He felt a chill shoot up his spine. It was her. His Caitlyn.
Emrys’s attentions were now entirely spoken for. Over the next hour, he observed her every move, how she curled up onto one of the abstract chairs and removed one shining heel to massage the arch of her foot, how she stretched her arms over her head, as though some kink in her back pained her. She and her friends were simply out for a good time, clearly. They danced with one another, rather than seeking out other partners. One of them, a mocha-skinned woman shorter than Caitlyn, ventured over to speak to Nina, but for the most part, they weren’t as dedicated to stargazing as some of the party-goers clearly were.
None of these women would be flocking to his table for an autograph. As Caitlyn rose, Emrys unconsciously set his foot to the ground in anticipation. More than anything, he wanted to go to her, to touch her smooth cheek, to be the one to make her smile and laugh that awkward, lovely laugh of hers. Somehow, it seemed important that she reserve that laugh for him, in spite of everything. While many would have accused him of narcissism, he wasn’t a complete fool. Though it was promising that she’d come to one of his premieres, Caitlyn might not be particularly pleased to have him simply approach her table after all these years.
It would be better to have her come to him. If he could make sure that she saw him and that she was given reason to speak to him and the choice to do so, the conversation might go much more smoothly. He would certainly be more at his ease waiting for her approach.
With that thought, Emrys raised his hand to flag down the waitress.
***
“Pardon me, ladies,” a waitress said cheerfully. She held a shining pink bottle with a black top and an ace of spades emblazoned on the front. “The gentleman over there has bought a bottle of champagne for you: an Armand de Brignac. I think you’ll enjoy the notes of strawberry and black currant.”
“Oooh.” Jaina leaned over to see the gentleman that the waitress had indicated. “Oh my god! Baby, look!”
She jerked Melinda away from looking at the bottle and pointed. Caitlyn looked up as well, then shot up straight, and recoiled into her seat.
“That’s freakin’ Emrys Sébire!” Melinda laughed. “Aw, Caitlyn! It’s your boyfriend!”
“Oh, shut up.” Caitlyn crossed her arms and pursed her lips. Of all the people in the world who could possibly have sent them a bottle of wine, why did it have to be him?
Logically, it was his movie. Of course there had been a stray chance that he might have been at the party, but his part in the movie hadn’t even been all that substantial. When they’d been watching it, Caitlyn had even forgotten about him a few times. It was rollicking, brainless fun of exactly the kind Caitlyn needed whenever she was reminded of Emrys himself. What a pity he had to show up and ruin it.
While Caitlyn had been pulling a sour face at Emrys, who had simply given a smug little wave in return, Melinda and Jaina had already popped open the bottle and begun to pour out the fizzy concoction. Jaina lifted a flute to Caitlyn’s nose and waved it underneath. It smelled of strawberries, and Caitlyn’s frown began to melt.
Had Emrys remembered her fondness for strawberries? Was he teasing her, as he had years ago, about the color of her hair? Self-consciously, Caitlyn tucked a strand behind her ear.
“Don’t be a brat!” Melinda poured more into Jaina’s glass. “The man wants to spoil us. Let ‘im.”
Jaina leaned over, and Melinda lifted the flute to her lips.
Caitlyn bit her lip. If she tasted this champagne, would it be like accepting something from him? He’d broken her heart. He’d broken her. She had once been the kind of girl who believed in love. As a girl, she’d known that a happy ending would come to her, and as a young woman, when she’d met Emrys, she’d believed she had found him.
Instead he’d left her. He’d thrown her away as if what they’d had was nothing, and now what? He expected her to cheerfully down his expensive champagne? Was she supposed to come thank him? Fine.
Caitlyn stood and picked up her glass. She stared across the crowd at Emrys, who was perched at his table, looking ever so much like the privileged prince of Hollywood, as well as a minor European kingdom. She might have imagined it, but he seemed to tilt his head curiously. Once she was certain she had his eye, she drank the wine, slowly, letting the alcohol and the bubbles slide down her gullet and fuel the fire inside her. It was sweet and did have a pleasant aftertaste, but she did not pour another.
Instead, Caitlyn set the flute on the table. Imagining that the wine had made her hair burn brighter, she made her way over to Emrys’s table in long, determined strides and did not break his gaze. She would make him understand how deeply he’d cut her.