“If you’re ready…” The director is waiting for me to follow him inside.
I push Rachel from my mind. “Of course.”
Still, my eyes somehow find her as soon as I walk into the ballroom, and it feels as if I’ve been punched right in the solar plexus. The ache of longing grips me, enveloping me in a confused, miserable fog.
Why is she pushing me away?
She’s with her parents and Laurie, wearing a knee-length dress and high heels. Her hair falls around her shoulders in soft waves, gleaming in the soft lights of the room.
My Rachel.
Though she was never mine.
Her eyes are closed, and there’s a worried frown on her brow.
What could she possibly be worried about? I’m the one who has had to deal with her rejection.
I’m still staring when she opens her eyes and looks toward the entrance. Her gaze lands on me, and there’s no surprise there, only…sadness.
I’m drawn toward her as if by a magnet. Abandoning the man beside me, I stride in her direction, stopping only when I hear my name.
The blasted speech.
I head to the podium, my mind still on Rachel.
Stop thinking about her, Landon.
I wish I could.
My speech is humorous. A few anecdotes about my grandfather get the room laughing. I avoid looking at Rachel, and after a few more words about the importance of visual art, I descend into the crowd.
Other speakers mount the podium, and I have to bear the attention of every single non-profit director who pounces on their chance to talk to me, but through it all, I’m acutely aware of Rachel across the room.
I finally extricate myself from an enthusiastic gallery owner and head toward Rachel.
When I’m only a few feet away, she says something to Laurie and hurries out of the room.
Suppressing a bitter smile, I continue forward.
What did I expect? That she’d want to talk to me?
If she wants to be a coward about us, it’s her prerogative.
“Hey, Landon!” Laurie gives me a frien
dly hug. “You guys remember Landon?”
“Of course.” Trent Foster takes my hand. “We were just talking to your brother.”
Chuckling, I spare a glance toward the bar, where Aidan is fielding the attention of a determined socialite. “Great speech,” I tell Lynn.
She responds with a smile that’s very like Rachel’s. “It’s generous of you to return the paintings.”
I shrug. “They’ll be more appreciated here, I’m sure.” I look around, wondering if Rachel will come back.
Deep down, I know better.
“She’s gone to the ladies’,” Laurie says, taking pity on me.