Chapter Nineteen

Past

W hat is love?

I never knew it. Just read about it, heard about it and watched it unfold on the silver screen. They depict love as this all-consuming force, something that can turn your world upside down and make your heart race at the mere thought of someone.

I’ve often wondered if love is just a chemical reaction in the brain, a concoction of hormones and neurotransmitters that make us feel giddy and euphoric.

I still don’t know what love is exactly. All I know is that my heart skips a beat whenever Damian’s name pops up on my phone. My stomach flutters when his hand grazes mine unintentionally. And how my mind races whenever we are apart, longing for his presence.

It’s in the way my heart plummets when I see the crease of worry on his forehead. His emotions are tied to mine. When he’s upset, I feel it too, like his pain seeps into my soul. The worry on his face feels like a weight on my heart, and his stress steals my peace. I can’t help but ache with him, even when I know I can’t take his burden away.

And when he gives me his rare small smiles? It warms my soul. I feel like I conquered the whole world. Instances like when our fingers brush against each other as we reach for the same cup of coffee, or just simply talking while sharing meals are the moments I treasure.

It’s in the smallest moments, the brief touches, the lingering glances, and even the sound of his frustrated sighs that I find the purest happiness.

If this is love, then yes, I am profoundly, intensely, and irrevocably in love with Damian Montgomery.

If hanging on to his every word while he talks is love, then yes, I am in love with him.

If learning to cook his favorite food is love, then yes, I am in love with him.

If surfing the internet for hours to collect bad jokes just to make him smile is love, then yes, I am in love with him.

If this constant ache in my chest, this bittersweet longing is love, then yes, I am hopelessly, unconditionally, and undeniably in love with him.

Every fiber of my being is consumed by an overwhelming, all-encompassing, and passionate affection that defies rational explanation.

And he knows it. He has to after the night of stargazing when I kissed his cheek two weeks ago. He has to know, right?

We met for three more times over the last fifteen days and talked almost every day on the phone.

He didn’t ask why I came on to him. He didn’t rub it in or reprimand me. He simply acted as if it never happened or maybe it just didn’t matter that much to him.

Either way, I didn’t ask. I didn’t bring that night up during our phone calls or during our meetings. Maybe that makes me a coward but I don’t want to lose him.

If he had a problem with that night, he would’ve disappeared without a word. But he didn’t. Maybe that means something after all.

The confusion gnawed at me though, eating away at my insides. Every time we met after that night, it was like a double-edged sword, cutting through my heart with a mix of joy and pain.

For how long would I be able to survive like this? Sometimes I feel that rejection is a better outcome than being in the unknown.

“What are you thinking?”

Skylar watches me with narrowed eyes as she reclines on the plush, heated lounger beside me in the exclusive spa suite.

“N-nothing.” I breathe in the scent of lavender and eucalyptus mingling the air.

“We’re literally planning your twenty-first birthday, and you’re not even paying attention!”

Right. She is planning my birthday party which is still three months away.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been coerced into hanging out with them, but unlike previous occasions, something is different this time. This time I am comfortable. I know these girls now. They are talkative—beyond talkative, really—but strangely, I don’t mind.

Damian wasn’t available to meet this weekend so when Skylar invited me for a girls’ night, I didn’t say no. Because the thought of spending time with Skylar and her friends no longer felt as daunting as it once did.

Perhaps it’s the need for companionship that has softened my reluctance, or maybe, just maybe, Skylar and her friends aren’t as bad as I initially perceived.

“It’s going to be epic!” Skylar says, beaming. “I mean, how could it not be with me in charge? I’ll make sure it’s unforgettable.”

“I-I’m not really into parties, Skylar.”

Her two friends, who had been enjoying their own conversation, now turn their attention to the discussion.

She rolls her eyes. “River, don’t be a total snooze-fest!”

“But—”

“No excuses, girl,” she says dismissively.

My protests are momentarily silenced as Maria grabs her by the arm and excitedly says, “Skylar, come on! Let’s snap and insta this moment!” They start clicking pictures, flaunting their plush robes in pastel colors.

They spend good thirty minutes doing that while I lay back and close my eyes. It’s a mistake because Damian’s face flashes in my mind.

The whole day went by and I didn’t hear from him. I sent him a text in the noon, reminding him to not skip lunch but it went unanswered.

Usually, I get a one word reply if he is busy but today, I got nothing.

Is he okay? I have Hal’s phone number as well. Damian had given it to me in case he was out of reach and there’s an emergency.

This is also an emergency, right? There’s no harm in a simple text inquiring about Damiam. I reach for my phone with every intention of texting Hal when Skylar shouts on top of her lungs, making me jump.

“What the fuck!”

I glance over to find a very pissed and very red Skylar shaking with fury as she stares down her phone screen. The other two girls stand on either side of her, their faces grim.

Without saying a word, one of the girls gently ushers Skylar to sit down on the nearby lounger. The other quickly grabs a drink and hands it to her, their concern evident.

Skylar snatches the drink from her hand, barely looking up. She takes a sip, her eyes still fixed on the phone screen.

I wonder what could have upset her so much. I watch, concerned as they try to console her. But Skylar exclaims again, “How on earth did she snag it, Maria?”

“I have no freaking clue, but we totally underestimated her.”

I watch, stupefied as Skylar’s eyes fill with unshed tears. Unable to contain myself any longer I ask, “What happened, Maria? Why is she so upset?”

Maria sighs, “There’s this model. She and Skylar participated in a beauty pageant this year and she ended up winning.”

Skylar interrupts, still sniffling, “She wasn’t even supposed to be in it! She’s, like, three years older than us! Seriously, it’s like they just bent the rules for her.”

The other girl rubs her back. “Yeah, I feel you, girl.” Then she looks at me. “It’s totally unfair. She just came out of nowhere and boom! She swoops in, stealing the crown.”

This is news to me. I had no idea Skylar participated in beauty pageants.

Maria pushes to her feet and starts pacing. “And, like, let’s be real here, she’s got all these connections and a gazillion Instagram followers. She had an unfair advantage from the get-go.”

“Just like Skylar… right?” I ask in confusion, earning glares from everyone around me. From the little I’ve overheard, it sounds like she’s just as big on social media, with all the right connections to go with it.

“I don’t misuse my power and connections, River!” Skylar all but screams and I wince.

Maria explains, “She pulled off this absolutely insane stunt last year that went viral, like, worldwide viral. It was for charity, and it exploded all over social media.”

Skylar chimes in, still seething. “She gained more followers than me in a single day!”

The other girl isn’t stopping either. “She got famous. Everybody loved her. She began working with major brands, her name popping up everywhere.” Then she mentions how much she makes from just one paid partnership post on her social media account, a sum that completely astounds me.

They rant some more about how her career took off and she hit it big in such short time.

“But that’s in the past, right? Why is she so upset now?”

“Because this is where it gets crazier. There’s this limited-edition dress—only three of ‘em in the entire world. Skylar’s been obsessing over it for months, posting about it non-stop. She asked her dad to pull some strings and get it for her. But today? This bitch shows up at some high-profile gala in New York, wearing the exact dress.”

“She is a fucking stalker who stole my dress!” Skylar throws herself in her friend’s arms.

I watch helplessly as she cries. I’m not sure what to say, but I know I can’t just stand there. So, I move closer, crouching in front of her, gently taking her hands in mine. She looks up at me, eyes red, and I start speaking softly. “Skylar... I get it. That dress was everything to you, and it really sucks that it didn’t work out. But hey, one dress isn’t going to change anything, right?”

She stays quiet, so I press on. “I know you wanted that dress, and I’m sorry that it slipped through your fingers. But there’s always going to be something else, something new, something better. Life’s too short to let one thing knock you down. So take a second to be upset, sure. But then get over it. You don’t need a dress to show everyone how amazing you are.”

“You’re right.” She sniffles.

“You are beautiful, Skylar. And unique in your own way. Don’t let anyone affect you this much.”

She gives me a small smile.

I smile back and stand but she pulls me to sit beside her. Grabbing her phone, she thrusts it in my hand. “Look at her pictures and tell me.”

My brow furrows. “Tell you what?”

“Does she look better than me?”

I shake my head. “Skylar, you shouldn’t compare—”

“For my peace of mind! Please!”

I sigh and glance down at the screen, my eyes widening. The model stands tall, her long blonde hair flowing, exuding beauty and confidence. In the middle of the red carpet, she commands the cameras’ attention effortlessly.

But it’s the dress that steals the show. The limited-edition gown clings to her like a second skin, draping in rich, midnight blue silk. The color is so deep and beautiful, it’s no wonder Skylar was so upset over it.

When I don’t say anything, Skylar swipes at the screen to show me another picture. The closeup shot highlights her dress. Against her pale complexion, the dress appears even more striking.

“River?” Skylar hisses near my ear.

“She is very beautiful.”

“What?”

I grimace when she shouts. Then, “Pay attention. Here.” She begins swiping on the screen frustratingly.

I’m about to tell her to stop when one particular picture makes my heart sink. I find myself snatching the phone from her.

In this picture, the model isn’t alone. Her smile here is brighter than any of her solo pictures as she stands pressing against a man wearing a tux that accentuates his tall, muscular body.

The longer I stare, the more the pain twists inside me. With every passing second, the ache becomes unbearable like a gaping hole has opened up in my chest and every breath I take only makes it worse.

Because the man she’s pressed against is the love of my life.

Damian .

With trembling finger, I swipe and find another picture that shatters me. They look like a hot couple on a magazine as he peers down at her with a soft smile tilting his lips.

Something breaks inside me.

He gave her his rare, precious smile. A smile that he doesn’t give me easily. A smile that I find myself always yearning for. A smile that I lay awake at night thinking about, replaying it over and over in my mind, hoping to see it more often. A smile that was supposed to be mine and mine alone.

“River?” Skylar’s touch on my shoulder startles me.

“Y-yeah?”

Skylar’s puzzled expression deepens as she brushes away a tear from my cheek. “Why are you crying?”

I touch my wet cheek numbly and realize tears have been streaming down my face without my awareness.

“Do you know her?”

When I stare dumbfoundedly, she elaborates. “Gianna. That’s her.” She spits out her name. “Did she cross you too?”

I’m too heartbroken to reply. Too sick to address what’s in front of me. My eyes zero in on Gianna’s palm on Damian’s chest as she holds his gaze. I cover my face with my hands.

“What’s wrong, River?” Skylar asks, her voice laced with genuine concern.

I try to control my tears, willing them to stay hidden. Rubbing my eyes, I muster a shaky smile and respond, “Oh, it’s n-nothing.”

The girls exchange worried glances. It’s clear they can sense something isn’t right.

Skylar isn’t easily fooled by my attempt to brush it off. She presses further, “Are you sure, River? You don’t look okay.”

I bite my lip, struggling to keep my composure. “Yeah, really, Skylar, I’m fine. Just feeling a little tired, that’s all.”

“But you started crying the moment you saw Gianna—” Her eyes widen. “Wait. Is this about the man she is with?”

I shake my head vehemently as panic sets in. Skylar watches me closely, concern deepening in her eyes. “River, you have to talk to me. Is it... about him? Is that what’s been bothering you?”

“No!” I choke. I shake my head again. “It’s just that… The d-dress… It-It reminded me of the gown I had which was ruined because of… um something.”

She gasps. “OMG! Seriously?”

I swallow thickly and nod. Desperate to escape, I babble out an excuse, “Skylar, I just remembered I left something important at home. I need to go get it. I’ll catch up with you guys later, okay?”

Skylar watches me for a moment longer but she eventually says, “All right, River, but call me if you need anything.”

I nod. With that, I change into my clothes and make a hasty exit, my heart heavy.

Twenty minutes later, with swollen eyes and a broken heart, I let myself into my apartment. I spend an hour in the shower just to wash off the bad feeling spreading inside of me then get into bed, feeling my soul utterly shattered. Sleep doesn’t come.

So I send him a string of messages. Then call him several times. Then wait. Every few minutes, like a hopeless fool, I reach for my phone, heart pounding with hope. Thinking, maybe, just maybe, there’s a reply from him, a missed call that slipped past my notice. I clutch the phone in trembling hands, silently begging, praying to whatever might be listening for some sign—anything—from him.

Nothing.

What is love? I wonder again. Love has a way of pushing us to do things we never imagined ourselves doing. It can make you reckless. Can destroy your ability to think and force you to do something that you would never ever do. Like climbing mountains, and braving storms just to be near the object of your affection.

The little voice of reason in my head keeps warning me that I’m making a mistake, but the shattered pieces of my heart push me forward. They urge me to take that step, to do it. And so, I do. I do something so far out of my comfort zone, it terrifies me to my core.

The next morning, I book the earliest flight to New York. I don’t know why I’m going, or what I even expect to find when I get there. All I know is that I can’t stay here anymore, not with this ache in my chest.

I’m helpless, completely at the mercy of my love, of the man who’s torn me apart without even knowing it.

The burn in my chest has only grown worse since I boarded the plane. Every time my phone buzzes, I avoid it—Dad’s calls, Skylar’s messages—all of it. What could I even say to them? That I’m drowning in a love so consuming, so painful, that I couldn’t bear the thought of him with another woman? That I couldn’t sit still, not even for a second longer, since I saw the man who owns my heart standing next to someone else, touching her the way he’s never touched me?

Throughout the flight, I felt strangely detached, like I wasn’t fully present. My body was on autopilot. I felt like a ghost haunting my own existence.

I couldn’t help but wonder: does love really have the power to inflict this much pain? Is it supposed to make you feel as if your heart is being mercilessly torn apart, and your very soul is being crushed beneath its weight? The ache was so profound, it was as if every fiber of my being was on fire, searing with grief.

Until today, I’d only known the bittersweet ache of love—the kind that hurts so good, you smile through the pain because it reminds you that you’re still alive. But I never expected it could hurt like this.

Now I understand why Dad’s always been so empty, so alone. The way he’s never really moved on since Mom passed. I get it now. This is what it feels like to lose someone you love. If Damian and Gianna are together, then I must let him go.

The thought of never having him in my life, of not being able to see him or talk to him, feels like my heart is being ripped out. Every time I think about it, tears flood my eyes. It’s like I’m losing a piece of myself, just like Dad. And I’m scared it’s happening to me now.

I tracked down the address of the place where the gala was held last night through the internet.

I pay the taxi driver after he drops me off at The Ritz-Carlton. Overwhelmed, my heart is thumping in my chest as I enter the grand lobby.

As I walk further into the lobby, I can’t ignore the subtle, curious glances from other patrons, their eyes momentarily fixed on me before returning to their conversations.

I feel small in my plain jeans and top, utterly out of place among the well-dressed guests and the lavish elegance of the hotel. I hadn’t thought about how I looked when I left my apartment; my mind was too overwhelmed to care. My face is bare, no makeup to hide the redness of my swollen eyes. And my curls are tied in a messy ponytail.

The stares heighten my self-awareness and I grip the sling of my purse over my shoulder with both clammy hands.

I force myself to walk toward the reception desk, my heart hammering with each step. My chest feels tight, and I try desperately to mask the growing anxiety that’s threatening to take over.

My voice quivers as I inquire, “E-excuse me, I’m looking for someone. I heard he might be staying here. His name is Damian Montgomery.”

The receptionist, impeccably dressed, takes a long look at my face before sighing. She turns to her computer screen, types something then confirms, “Yes, Mr. Montgomery is staying with us.”

My heart quickens at the confirmation. When I ask for his room number, she purses her lips. “I apologize, ma’am, but I’m unable to share any information regarding our guests’ accommodations.”

I bite my lower lip, wrestling with disappointment. My voice quivers as I muster the courage to ask, “Okay, can you tell me whether he is staying alone?”

My mind fills with the image of Damian and Gianna together. In the same bed. The idea of him spending the night with her is torture.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t provide that information,” she says with a tight smile.

My heart sinks deeper as she neither confirms nor denies it. In a last-ditch effort, I gather my resolve and admit, “I know him. I’m his…” What am I? A fool, trying to claim something that was never mine. I’m the one who thinks I have any right to question him about Gianna. I’m the one who’s here to beg him for a chance to be with him. I am a… “Friend,” I finally whisper. “I’m his friend.”

Her expression remains impassive. “I understand, but I still can’t disclose any details.”

I lean forward gripping the desk with desperation. “Can you at least inform him that I-I am here. My name is River Gibson.”

“Mr. Montgomery is not available at the moment, but I will be sure to inform him of your presence as soon as he returns.”

I thank her then walk over and sink into a quiet corner of the lobby, my eyes locked on the entrance.

The longer I wait, the worse my anxiety gets, making it hard to breathe. What am I going to say to him? I didn’t think this through. I came here on a whim. A stupid, impulsive decision.

I’m just a friend. He doesn’t owe me anything. I don’t even know how to explain why I’m here without sounding like a crazy person.

He’s going to look at me like I’m out of my mind. And then he’ll push me away. I’ll lose him. But he’s not mine to lose.

I imagine him walking through the door and try to think of what to say. But nothing that comes to mind sounds rational. Every sentence I try to form only makes it worse.

My hands shake as I try to calm myself, but the panic won’t stop.

When three hours pass, I can’t help but reach for my phone. My trembling fingers dial his number, and my heart races in hope, but it dwindles when he doesn’t answer.

I call him again and again, but he doesn’t respond. And the silence on his end suffocates my already dying spirit.

Hours melt away like the tears that stream down my cheeks. Morning turns to noon, and noon turns to evening, and still, I sit in the lobby. My body weakens and my eyes dry up but my will remains unbroken.

I don’t remember the last time I ate anything but the emptiness in my stomach is overshadowed by the pain in my heart.

And then, someone places a small bottle of water and a pack of biscuits near me. I glance up, my eyes connecting with the receptionist from earlier. She offers a small smile.

I manage a shaky smile in her direction, offering a silent thank you. I reach for the bottle with shaky hands, the cap slipping slightly as I try to open it. I take a sip, the cool liquid easing the dryness in my throat. I glance at the biscuits, but my stomach churns at the thought of eating.

She leaves as quickly as she came and I continue to wait.

An hour later, two men in security uniforms walk up to me.

“Excuse me, miss,” one of them says. “We noticed you’ve been here for a while. Is everything okay?”

My voice trembles as I reply, “I’m just waiting for someone. I’ll be leaving soon, I promise.”

“I understand, ma’am. But it might be more comfortable for you to wait in the restaurant or return at a later time.”

“No, I-I can’t leave,” I stammer, as I clutch the seat. “I need to wait here. I’m— I’m fine, really. I’ll be okay.”

The man’s expression softens, but there’s no mistaking the firmness in his voice when he speaks. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you can’t stay here any longer. We’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Please, just a little longer,” I plead.

But the security guard doesn’t relent. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, ma’am.”

I hug the purse to my chest and push to my feet, my unsteady legs protesting after hours of sitting. As I rise, a sudden wave of dizziness engulfs me, and my vision blurs. I grip the edge of the chair to steady myself.

I take a deep breath, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Slowly, the spinning fades, and my vision clears, though my body still feels heavy with exhaustion. I gather what little strength I have left and push myself to walk toward the exit.

Swaying a bit, I spot a restaurant around the corner. But before heading there, I lean against the wall of a building. My head lolls back as I close my aching eyes, taking in deep, labored breaths in an attempt to regain my strength. I wrap my bare arms around my middle, shivering.

I tilt my head to glance at the restaurant. My stomach churns with hunger, and I can’t ignore the hollow pain gnawing at my insides. I feel so weak and tired, if I don’t go in there, I’m afraid I’ll collapse right here.

Inhaling deeply, I straighten again, wincing when my feet protests.

I somehow trudge my way to the restaurant and push open the door.

I’m met with the posh interior with soft lighting and sophisticated atmosphere. I pause for a brief moment, the tantalizing aroma of food enveloping me. The scent alone is enough to send my stomach into painful contractions.

Before I can take another step, a hostess approaches. “Welcome. Do you have a reservation?” she inquires, her tone laced with a hint of skepticism as she stares at my disheveled appearance.

My head swims, and I can hardly find the strength to speak. I shake my head weakly, my vision blurring, on the verge of fainting.

“Ma’am?” she prompts and I glance at her.

“I’m afraid we can’t squeeze you in. We’re packed as you can see.” She motions toward the tables.

I lick my dry lips as I gaze around. I spot an empty table and open my mouth to tell her when I see him.

Damian .

I must’ve swayed because an alarmed “Ma’am?” pierces the air, drawing eyes over to us. Among them a pair of eyes belongs to the love of my life who is currently occupying a center table with the beautiful Gianna as his date.