everyone will be listening. I just have to use it right.
I’m sure the wedding dinner tastes as excellent as all the resort’s food, but I hardly notice. My stomach is still tight, my thoughts whirring. Through the salads and the main course, I keep up my smile and light chatter with Brooke beside me and the rest of our table—minus Will, who’s smoothly avoiding me even while sitting three seats away. But that’s okay. I can wait.
In fact, waiting is the easy part. The MC steps up to the podium at the edge of the dance floor, and my back stiffens.