This Is Not How It Ends(34)

Throngs of guests watched DJ Kygo and the mysterious Brit by his side, though the Brit was only watching me. I should have left. I should have called for Pete to take me back to the room. Instead, I stood off to the side, my sleeveless silk dress swaying to the pulsing sounds. I was a horrible dancer, didn’t even try, and Philip’s eyes were buried in my long, wavy hair. He was trying to get me to look at him, but I refused. The news, fresh and distressing, tapped into a well of feelings I preferred to bury.

A businessman in a scruffy suit approached. Noticing me alone, he made his move. As I brushed him off, I could feel Philip’s eyes crawling up and down my skin. Soon he was departing the DJ booth and heading in my direction. His haste had me both flattered and concerned.

The man took off as Philip reached my side, though what I thought was anger was something else. His eyes narrowed on mine, half-closed and mired in red. I could barely make out his pupils. “Philip, what’s wrong?”

Sweat gathered along his upper lip, and he reached for me.

“Philip!” My heart quickened, and dread gripped my throat. He tried to say something before turning around and walking away. The urgency in his steps made it difficult for me to catch him. Swaying bodies knocked into me. Pulsating lights flashed around the room.

“Philip,” I shouted again, but my voice was lost in the music and laughter, the clinking of glasses. I strained to see him, standing on my tippy-toes to get a better look. The back of his head was across the room, and he was opening the door to the men’s bathroom.

Frightened and out of breath, I reached the door and poked my head through.

“Philip?” But nobody heard me over the blaring sounds except some drunk frat boys who eyed me curiously. I should have just gone in there, but Philip would want me to wait. He’d say it wasn’t proper for a woman to enter the loo with a bunch of men.

I was leaning against the wall, worried, when he found me. He looked pale, his hair matted in sweat.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” I asked.

Philip would never want to worry me. He once had pneumonia and told me he was nursing a cold, though he was nursing it in a hospital in Boston.

“Tainted caviar!” he shouted.

“You don’t look right,” I argued. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, darling,” he assured me, though I didn’t believe him. He reached for my cheek and moved in for a kiss.

I had to turn my head. His breath was the scent of putrid acid. “Did you just vomit?”

“I’m fine,” he said again, pulling me near and making it impossible for me to breathe. “Maybe too much dessert.”

“We should go back,” I said.

He unbuttoned his top button and guided me across the crowded floor.

Midway I stopped. “Philip, we’re getting too old for this.” My cell phone said it was close to two in the morning. “You’ve had a long day . . .”

But he’d hear nothing of it. He lunged forward, the weight of him leaning into me. If I backed away, he’d fall.

“Philip, you’re really scaring me.”

“Darling,” he slurred. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Perhaps it’s a sympathetic pregnancy,” he said with a laugh.

And then it occurred to me. The caviar was fine. Philip was rejecting my news. He was upset, and he tried to drink the revelation away. He didn’t want the pregnancy, and maybe, just maybe, I did.

“Charley,” he said, “I’m fine. There’s nothing to worry about. Perhaps I’m bloody drunk and ate something that didn’t agree with me.”

I should’ve asked him. I should’ve come right out and asked him if my news had made him sick.

“There’s a name for it, you know,” he said. “Couvade syndrome.”

I turned away from him, unimpressed with his stupid trivia. He tried to move in for another sloppy kiss, and I tossed my head to the side, so the kiss landed on my cheek. Philip never got drunk. Food always agreed with him. Both his hands came down on my shoulders, and he forced me to look at him.

“Darling, please . . .”

I willed myself to relax.

“. . . you’re going to be my wife soon—the mother of my babies. Everything is fine.”

“I’d like to go back to the hotel.”

He slid his hand into mine, but it did little to quell the clamoring of emotions. As we exited the lobby, the bustling sounds behind us streamed like the exhaust of an old car. The drive to the Four Seasons was a silent one, and I languished in a fresh set of worries. What the hell was wrong with Philip? Would my father call? Would I care? And what the hell was Philip thinking? We’d have to discuss having kids. Really discuss having kids. Not a superficial conversation in between flights around the world. The thought sent a chill through my veins. It penetrated deep within my soul and suppressed rational thinking. What if he really didn’t want them? And what if I did?

“You worry too much, darling.” It was a grumble meant to pacify, but it made the dread feel worse. Defeat spread through my veins, and his heart thumped against my cheek. Maybe Philip was right. My imagination sometimes got the better of me.

I leaned deeper into him, inhaling the scent of cigarettes and sweat. He stroked my hair, and it did little to soothe away the worry, the frightening thoughts that tumbled down my shoulders.