Living Out Loud (Austen, #3)(69)

When I made it home, I gave cursory answers and excused myself to my room, but before I could reach its comforting confines, Elle appeared in her doorway.

“Hey,” she said gently.

“Hey,” I echoed as my nose began burning again.

“I’m sorry for this morning, Annie. I didn’t mean to hurt you or upset you.”

“I know. And I’m sorry, too.”

She stepped into the hall and embraced me. “No, don’t be sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“Sometimes, I need a good shove.”

Elle chuckled and pulled away. “Rough day?”

I sighed. “It’s that obvious?”

“You look like you dropped your favorite earrings down the drain.”

“Not far off, I guess.” I opened my bedroom door, and she followed me in.

We both sat on the bed. Well, she sat. I sagged.

“Was Greg there today?” she asked after a moment.

I nodded. “Although I might as well not have been. He wouldn’t even look at me, Elle. I might as well have been a ghost.” I stared at my wardrobe and through the branches and bird painted on its doors. “I want to believe it will get easier. It has to, right? Time heals all wounds, and all that.”

“I think it will. And maybe, after some time and space, Greg will come around. In life, all things are temporary.”

“That’s both futile and comforting.”

She smiled, lips together.

“Will hasn’t texted me all day,” I admitted with another flash of pain. “I thought he might apologize. But…I really screwed up, didn’t I?”

“No, that’s the thing. You didn’t do anything to hurt anyone on purpose.”

“But does my intention really matter?”

“I have to believe it does. To someone who loves you, intentions are everything.” She toyed with my hair. “Are you going to message him?”

“What else can I even say? He hurt me, kept hurting me, even after I apologized. And I get that he’s angry, but I don’t know how to change that. I don’t know what to offer him.”

She watched me for a moment, her fingers still fiddling with one of my curls. “Annie, I really am sorry about Will and Greg.”

“Me too,” I said on a sigh that carried too many regrets to count.

The doorbell rang, the sound followed by a clamor of barking at multiple octaves, and a moment later, I heard Aunt Susan excitedly calling my name.

She swept into my room with her arms full of long boxes. “These just came for you. Whatever could they be?”

I moved out of the way as she set them on the bed. An envelope was fixed to the top, the paper thick and soft, and my heart skittered as I opened it and read the letter inside.

Annie,

I’m sorry for my jealousy and for the harshness of my words this morning. I was wrong. I never have liked to share, and I’m not always as patient as I wish to be, but those are faults of mine, and I’m sorry I punished you for them.

The dresses I promised are here for you. I hope you’ll forgive me. I’d do just about anything to see you in it. And, if not, I’ll only wish I could have been so lucky.

Yours,

Will



I passed the note to Elle and reached for the box on top.

“Well, what does it say?” Susan said from behind me, and Elle began to read it.

But I didn’t hear them.

I lifted the top of the sturdy red box and gasped.

The empire-waisted dress was made of cream satin and silk chiffon, embroidered with beads that shimmered in the light, the neckline low and square, the back, I could see, dropped into a V. When I picked it up and saw it in full, I could have died from the sheer brilliance.

Elle gasped.

The skirts were made of the same delicate chiffon, the heavy hem scalloped and lined with more beads. It pooled on the ground, and the gathered silk in back spilled down to the floor in the slightest, most elegant train.

“Oh my God,” I breathed. “How could I possibly wear this to a bar?”

Susan laughed. “Easy. You put it on and go. Don’t you dare waste a dress like this.”

Elle reached into the box. “Look, there are matching gloves and a fascinator. Annie, this is…”

“I know,” I breathed. “Let’s look at yours.”

I laid my dress down in its box and moved it out of the way. Pulling off the lid of the other box elicited gasps from all three of us at once.

The gown was taffeta, the iridescent blue-green like that of a peacock feather. The empire waist was lined with delicate gold fringe, and a large, sweeping floral pattern was embroidered in shimmering gold down the front of the skirts and around the hem.

“Well,” Susan said as we all gaped at the spoils Will had sent, “I think he’s maybe earned another chance. Don’t you think?”

I picked up the note and read it again, touched the strong, square letters.

At my fingertips was an apology from a man I cared about. I’d lost Greg, but Will was still here, still eager and willing. And if he could prove himself, maybe we could find our way back to the magic of the beginning.

And so I decided to defer to my list, to my newfound outlook on life, my cure to move forward when life got hard. I would live in the moment and survive on my hopes.