Maddie
Some nights are meant to be perfect, and this is one of them.
My fingers are thread through my fiancé’s, Kevin’s, hand as we step into the elevator in our building, my shiny new engagement ring glinting on my left hand. After a year together getting engaged is the natural—perfect—progression. We met on a blind date, moved in together three months later, and tonight he popped the question on our one-year anniversary at one of New York’s most exclusive, expensive restaurants.
It could have been a scene out of a movie. Our table, with its pristine tablecloth, candles, and fine china, was completely surrounded by people who beamed at us, like our romance is one for the ages.
Because it is one for the ages. Even the waiters and waitresses clapped for us, looking genuinely happy, and I felt a little buzzed on the complimentary champagne and cake and the happiness.
This is bliss. I’ve always been called a hopeless romantic and a decade in this city has put me through the ringer. It was all worth it though. I always knew I’d find my happily ever after.
Kevin pushes the button for our floor, his bicep flexing under my hand. A simper slips into place, and I feel the hint of a blush in my chest. I love the way he feels. The way he smells, the way he does everything.
Tonight makes the last few years feel like they’ve come to a close. Like I’m ready for my new chapter. I hesitate to call them bad, because that’s a negative way to spin things when everything in my life has brought me to this moment.
No, they weren’t bad years, but they were…challenging.
Yes. That’s the right word. They were challenging. I went through a nasty breakup and needed a lot of late-night texting with Suzette, who’s like a big sister to me. The whole situation made me feel young and naive, which in a way, I was.
Maybe I still am.
But I don’t feel young and naive. I feel like a woman who’s finally got her life figured out. I rose from the ashes of that boyfriend and found a man who loves me enough to marry me. I’ve upgraded my apartment from a teeny, tiny one-bedroom with secondhand furniture to a luxury apartment where everything’s brand new and as perfect as my recent engagement. The only sign of my former life is the crocheted blanket from my grandmother, which the cleaning staff takes special care to smooth over the back of the couch every week.
The elevator lifts off with smooth acceleration.
That’s probably why my stomach drops a little. It’s just the elevator, not my nerves or any subconscious feeling that life can’t be this good.
The future is going to be as perfect as the present. Our reflection stares back at us from the silver elevator doors. Kevin bought my wine-red dress and paid for the hair appointment that turned my dark brunette hair into gorgeous, shining waves. It feels too good to be true.
As we wait for the ding of our level, I go over my to-do list in my head, rubbing my thumb in soothing circles on his forearm. Next week, I’ll refocus on my charity work. None of the positions Kevin’s gotten me are paid, but they don’t have to be. He told me he makes enough money that I don’t have to work.
It’s perfect, I remind myself again, leaning against his arm just slightly.
He doesn’t lean closer to me. He’s watching our reflection with a frown, like his mind is miles away. That nervous feeling comes over me again and I peer up at him, waiting for him to look back down. He doesn’t.
The elevator slows, and Kevin lets out a harsh sigh. We live on the eighth floor and this is only the fourth.
“You okay?” I squeeze his arm, feeling the brand-new weight of the engagement ring on my finger.
“I just want to get home.”
It takes effort for my expression to stay even and not show my shock and slight disappointment. Kevin’s tone doesn’t reflect a newly engaged man. I’d expected…passion, maybe. That he’d want to push me up against the wall of the elevator and kiss me until we got upstairs. I feel all these bundles of desire and want, but it’s obvious he doesn’t feel the same.
Kevin just sounds tired.
He seemed happy enough at the restaurant, though, so…
Maybe he is tired. Maybe he’s desperate to get to our bedroom so he can get out of his suit and spread me out on the covers. Maybe he’s as excited to continue the next phase of our perfect life as I am, he just needs a minute to collect himself.
It’s good. This is good. My life is just the way I wanted it when I was living in that one-bedroom apartment, my heart aching from the breakup and my head spinning from how confused and angry I felt at my ex.
This is supposed to be the reward for coming this far. For healing my heart finding a new man and accepting everything life had to offer. This is the prize at the end of the race. I love New York City, and I love my life in it, and I’ve loved it hard enough to convince it to love me back.
The elevator comes to a stop on the fourth floor, and the doors slide open to reveal a man in a suit that looks more expensive than Kevin’s. It’s crisp and tailored perfectly. He moves into the elevator with confident strides and takes his place next to me, then leans forward to press the button for the sixth floor. The air fills with the masculine scent of his cologne and all it takes is one inhale.
One single breath and I’m drawn to him. I can’t help stealing a glance in the reflection. He’s tall, with dark hair and carved features. As he straightens from pushing the button, his eyes catch mine. They’re so blue—so blue that my breath catches.
I look away, my pulse racing. This isn’t how a woman is supposed to feel about a man who isn’t her fiancé. I’m not falling in love with him. It’s not one of those fairy-tale scenarios. I’m past believing in those.
But I can’t bring myself to look away. My eyes keep finding him in the reflection.
The elevator glides upward again. My heart races and I chide myself for feeling anything in the slightest.
We only have a few moments together. The elevators in this building are fast, and he’s only going up two floors. I try to make it seem like I’m not staring, but I am, and that’s how I notice when he looks at me.
His eyes linger on my body in the reflection, trailing down the dress Kevin bought for me.
Any thoughts of him are a mistake. I shut them down quickly, holding onto Kevin’s arm with both hands.
Because the moment I tear my eyes off the stranger, I become aware of Kevin watching both of us with a clenched jaw. Kevin dislodges my hold on his arm and puts his hand on the small of my back.
His possessiveness takes me by surprise but I lean into it. Staring straight ahead as if the man isn’t even here.
I do not want any part of being kissed or touched by a stranger in a nice suit who happens to have one of the most gorgeous faces I’ve ever seen.
My face gets hot at my imagined fantasy of this stranger kissing me in the way I wish Kevin would. That’s all it is—a fantasy. A short, unasked-for fantasy that’s only happening because of the champagne and the excitement of the evening.
That’s all. I clear my throat and shake the odd thoughts off, ignoring the prying eyes I swear I can still feel on me.
The elevator stops, and the man next to me shifts his weight to leave.
His elbow brushes against mine.
The fabric of his suit brushes against my bare elbow and it feels as sensual as a kiss, almost as intimate as one. He didn’t have to touch me—there’s room in the elevator for him to get in and out with zero contact—but he did, and it’s electric.
What’s going on with me? Electricity over a man’s suit?
He turns his head as he reaches the doors. “Good night.”
His voice matches his impeccable suit and his gorgeous face. It’s low and rich and somehow, deep in my bones, sounds familiar.
“Good night,” Kevin snaps.
The other man doesn’t seem to notice the bite in Kevin’s tone. As the doors begin to close, he turns to go down the hall and looks back in at me. His eyes are still locked on mine when the doors shut completely, cutting me off from him.
He was an attractive man, and I couldn’t help but notice. He doesn’t have anything to do with me and Kevin.
He doesn’t.
“What a prick,” Kevin mumbles under his breath.
I actually don’t think we can fault the man for using the same elevator, but I don’t say that. I slip my hand into Kevin’s instead.
“Don’t worry about him.” I smile up at my new fiancé. “Think about us. This is our big night.”
“You’re right about that.” He turns my hand in his and runs the pad of his thumb over my ring. “You’re mine now.”
“Now?” I joke. “Wasn’t I yours before? Or does it only count once we’ve made vows?”
Kevin frowns, not even giving me a courtesy laugh.
The elevator takes us up the remaining floors, and I step close to him and try to communicate that everything is normal. Better than normal. It’s the start of our forever.
There’s always a comedown when you do something special, right? The adrenaline fades. Soon we’ll be in bed together, and the guy in the elevator won’t matter at all.
I’m not going to think about him again.
I don’t think about him when the elevator doors open, or when Kevin takes us inside the apartment. I don’t think about him while I slip into the lingerie I put on Kevin’s card earlier this morning. I don’t think about him when Kevin takes me to bed and we have fast, perfunctory sex that unfortunately doesn’t do the trick.
I don’t think about him when I’m lying on the pillows afterward, Kevin already breathing deeply beside me.
I really don’t think about him. Not his blue eyes, not the way his suit fit on his body, and not the way he brushed his arm against my elbow like he just had to touch me, even if it was through his clothes.
I don’t think about him at all when I lift up my hand in the dark and watch the diamond catch the tiniest glimmers of light.
I don’t think about him when I find the texts on Kevin’s phone a week later.
I don’t think about him when the woman comes to confront me a few days after that.
I don’t think about him when my world falls apart and I’m left feeling foolish and naive and alone again.
All I think about is how well and truly fucked I am and how my happily ever after turned into a nightmare.