Lost in Us (22 page)

I shake my head, remembering that when I first started dating Michael, I was convinced that Kate would never have approved of him. Too boring for her standards. With a pang, I realize she would have probably approved of James.

"How did things at the office go?" Parker asks.

So he didn't speak to James. Excellent. I was counting on that. I bite my lip. "Jess went to him. She asked him for help."

"What?" Parker bursts. "Why? She knew I was already on it."

The briskness in his tone makes me think Jess might not have been out of line earlier. Still, I can't imagine Parker ever behaving like a jerk.

"I suggest you ask her," I say, fighting to hide the amusement in my voice as we enter the building.

A bubbly redhead awaits us on the other side, and, by the disappointed look she gives my bare shoulders, I'm guessing her job is to take coats. In this heat there isn't much for her to do. I smile apologetically and turn my gaze to the room. There are cocktail tables everywhere and small groups with men and women dressed in formal attire around each one. I can see what James meant about a fresh start. Between my red dress and the fancy location, this seems like a replay of our first real encounter at the ball in his parents' house. There is only one difference: I am not here to sleep with him tonight. Quite the contrary. I hold my breath as I look from table to table. I don't spot James anywhere.

"Let's just head straight to the dining room, cocktails will be over in about ten minutes anyway," Parker says. A wisp of annoyance still lingers in his voice.

"Sure. Listen, don't be mad at Jess, she has her own… special way of dealing with things." I keep my eyes on the floor as we enter the actual restaurant, for fear I might finally find James. "Why don't you come over for dinner sometime next week? As a thank-you gift for wanting to help us out with the whole thing. But Jess will cook, unless you want to get closely acquainted with the taste of burned food."

He chuckles, but then the smile freezes on his face. His eyes widen as he looks at someone behind me. I don't need to turn around to know who it is.

"James, I thought you said you wouldn't come," Parker says.

Slowly, very slowly, I turn around to face James. I expected him to be angry, or at least surprised. But his expression is completely unreadable. This only makes me even more nervous. I fold my arms over my chest, balling my palms to keep my fingers from pulling at my dress, or doing anything else that might show what a complete basket case I am.

"I changed my mind," James replies. His tone is even. Glacial. Infuriating. "Funny Serena didn't tell you. After all, I asked her a few hours ago to come here with me."

And now I do sense anger in the air. But it's not coming from James. Next to me, Parker stiffens. "Shall we sit?" he asks coldly.

I risk a glance at Parker as we walk to one of the tables. My stomach drops. Everything about his expression, walk, and posture emanates anger. I want to apologize to him, tell him how awful I am for using him like this. But I doubt it would do anything other than make him even angrier right now. So I ask myself, as I often do when I am around James… what was I thinking? Parker doesn't deserve this. The frostiness between us as he pulls out my chair for me raises the hair at the nape of my neck. To my dismay, James sits on the other side of the round table. I wanted him to see me with Parker, but I didn't expect to have to face him the entire evening. I'm not prepared for this. Not that he's looking at me. As the chairs around the table—twelve of them—start filling in, James greets them one by one, and it's clear he knows most of them. Parker introduces me to everyone politely after doing his own greetings. He doesn't utter one word to me.

I roll the napkin on my lap and then proceed to closely inspect the carvings on my glass. James sits directly opposite me. The only unoccupied chair at the table is the one next to him. There is no sign of chagrin on his face as he chats with the older man next to him whose name I already forgot. No sign that he's aware of my presence at all. I strain my ears to hear what his neighbor is saying. I don't catch anything for a few minutes, then the old man motions to the empty seat. James listens carefully to the man's next words, then leans back in his seat. A smirk that makes my stomach squirm contours on James's face as he motions the waiter to pour him white wine.

"She's just running late," James says, raising his voice. Just a notch. Enough for his words to reach me. "She'll arrive any minute."

And arrive she does. Less than a minute later. Natalie. I knew it would be her, but it still stings like hell. Natalie looks as breathtaking as ever, in a simple, knee-length black dress and sky-high heels. She greets everyone at the table with a nonchalance that makes it clear she knows all of them. Of course she does. She's part of this world. Her gaze falls on me just as she kisses James on the cheeks.

I clasp a fork in my right hand and stick it in the green soufflé in front of me. But I don't look away from them. I deserve this. This is what happens when I don't think things through and act impulsively.

Recklessly.

Something I've done a tad too often since I met James.

Like Parker, Natalie seems to realize the sole reason James asked her to come here is to make me jealous. But unlike Parker, she doesn't seem to mind. She flashes a satisfied smile when James whispers something in her ear and I have no choice but to lower my gaze, for fear I will make a complete fool of myself rushing out of the room. I can still hear her sickening, lark-like giggles though.

I force the corners of my mouth to lift in a smile when the lady next to me compliments me on my dress. The evening passes with course after course of exquisite food and copious glasses of wine amid discussions ranging from which charitable cause the next event should focus on to world politics. Except for the charitable part, I find myself quite at ease talking to them. Parker doesn't as much as look at me the entire time. I keep hoping he will see the show James and Natalie put on as punishment enough and forgive me sooner. I force myself not to stare at James and Natalie, but utterly fail. Whenever he isn't engaged in a hotheaded conversation with anyone else at the table, all his attention is on Natalie. Like now. He leans in to her as she whispers something in his ear. James chuckles and Natalie blushes violently at his reply.

Someone on the other side of the room taps the microphone then launches into a speech, and everyone focuses their attention in that direction.

Everyone except James. He puts one arm over Natalie's shoulders, and pulls her closer to him, running his fingers playfully on her neck and cheek. She lavishes in his attention, interlacing her fingers with his. I excuse myself, under the pretense that I need to touch up and run outside just as she leans her head on his arm.

T
hankfully, the hall with the cocktail tables is almost empty. Still, I hurry past the tables, willing to find a less open space.

"The bathroom is over there," someone calls. The girl from the entrance. She's sitting at one of the cocktail tables, reading a magazine.

"Actually, I was wondering if there’s a backyard here."

She nods and points to a sign, scrutinizing me with a worried gaze. Is it so obvious that I am one thought away from breaking down? The door to the backyard is not right outside the hall. I follow the signs down a highway-sized corridor and pass a double door, which I suspect leads to another dining room, before I reach my hideout. I lean on the door as soon as I step out onto the terrace and close my eyes.

I will not cry.

I will not cry.

I wish I could press my palms on my eyes to squelch the little liquid traitors that threaten to come out, but the triple layers of mascara Jess put on my lashes will surely transform my desperate effort into a stamp of shame for everyone to see. My sheer willpower will have to do. I open my eyes and head over to one of the columns on the terrace, leaning on it. I can see the entire backyard from here. It’s beautiful, with row upon row of roses. The sprinklers are on, so I don’t use the stairs leading from the terrace to the backyard. On second thought, maybe getting soaked would be a good idea. It would give me a legitimate reason to leave. I stare at the water drops sprinkling the roses. They remind me of tears. There are no tears on my cheeks, and I should be proud of that. I can't be, though. The stinging in my chest is far worse without tears. Worse than in my ride home after I left him. Worse than in the nights since, when I wake up crying. Because I’ve had only made-up images of and Natalie and him to torment me. Now I have real ones that my imagination can twist in a never-ending game, creating even worse nightmares about the two of them.

The more I stay like this, leaning on the column, the harder it is to move. I'm too ashamed to leave the restaurant and too cowardly to return to my seat. And apparently too deaf to hear the door opening, because I don't realize there's someone else outside, until she's standing in front of the column nearest to me.

Natalie. Just what I need. Another dose of humiliation.

"Hiding? How very tenth grade of you." She opens her tiny bag and gets a cigarette and a lighter out of it. Leaning on the column, she lights the cigarette and starts smoking.

"I'm not hiding," I snap. "I just got a little sick from the food."

She smirks between smokes. "Poor you. I suppose that's what happens when you are not used to such fine food."

"Cut it out, Natalie. I'm in no mood for your condescending bullshit." I turn my gaze to the backyard, fuming.

"Now, don't get all offensive, darling. I'm just trying to warn you. Not that you seem to take my warnings seriously. If you had, you wouldn't be in this pitiful position in the first place."

"I'm in a pitiful position?" I ask incredulously. "You do know the sole purpose he asked you here was to make me jealous, don't you?"

"Of course I do. I also know that when he gets tired of chasing you, he'll come back to me, like always. Has it occurred to you why he called me and not someone else?"

My stomach drops. It has. But I don't want to dwell on that now.

"He will get tired of chasing you, trust me," she says.

I try to concentrate on the smell of roses emanating from the yard. But it’s too faint. The smell of roses usually has a calming effect on me. Not this time. "What makes you so sure?" My voice is shaking.

"Has he ever told you he loves you?"

My throat tightens painfully. It's as if she knows which buttons to push to hurt me. I remember his reaction when I told him I loved him at the hospital: his arms stiffening around me, his voice getting colder, and everything that followed.

"That's none of your business."

She gives a high-pitched, hateful laugh. How can someone who looks so graceful have such a murderous voice? Something to warn people that she isn't as doll-like as she appears, I suppose.

"He hasn't told you. Because he will never love you, Serena. Just because he called you his girlfriend for three days doesn't mean he wants something serious with you."

It bugs me how much she knows. Because she couldn't know this unless James told her. Which means that no matter the superficial reason she's here tonight, there is a bond between them that goes way beyond her pouring money in his businesses or occasionally jumping in his bed. The patronizing expression on her face tells me she's thinking the exact same thing. But there's something else behind the contempt in her eyes. Something different. A flicker of fear or doubt, perhaps?

So I take a wild guess.

"Maybe not. But it's certainly better than being his perpetual… call girl, always waiting to become more. That's just pathetic. Haven't you wondered why he has never called
you
his girlfriend? In all the years he's always
come back
to you? Let me give you some advice, for once. Two words: meaningless sex. That's the only thing he wants from you. You'll never be able to keep him."

My guess pays off. Big time. In a fraction of a second, Natalie's porcelain skin turns a violent red all the way to the roots of her dark brown hair. Who knew the lark had a weak spot? She slams the door of the terrace so hard on her way in, I'm afraid the wall might collapse.

I smile. I never believed Jess when she said that sometimes it's worth being a bitch just because. Now I do. But I disagree with the last part. It's not just because. Some people simply deserve it. On the strength of my victory, I decide to return to the table. I wait a few minutes though, to make sure Natalie is already there.