Chapter Sixteen

"You have no idea how muchI needed this," I tell Hana as we walk toward the gallery.

"I take it your brunch with ‘Mother' didn't go well?"

"Oh, it went exactly as it always does."

"Ew," she says with a grimace. "Well, I'm glad we get to do this too. I love my son, but good God, he has quite the pair of lungs on him."

"Which he got from you because Tyrone never raises his voice."

"Yes, my man is a perfectly mild-mannered introvert," she says with unmistakable pride.

When we arrive before the massive, glassed front of the gallery, a few people are already waiting to enter. The exclusive event is invitation only, and Hana and I have our names on the list. Two people enter, three are sent on their way, and then it's our turn.

"Genevieve Kensington and Hana Yun," I tell the man behind the stand.

He finds us quickly and invites us to enter with a sweep of his arm. "Have an enlightening evening, ladies."

We thank him with a smile and a nod and then enter the gallery. The place is magnificent, with high ceilings, expensive materials, designer furniture… Soft music is playing, present enough to fill the air but discreet enough to allow conversations. And the art exposed is brought forward by perfect and clever dispositions. A woman comes to help us out of our coats, and another one approaches with a tray filled with champagne flutes. We both take one and then venture into the artful space. It's so massive that one might call it a museum rather than a gallery. Our old friend is doing very well for herself.

"Do you think there'll be other people here from Harvard?" Hana asks before taking a sip.

"God, I hope not. I don't want to spend the evening catching up with people I couldn't even bear back then."

Hana giggles into her champagne. "They were such pretentious assholes."

"Constance was fine though," I feel compelled to say. Hana nods.

"She was. Which is why we're here to support her tonight. Not that she needs us."

We look around the room, and I admit that I'm impressed by the turnout. Constance must have quite the social network to pull such a successful opening. In the five years since she took over, this gallery has become a landmark in the New York art scene. And it's my understanding that tonight is her consecration, exposing some of the hottest artists in the world. No wonder so many people are present, some even trying to get in without an invitation.

Among the many guests, I recognize a few faces, including friends of my parents. We all frequent the same circles after all, so it makes sense that such an event would bring us together.

When someone from the waitstaff passes with a tray of canapés, Hana picks up a napkin and takes two. I, however, shake my head, still not over my mother's words. I do have a tendency to gain weight, and I haven't been very good at controlling myself in the past few weeks. Stress will do that to a person, and having to reassess my entire life after the breakup hasn't been exactly restful.

"Ugh, this is so good," Hana moans after taking a bite of what looks like foie gras on toasted brioche.

My stomach protests with gurgles, reminding me that all I had today was a slice of salmon and four asparagus. I pass a hand over my front, soothing my dress. That attracts my friend's gaze.

"Still can't believe how amazing that dress is on you," Hana compliments.

I look down at the green satin. The Dior dress was returned to me yesterday, its spaghetti strap fixed like nothing happened. It's a bold choice for an evening like this, but after the night I had, I was feeling sexy and wanted, so I impulsively picked it. It's the dress that started everything after all, with those dating app pictures.

"Don't you think it's too much?" I ask Hana. She's wearing a midnight-blue cocktail dress with long chiffon sleeves and a skirt that reaches mid-calf. She looks stunning with her hair up and gold accessories.

"No, you look perfect. And I love the shoes. Are they new?"

I bring a foot forward to show her the pearl-encrusted Jimmy Choo. "Yes, I deserved a reward for not killing my mother."

"Fair. Should we start looking around?" she asks after another sip of her champagne.

I agree, so we make our way toward the closest canvas. It's a mess of drops, splashes, and smears of paint, the colors dark and gloomy. The composition of it is oppressive, like a dark forest that harbors even darker secrets. If the goal of art is to trigger feelings, then it's accomplished. It's not my type, but it works.

"That's depressing," Hana mumbles next to me before we move on to the next one.

A few canvases later, we come across Constance. She greets us with warmth, thanking us for coming. We congratulate her on such a successful soiree, and before we can catch up on the last couple of years, her attention is called elsewhere.

Another waiter comes to us with a tray of food, Hana picks a couple of things, and we look around again. I'm distractedly looking at the buffet from afar when Hana gently shoves her elbow into my ribs.

"Isn't that the guy from the dating app?" she asks.

"What?"

"There, the man with the burgundy jacket," she insists. I look in the direction of her stare. "Isn't it that Eli guy?"

Holy crap. It is.

Elijah is right there, talking to a couple of people in the back of the gallery. The same Elijah I shared an elevator ride with this morning. What is he doing here?

Before I can even register his presence, a low, raspy, and devilish voice I know all too well says from behind me, "I think I know this dress."

Thinking my mind is playing tricks on me, I swiftly spin around. A pair of green eyes is staring down at me with amusement. Eyes that I was lost in for hours last night. Eyes that witnessed me in the most abandoned state I've ever been in.

Why is Jake here? How?!

"Is this the ladder guy?" Hana whispers, putting two and two together despite being as shocked as I am.

And there are many reasons to be shocked. I have always found Jake stunning, but seeing him in a suit requires a whole new set of adjectives. The charcoal jacket and pants fit him perfectly, accentuating his solid build and powerful muscles. And the dark red dress shirt he has underneath is reminiscent of the reddish feathers that creep up his neck out of the unbuttoned collar.

This man is so ridiculously attractive, it's not even funny.

"The ladder guy?" he asks, intrigued. Then he smirks—a half one that awakens the parts of me he overused. "I don't know. Am I the ladder guy, red?"

What the hell can I answer to that? I've been fantastic at not sharing too much information with Hana because she'd push me to give Jake a lot more than I should. But she's seen him now. She'll know precisely just how deeply screwed I am.

"Don't tell me Beelzebub took your tongue on your way out this morning," he teases.

"You were at his place?" Hana asks. Shoot! "You told me you fell asleep early yesterday, and that's why you didn't answer my messages," Hana says, squinting her eyes at me. To my relief, she doesn't seem annoyed but rather amused.

"She definitely didn't fall asleep early," Jake says, also quite entertained by this. "Am I your naughty little secret, red?"

I'm speechless, completely blindsided by the turn of events. This cannot be happening.

"Red for the hair?" Hana wonders, as if it isn't obvious.

"No," he replies, surprising me.

I'm still trying to find something to say, fighting through the embarrassment, when he slips a delicate fingertip across my temple and tucks my hair behind my ear.

"Ooh," Hana lets out before smiling broadly.

The gesture is so intimate that it fills me with warmth, as well as the awareness that anyone might notice the sparks flying between us. Finally, I fight through my shock and step away from him. "You two stop conniving," I protest. There's no way I'll let them form an alliance at my expense. "Jake, what are you doing here?"

"The network in the art industry runs tight in this city, so I'm familiar with the gallery owner."

"Oh, you're an artist?" Hana wonders.

"I also own a gallery."

Before they get engrossed in the conversation, I grab Jake by the arm, dismissing how thick and solid it is in my hand, and drag him off to the side.

"Jake, I know people here. They can't see us together."

"We're only talking, love—nothing incriminating in that. It's the way you look at me that might give us away."

Whatever look I have on my face turns into a glare. It doesn't stop him from inching closer to me, though.

"Are you still sore?" he murmurs in my ear.

I step back, determined not to let anyone guess our shared intimacy. "Are you?"

His wolfish grin reminds me exactly why my core is tender. He's irresistible, and he knows it. "I am, yes."

"Well, I'll let you recuperate then." With that, I leave him and return to Hana, who's observing us from afar. I already know what we'll talk about as I make my way back across the room.

"Hot damn. Gen, you didn't tell me he was so hot."

"I told you he was attractive," I counter with an unsteady voice.

"No, that isn't just attractive. That is a black hole that attracts everything that comes near it. He is… I don't have the words. And he has piercings on his schlong? Goddamn."

She fans her face as if the thought itself is too much. Jake's attention is on us, and I can guess how much he enjoys this.

"Stop looking at him like that," I tell Hana. "His ego doesn't need it, trust me."

"Staring is a God-given right, and I'll keep doing it until the day I die."

Thankfully, Eli arrives by Jake's side, and that pulls his attention away from us. After they've exchanged a few words, the newcomer turns toward us with surprise. When he spots me, Eli grins and waves but doesn't approach. Good. It's better that way.

As Hana and I continue our journey through the pieces, I'm hyper-aware of Jake's presence nearby. Wherever I go, I sense his eyes on me, lurking from a retreated corner like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

We stumble on a couple Hana is acquainted with, but since I'm unfamiliar with them, I struggle to participate. "I'll get myself another drink," I tell Hana, grazing her arm before leaving her to her friends.

A buffet is set up along the wall on the side of the gallery, so I walk there to get another flute of champagne. I take a few sips of it as soon as it's in my hands.

Today has been exhausting, and I can't wait to get home and sleep until noon tomorrow. Good thing it's Sunday, and I have no engagements, as I always make sure of.

"How was your brunch?" Jake asks behind me.

I hold back a sigh, spinning around. "Is it so hard to stay ten feet away from me?"

"Come on, love. No one cares about us, they're too busy staring at their own arseholes. How's yours doing, by the way?" I worriedly glance around, mortified at the idea someone might have heard him. But he's right, no one cares about us, lost in their own conversations. Still, I would rather we avoid one another altogether.

"You're a piece of work, you know that?"

Just as I'm about to storm off, my head spins, and my balance wavers, possibly from the hunger, lack of sleep, and champagne. Jake is quick to grab my arm and help me straighten up. "Are you alright, red?"

"Yes, I—" My stomach picks this precise moment to release a rumble so loud that we both hear it.

"Have you eaten since your brunch?" The concern in his tone is touching, but I can't fully appreciate it, given the situation. I shake my head. "That was hours ago," he scolds disapprovingly. "You need sustenance after a sexathon."

He takes a porcelain plate from the buffet and fills it with whatever he can find.

"Is that what it was?" I ask. "A sexathon?"

He lets out a surprised chuckle, sending me a side glance. "Going after my ego now, red?"

"You'll survive. But I didn't realize we also took care of number eight yesterday. I thought a sexathon had to last twenty-six hours and twenty-one minutes or something. Like how many miles it takes to run a marathon."

"We'll do it your way, then. It sounds challenging, but I do love a challenge." He gives me an impish wink as he places the overflowing plate in my hands. "Eat, sweetheart."

"I'm not hungry."

"Your stomach says otherwise. Eat before you faint and people think you swooned because of how sexy I am."

I scoff to mask my grin. "See? Your ego is doing very well."

"How could it not when you're looking at me like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like you wish you could rip my clothes off."

This time, I roll my eyes. It's not entirely false, but he doesn't have to know that. Because I don't want him to cause a scene, I pick up a canapé from the plate and eat it. Ugh, that's good. Another one goes down before I know it, and then I'm bringing a third to my lips.

"Right, you weren't hungry," he laughs.

I glare at him. "I'm trying to watch my figure."

"Well, watching your figure is quickly becoming my favorite pastime, so I can relate."

He looks way too proud of himself while I chew on the mini quiche. "How do you know Constance?" he asks once I swallow.

"We went to Harvard together."

"Are you close?"

"Not anymore. You?"

He winces, looking at the crowd. "No, but we might have fucked once or twice."

My jaw drops, and I hate the way my heart does, too. Why do I care who he's slept with? Constance is a beautiful woman with wheat-blonde hair and the body of a model. Of course, he'd get in bed with her if given the opportunity.

"It's been a while, though. She got married, and I avoid vengeful husbands."

"Shame you won't get to finish the night with her, then," I say with bitterness.

My fit of jealousy, which I know I should have held back, seems to delight him. He gives me one of his bone-melting smiles, making me forget everything else. "I wouldn't have anyway," he says, coming closer. "I'm saving myself so I get to creampie the sexy as fuck redhead who drives me mad."

Heat flashes across my face, so incandescent that I know I'm bright pink. He really is so crass, which is something I wish I could say I hate, but the wetness gathering between my legs says otherwise.

"I got tested this afternoon, by the way. Even paid extra to get the results quickly," he explains.

"Eager, are we?"

"Oh, you have no idea."

As I chew on another canapé to hide my smile, I observe the room's occupants. My eyes fall on Constance, and a pinch of resentment hits me. Jake catches what's going on.

"Would it help to know I didn't have the ladder back then? Your friend from Harvard doesn't know just how good my cock feels now."

It does help a little. Constance might have gotten lucky, but I got even luckier.

"Gen!" Hana whisper-shouts, rushing toward us. It breaks the spell Jake weaved around me, and I take a few steps back from his intoxicating presence. "Gen, we have a problem! A 9-1-1 emergency."

Hana isn't one to exaggerate in such circumstances, so when she tugs at my arm, I distractedly hand my plate to Jake and follow her. "What's going on?"

"I don't know why we didn't realize this could happen. But we should have because Constance invited both of you," she explains, making little sense as she pulls me toward the middle of the gallery.

"What are you saying?"

She stops, scanning the room for something. Someone. "I'm saying that while you were busy flirting with that tall glass of water over there, a small glass of vinegar came in."

I'm still confused until my eyes land on the person she is seeking. I haven't seen him in weeks, but those caramel eyes will forever be familiar.

Edward…

Eddie is here. And if I ever wish to have another chance with my ex, I can't let this get messy. If Edward hears or guesses about Jake, he'll have the wrong impression, thinking I came with some guy I already replaced him with.

I can't let that happen.

My brain is going a mile a second as panic seeps through me. Eddie notices me, and I barely manage to wave back at him.

"Fuck," Hana curses when he walks up to us.

"Act normal," I mutter between my teeth. "And as soon as you can, go tell Jake to keep his distance."

"Wait, are you seri—"

"Hey, Gen!" Eddie greets me. "Good God, you look beautiful."

"Having regrets yet?" my protective friend insolently replies.

"Hello, Hana. It's been a while."

"It has."

Ignoring her acerbic tone, he turns to me again. "Gen, I saw the Waltons over there. Maybe we should greet them?"

"Uh, yes, sure." Harry and Liz Walton are close friends of my parents, and if I don't take a moment to talk to them, I'll never hear the end of it. Eddie slips an arm under mine and pulls me with him as he walks away. "Hana, I'll be right back," I tell my friend, discreetly gesturing toward where Jake is.

She rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed to be left alone, but I'm already too far to say anything more.

"How have you been?" Edward asks on our way to the old couple.

"Good. A bit tired."

"Work has been a lot, eh?"

"Like always. How about you?"

"Well, I've missed you, for one."

"You have?"

"Yes. I thought I'd be happier alone, but it's the opposite. I preferred having you around—even if it wasn't very often."

"Oh, I see."

"And you? Do you miss me?"

My hands are clammy, and my heart is beating too fast. I haven't felt the absence of Eddie as a person. I'm actually amazed at how little I think of him. But I miss being in a relationship, having someone to count on, to come home to, to support and be supported by… I miss the comfort of knowing the rest of my life is set and headed in the right direction. All I can think of is how simple things were with him, how we barely ever argued, how we had the same wishes for our future—down to the number of children we wanted.

Edward can help me become the person I'm meant to be. Mother made it beyond clear during our brunch that I messed up and might never find someone as ideally suited for me. I even know that Victoria would have liked him, with his conciliatory temperament and classic good looks. Edward Hoffman is the perfect catch, the man every woman wants—something that was very clear at Harvard before we got together.

He's everything I've ever wanted, and I am lucky that this page of my life isn't entirely turned yet.

So, why do I feel like such a fraud when I say, "I've missed you too, Eddie."

How can doing the right thing feel so wrong?