You're Invited(38)

“Yep. The whole thing.”

“That’s great. I guess I’ll see you around?”

“Sure. See you around.”

I started to turn away, but he suddenly reached for my arm. I practically choked.

“Amaya, I don’t know how you remember it, but the last time we were together—it really—well, it really devastated me, you know. That you thought of me that way.” His eyes bored into mine. There was a time I used to think I could get drunk on his eyes alone. The skin on my arm broke out in goose bumps.

He was devastated.

I took a deep breath.

Gave him an apologetic smile.

Gently shook my arm free.

“It was a long time ago,” I mumbled, turning away.

“I’ll see you around.”

And then I fled.

Thankfully, there were enough bathrooms at the Fonsekas’ that it was easy to find a free one tucked toward the back of the ground floor. I locked myself in, slamming the lid down on the toilet and collapsing onto it.

I held my hands up to my face. My cheeks were boiling but my palms were ice-cold.

What on earth is wrong with me?

Years of dreaming about this moment. Sleepless nights spent imagining what I would say when I finally met him again. Afternoons spent perfecting my speech.

I could picture it now.

My confident hair flip. The way I would be in control, yet aloof. In my element. The way I would smile at him so he would know for sure that I was over him. That I didn’t need him in my life. That I was certainly, definitely, 100 percent not broken.

And instead, there I was, shaking and floundering and still the same insipid girl who let her heart get stomped on. Who loved so hard she lost herself.

Why was I like this? Why could I never be the Amaya that existed in my head? The version of myself that never made an entrance when I most needed it, instead of this watery, half-boiled counterpart?

I grunted in frustration and launched myself off the toilet. I yanked out some tissues and blotted my upper lip, my neck, and stuffed more into the armpits of my dress. I couldn’t splash water on my face without ruining my makeup, so I washed my hands instead.

I looked around the vanity for a pair of scissors or a razor. I couldn’t find any of those, but there was a little dish of safety pins and hair clips. I picked up a safety pin, opening it. This will do just fine.

If I was unsure about my plans to ruin this wedding before, meeting Spencer solidified everything. I thought of his earnest smile. The way his fingers pressed into the soft flesh of my upper arm. I had to go through with it. I didn’t have a choice.

I took the pointed end of the pin and stuck it under the nail on my thumb. It was exactly what I needed. I felt some of my anxious energy drain out with the drop of blood that oozed into the sink. I inhaled. I counted to five.

I needed Dr. Dunn. He’d have told me to “just get it done.” I’d rolled my eyes at the catchphrase when I first heard it, but he was right. I needed to stop procrastinating. I had to take initiative.

Then I remembered the way Spencer’s eyes bored deep into mine, and the way I’d feel when he smiled at me. Like the world was mine to take. The exhilaration I felt from knowing that he loved me. That he had chosen me.

Forget Dr. Dunn. What I really need is Alexander. Or at least, the way I felt after Alexander was done with me.

I thought about messaging him, which was still within our agreement, after all, but I knew what he’d say. He’d order me to take off my panties and keep them in my purse the whole night, and not allow me to touch myself until I got home and begged him for his permission. I couldn’t handle that kind of distraction right now.

I took out the A5-sized envelope from my handbag.

This was just plan A. I hoped it would work. That I didn’t have to make it all the way to plan C. Because meeting Spencer pushed any doubts I had from my mind. I had to do whatever it took.



* * *



—

I KEPT MY eyes focused ahead of me as I wove my way through the crowd. I didn’t want to accidentally look at any numbers and see any unlucky signs. I didn’t want anything changing my mind. I knew what I had to do. The party had really gone into full swing by the time I made it out of the bathroom. I considered grabbing a glass of champagne from one of the many waiters that whizzed by, but decided it would be best to keep my wits about me, and grabbed a bite-size seafood quiche instead. I could barely take a nibble from it.

I looked around, trying to find the perfect person to help me. It couldn’t be just anybody. It had to be someone close enough to the family to be taken seriously, but who wasn’t too loyal to the Fonsekas either.

I spotted Andre, the designer from this afternoon. He was chatting to a young woman next to him. Would he work? I inched my way closer, wondering if there was an opening in their conversation.

“I’m telling you, child, she’s the fakest attention-seeker I know, but you didn’t hear it from me, okay?”

The woman threw her head back and laughed. “Oh, Andre, you’re such a devil, I tell you.”

“I’m just honest, darling. Karma is a bitch, but, well, maybe not as big a bitch as I am. She’ll have what’s coming to her, mark my words.” More laughter from them both.

It didn’t sound like the kind of conversation I’d want to interrupt. I could always tell when someone was out for blood during a Colombo gossip session. But who could help with my own plans?