“Come on. This is supposed to be fun,” Scarlett says and tugs at my arm. “Turn that frown upside down, lady.”
“Oh my God, why are you like this?” I roll my eyes but let her pull me down the hallway. “I swear, you didn’t used to be this annoying.”
“I’m not annoying. I’m excited.” Scarlett flashes me a grin. “There are a million hot men out there for our ogling pleasure.”
“Uh, I’m pretty sure you said there were ten hot men here to be auctioned off as charity dates?” I raise an eyebrow. “Ogling wasn’t mentioned.”
“Ogling is mandatory. You know that. Besides, we need to inspect the goods, right?”
“I’m not sure Bradley would agree that it’s a need?” Not that he has cause to doubt her. He’s saving our seats since Scarlett was helping me get ready to sell my best self. Her words, not mine.
“Well, I don’t believe he needs to know.” Scarlett laughs. It’s the laugh of a woman confident in her relationship.
I should know. I used to be that woman, too.
Ugh. I swear to God, I’m so sick of myself. I wish my brain came with an off switch.
“It would be a shame, then, if I let it slip during my Monday morning catch-up with him.” I grin. Scarlett moved on from WS when she and Bradley got involved, but I still report to the man himself.
Scarlett stops, spinning around to face me. “If you think it’s appropriate to tell your boss about your weekend activities, who am I to say otherwise? But I assume then you won’t mind me telling him about your more questionable ones? A certain tattooed biker comes to mind?”
I wince because, yeah, Mikhail had bad decision written all over him. Including a literal tattoo that read Bad Decision. I should have considered it a warning label. Still, I keep my voice cool as I say, “I doubt Bradley cares what or whom I do in my free time.”
“He’s surprisingly open-minded, but I think he’d have an opinion about Mikhail. Just saying.” Scarlett claps her hands together. “The clock is ticking. Come on. The marquee isn’t that big and Bradley’s saving seats for us. But someone’s going to snag them if we don’t get in there. Prime ogling, remember?”
I smile, but I’m pretty sure it looks as half-hearted as it feels. I’m not nervous about being on the auction block. I’m…mired. Like, if I could stay in my turret room reading all weekend, I would, even though that’s not the point of our trip.
The point is “to get me out of my head” and it’s a valid one. The least I could do is act happy to be here.
I smile harder. I don’t think it’s any more convincing, but I make my voice bright as I say, “I’m warning you now, I have no money for bidding. In case you think that’s on the table.”
“But I have money.” Scarlett grins. “I owe you a birthday present, after all.”
This time when I smile, it’s genuine. “You and Amalie took me out to that burlesque show on my birthday, which was fab. You don’t owe me anything.”
“That was all Amalie’s idea.” Scarlett raises her eyebrows, trying to look innocent. “She’s very provocative under that chic French exterior, you know. I mean, Bradley Walking-Sex?”
This gets a laugh out of me. Amalie works in the New York office for WS, and she was the one who coined the – very apt – nickname for Bradley, although she claims it was a group effort. Something about seeing him in shorts…
“Scarlett, I thought you were saving us seats?” A voice rings out in the hallway behind us.
Scarlett and I both turn to face the girl who was bartending last night when we got in. Scarlett introduced us, but I’m drawing a total blank. Remembering names is so not my strong suit.
Thank goodness Scarlett knows this about me. She says loudly, “Tilly. Hey. We’re on our way. Bradley’s got our seats.”
“Oh, good. No one will mess with him.” Tilly slows as she reaches us and gives me a grin. “For a minute I thought you were shirking your responsibilities.”
“My responsibilities being?” Scarlett raises an eyebrow.
“Saving seats for those of us who are perennially late.” Tilly grins wider. She has a gorgeous smile, although she’s also just plain gorgeous. Dark coffee-colored skin, high cheekbones, and big brown eyes. It’s her hair – or lack thereof – that turns her into a total stunner, though. She has a very close buzz cut because, as she said last night, she “can’t be arsed, you know?”
I do know. My long black hair hangs to the middle of my back and I’ve fantasized about cutting it all off, although I don’t think I could get away with it quite as well as Tilly does.
“It’s my fault,” I say. “I was running late and then Scarlett had to have a go at my make up.”
“Your face was day at the office rather than femme fatale. I fixed it.” Scarlett grins, then says to Tilly, “By the way, we’re scoping out bachelors for Tara.”
“Oh, exciting. Money to burn, then?”
“Ha. Not exactly.” I laugh and roll my eyes.
“Tara’s been sad,” Scarlett says to Tilly as we start walking again. “So we’re going try to find someone who can cheer her up.”
Tilly sticks her lower lip out in a pout. “Why are you sad?”
“Boy troubles,” Scarlett says. “But you know what they say. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”
I manage a strangled laugh as Tilly says, “Well, I saw a few of the guys come in earlier and I’d happily get under any of them.”
Scarlett laughs in reply, and she and Tilly continue chatting as we walk through the dining room towards the marquee. I haven’t been to Castle Calder in years – not since Scarlett and I were in uni – but it’s more gorgeous than I remember. Everything is understated and elegant yet inviting enough that I saw three guests in their slippers at breakfast this morning.
Tom would have loved it here.
I try to stop the thought before it forms, but I can’t. I can see us here, lingering over the morning papers at breakfast, playing tennis in the afternoon, making love in the double shower, and again in the canopied king-size bed. Scarlett always said we were welcome to come up anytime, but we never did. And now we never will.
I wonder how long it takes to stop imagining a life with someone who’s no longer in your life. So far, the answer isn’t six months.
I don’t get to think about it further as we enter the marquee. It’s been set up as a precaution in case of rain, although the weather is sunny, and the sides are rolled up today. Rows of chairs flank a center aisle, leading to a large platform at the front, which will act as the stage. A few musicians dressed in formal black and white tune their instruments off to the right of the stage, which is a surprise. Based on their attire, they look like classical musicians, which seems totally at odds with a charity dating auction.
Apparently Tilly thinks the same because she nudges me and whispers, “I think this thing might be classier than I’ve been imagining.”
I think so, too, and I feel the first twinge of nerves. Aloud I say, “I’m not going out with a man old enough to be my father. I don’t care how much he bids for me. I’m getting serious Bill Nighy vibes right now.”
“Right?” Tilly’s head swivels around. “The women are young and hot though, so that’s positive.”
Young, hot, and rich if the amount of bling is anything to go by.
And white.
My brown skin makes me feel way more out of place than my costume jewelry because I’m pretty sure I’m the only non-white woman here besides Tilly. It’s not the first time I’ve been in this situation and it won’t be the last, but it makes me long again for my turret room. And Tom. Again. He used to joke that his black skin mixed with my Indian brown skin made the perfect mocha in a world of flat white.
Unlike earlier, this memory makes me smile a little, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Scarlett. “Hey. There’s the face I want to see. Flash those pearly whites a bit more and you’ll have a bidding war on your hands.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” I feel my smile widen. “Better?”
“Much better,” says a deep male voice beside me.
I turn and my smile fades, all of the color draining from my face. My heart races in my chest like a squirrel being chased by a dog. I feel my knees wobble and I reach blindly for something to grab onto. My hand flails until it finds a solid surface and it’s only once I look down, I realize what I’ve done. I’ve grabbed onto him like a lifeline.
Like he’s not the last person I want to see at a charity auction.
Like he’s not the last person I want to see. Ever.