Livvy (39 page)

“Matty taught you this, huh?”

“Shut up,” he says, laughing. “But yeah.” He finally releases the knot. It looks identical to the one I’d tied, but I tell him it looks nice anyway.

“Just be yourself tonight, Jon. That’s all I want, okay?”

“But if that was the case, why the Vanquish?” he challenges me.

“If we go in the Vanquish or a limo, Jon, neither are really our style. I just thought you’d have a little more fun, that’s all.”

“Gotcha,” he says. “I’ll be myself. I can’t really be anyone else.”

“Then don’t talk about half-Windsor knots.” He bites back a grin and nods. “You look gorgeous,” I tell him. “Perfect.”

“And you look celestial,” he says.

“Like the sun or moon,” I say casually.

“My world,” he says seriously, holding out his hand for me to take it. I happily do, and he leads me toward the door, grabbing my handbag and the keys on the way out.

We both stand stiffly in the elevator. He can say he’s not nervous, but even I am, so I’m sure he is. “A small child can crawl through the artery in a blue whale,” Jon breaks the silence.

“Why would it?” I ask him.

He shrugs his shoulders as we reach the bottom floor. “I mean, he’d be the only kid to say he had, right?”

“I guess. Is that something that would impress people in school?” I play along with his nonsensical conversation.

“I guess it depends on the school.” He directs my attention to the large fish tank on the way out.

“Dork,” I laugh at him.

On the drive into Glastonbury, I see huge estates in the distance. These aren’t like the ranch homes we pass in Wyoming on the way to my grandparents’ house. These aren’t remotely like Granna’s home, either, which had three stories and five bedrooms. These look more like the castles we saw in England last year. Most still have their Christmas lights up. Add a little snow and this would be a living, breathing winter wonderland.

I’m absolutely floored by Rachelle’s house. I am well aware that my family can afford a lot more than we have, and I know my parents have more money than most people in the state–and probably beyond–but I cannot imagine living in a house like hers.

When Jon pulls up in front around the circular drive, other people who are outside turn to look at the car with the powerful engine. I can’t help but laugh. A few of the guys come over to take a look. One of them starts talking to Jon, asking questions. He read the brochure, and thanks to his photographic memory, he’s got the facts memorized. After he hands the key to the grateful valet, we hold hands and go inside.

A photographer is set up just inside the door, ready to take our picture as we arrive. As we’re standing in front of the holiday-themed backdrop, I hear my name in a high-pitched squeal. I look away, just as the flash goes off.

“I’m sorry,” I laugh, waving at Rachelle.

“You better smile pretty,” she instructs me, standing just outside of the frame. “Hi, Jon!”

He only smiles, careful not to mess up the second picture. When we’re finished, Rachelle hugs me tightly, letting go of me quickly to do the same to Jon. “You guys look great,” she says. “Oh, my god, that dress, Liv.”

“Yours is so classy,” I say, surprised at her selection. She normally wears clothes that accentuate parts of her body, but tonight, her dress is modest, covering more of her skin than even my dress does. It’s beautiful.

“I helped design it,” she says. “I wanted it to be lower in the front, but the designer insisted this was more appropriate.”

“It’s lovely.”

“Jon, what do you think of Liv?”

“I haven’t been able to find the right words,” he says, although I feel like he has.

“I think he looks incredible,” I interject.

“You look like you belong to one another.”

“Good,” I say brightly. “We do.”

“Come in, let me introduce you to some of my friends.” She takes me around, and so many of the girls she went to high school with already know who I am, know more about me than I’m comfortable with. One girl pulls me aside and asks me if this guy is different than the ones who were involved in the ‘scandal.’ After blushing hard, I tell her that it was just a misunderstanding. I explain that Jon is the only boyfriend I’ve ever had.

Rachelle’s older sister has invited more guys than girls, and most of them are from Yale, older than us. A group of them steals Jon away from me, first talking about the car, and then talking about design, which is one of the topics sure to make Jon feel at home.

A few of Rachelle’s friends are very sweet and very nice to me. Some ask me questions that I’m sure are public knowledge, but I appreciate the fact that they’re asking to get first hand information from me. Little things like that help settle my nerves.

“There are rumors that you’re the artist behind some sought-after artwork in Manhattan,” one girl, Elaina, says to me. “And Rachelle says you’re a painter.”

“I dabble,” I lie. “What artwork?” I ask. Rachelle knows my alias, but she and Katrina had both sworn they’d never tell.

“There’s an unknown artist who calls herself Olivia Choisie.” I squint my eyes like I’ve never heard the name. “Her work is incredible.”

“Well, mine’s not really ready to see the world,” I tell her. “Someday, I hope.”

“Right,” she says, looking at me sideways, not believing me.

“I’ll have to look up her work online. See what my competition is,” I tell her.

“Is that your boyfriend?” she asks, directing my attention to a growing group of party-goers that are now listening to every word Jon says. He’s fitting in better than I am. I feel like I could stand in a corner and go most of the night unnoticed, but he’s quickly becoming the life of the party. Even Rachelle makes her way over there, standing so close to Jon their shoulders touch repeatedly.

“Yes. That’s Jon. He goes to Columbia.”

“He’s cute.”

“Yeah,” I say proudly. “I kind of like him.”

“Is that an engagement ring?” Elaina asks.

“No. It’s, uh... it’s a promise ring,” I tell her, somehow embarrassed by my answer. When I was a junior in high school, it seemed like such a serious, permanent, life-long gesture. Now, it almost seems like we’re scared to make more of a commitment to one another. I would, if he’d ask. I don’t think he’ll ask anytime soon, knowing that I have a lot more I want to do before a wedding and a marriage. Still, I would say yes. I’d make that commitment tonight.

This is it
, I remember him saying. And it is.

“Olivia,” Jon calls to me, waving me over. Elaina nods, understanding that I want to join him. My shoulders back, I walk over to him confidently. “This is Harry, Stephan and Mohammed,” he says, introducing me to some of the guys he was talking to.

“I have to admit,” Mohammed says, “I grew up in Manhattan, wishing you’d be my girlfriend.”

“Oh, seriously,” I say, blowing off his compliment.

“I did! But I didn’t think you’d go for the brainiac.”

“You thought wrong,” I say, sidling up to Jon after Rachelle makes room for me.

“Stephan goes to Columbia,” Jon says. “But Harry and Mohammed both go to Yale.”

“I was in your poetry class,” Harry says. “What is hysteria, Miss Holland?” he says, imitating our professor on the day I was late to class.

“So embarrassing,” I say. Jon waits for more of an explanation. “I was late, first of all, and she made a big scene of that... and then my phone rang. I thought she was going to make me leave the class entirely.”

“Awww,” Jon says, sympathizing with me.

“Didn’t she dock your grade?”

“Yeah,” I admit, “but still got a ninety-nine because she liked my paper so much.”

“How’d you do in her class?”

“4.0,” I tell him.

“You got your grades?” Jon asks.

“Yeah, I checked at the hotel. They must have just posted them.”

“How were the rest?”

“4.0 GPA, all around,” I tell him quietly, not trying to brag in front of everyone.

“Baby, that’s great!” He kisses my cheek and squeezes my hand. “This calls for a celebration.” He walks over to a stand where a bartender has a variety of different liquors and spirits to choose from. “What do you want?”

“I don’t think we should,” I tell him.

“Come on, Liv. I won’t. But you deserve some champagne or something.”

“I don’t want to drink if you’re not.”

“A glass of champagne,” he orders, “and a ginger ale on ice.” He reaches for his wallet, surprised to see the bills I’d put in it to pay him back for the chauffeur tip. I shake my head at him minutely, signaling that he doesn’t need to pay for anything at the drink counter. He narrows his eyes, but puts his wallet back in his pocket.

“Not if there’s no tip jar,” I whisper to him. He shrugs his shoulders and rolls his eyes a little as he smiles.

When we get our drinks, he takes me to a quiet part of the room, raising his glass in the air. “To us... two fools, madly in love, who got 4.0 GPAs this semester.”

“You did, too?”

“But, of course,” he says. “Although I was a little worried I didn’t spend as much time on schoolwork as I should have.”

“Me, too,” I admit. “I did have to do some extra credit in photography... you know, to make up for that one assignment.”

“Idiot,” he mumbles after taking a sip of his drink. No sooner than the word escapes his lips do I spot Emmanuel coming in the front door with a tall, beautiful blonde girl on his arm. I drink the entire glass of champagne quickly, cringing at the burning sensation. “Pace yourself,” Jon warns after taking the empty glass from me. I try to play it cool, keeping Jon’s attention on me by straightening his tie and giving him a slow kiss. “This is fun, right?” he asks.

I start to look around the room for Rachelle. I don’t understand why she would invite him in the first place, and furthermore, I can’t fathom why she wouldn’t warn me. I see her make her way into another room, and I take Jon’s hand in mine, leading him in the same direction.

“Emmanuel’s here,” I tell him when we get into the next room. Rachelle is on the phone in a corner, trying to find a place she can hear the caller.

“Why are we hiding?” he asks. “Let’s go talk to him.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” I tell him.

“I’m not going to cause a scene,” he assures me. “You’re going to run into him at school eventually. You’re going to have to have that conversation. Why not let me help?” He walks to the doorway and looks into the main room. “Come on.”

“Wait,” I say, touching his shoulder lightly. I hear Rachelle ending the call.

“Hey, so what’s the deal with Emmanuel?” I ask her abruptly.

“Livvy, I was going to tell you, but I thought you wouldn’t come.”

“Are you kidding?” Jon says. “It’s more incentive, because now I can say my peace and get it off my chest.”

“Please don’t, Jon,” Rachelle says, “and Liv, he’s my sister’s guest. He convinced her to model for him, and weaseled his way into the party.”

“He has a way of doing that,” I mumble. “And Jon, he’s already been punished and had to apologize to my dad.”

“I don’t see how that affects me,” he says stubbornly. “I deserve to have my say. You’re my girlfriend.”

“Yes, but I’m not your possession.”

“Do you feel like I’m being possessive?” he asks, lowering his voice to divert Rachelle’s attention. She leaves the room, escaping the private conversation.

“I just feel like you want to make that point to him. That I’m yours.”

“That’s not at all the point I’m trying to make. I don’t have to talk to him if you don’t want me to.”

“I really don’t.”

He nods his head, thinking about it. “Can I ask why not?”

“Because I don’t want to ruin this evening. When I look back on tonight, I don’t want to think about him at all.” This makes him smile. “He knows he messed up. And I promise you right now, if he ever does anything again, I’ll stand back and you can give him a piece of your mind.”

“Alright,” he agrees, punctuating his accord with a kiss. When we leave the side room, he takes me to the dance floor, where we spend the next hour moving together and talking. When we take a break, Jon strikes up a conversation with some new people, discussing a newly elected official with a questionable background. I’ve never even heard of the guy, but Jon seems to know his entire life story, and is doing a good job of convincing the other people to dismiss his past transgressions and give him a chance.

My feet start to hurt after another half-hour, and I’m getting anxious for midnight to come along so we can toast together and then go back to our hotel. Rachelle and a few of her friends join me in a casual living area, talking about our first semesters at college.

A few waiters interrupt us, handing each of us champagne. I check my watch and stand up, wanting to find Jon. He finds me first.

“You aren’t going to drink that, are you?” I ask him, eying his glass.

“A sip?” he says. “Isn’t it bad luck?”

“You could get something else.”