"The bathroom is over there," someone calls. The girl from the entrance. She's sitting at one of the cocktail tables, reading a magazine.
"Actually, I was wondering if there’s a backyard here."
She nods and points to a sign, scrutinizing me with a worried gaze. Is it so obvious that I am one thought away from breaking down? The door to the backyard is not right outside the hall. I follow the signs down a highway-sized corridor and pass a double door, which I suspect leads to another dining room, before I reach my hideout. I lean on the door as soon as I step out onto the terrace and close my eyes.
I will not cry.
I will not cry.
I wish I could press my palms on my eyes to squelch the little liquid traitors that threaten to come out, but the triple layers of mascara Jess put on my lashes will surely transform my desperate effort into a stamp of shame for everyone to see. My sheer willpower will have to do. I open my eyes and head over to one of the columns on the terrace, leaning on it. I can see the entire backyard from here. It’s beautiful, with row upon row of roses. The sprinklers are on, so I don’t use the stairs leading from the terrace to the backyard. On second thought, maybe getting soaked would be a good idea. It would give me a legitimate reason to leave. I stare at the water drops sprinkling the roses. They remind me of tears. There are no tears on my cheeks, and I should be proud of that. I can't be, though. The stinging in my chest is far worse without tears. Worse than in my ride home after I left him. Worse than in the nights since, when I wake up crying. Because I’ve had only made-up images of and Natalie and him to torment me. Now I have real ones that my imagination can twist in a never-ending game, creating even worse nightmares about the two of them.
The more I stay like this, leaning on the column, the harder it is to move. I'm too ashamed to leave the restaurant and too cowardly to return to my seat. And apparently too deaf to hear the door opening, because I don't realize there's someone else outside, until she's standing in front of the column nearest to me.
Natalie. Just what I need. Another dose of humiliation.
"Hiding? How very tenth grade of you." She opens her tiny bag and gets a cigarette and a lighter out of it. Leaning on the column, she lights the cigarette and starts smoking.
"I'm not hiding," I snap. "I just got a little sick from the food."
She smirks between smokes. "Poor you. I suppose that's what happens when you are not used to such fine food."
"Cut it out, Natalie. I'm in no mood for your condescending bullshit." I turn my gaze to the backyard, fuming.
"Now, don't get all offensive, darling. I'm just trying to warn you. Not that you seem to take my warnings seriously. If you had, you wouldn't be in this pitiful position in the first place."
"I'm in a pitiful position?" I ask incredulously. "You do know the sole purpose he asked you here was to make me jealous, don't you?"
"Of course I do. I also know that when he gets tired of chasing you, he'll come back to me, like always. Has it occurred to you why he called me and not someone else?"
My stomach drops. It has. But I don't want to dwell on that now.
"He will get tired of chasing you, trust me," she says.
I try to concentrate on the smell of roses emanating from the yard. But it’s too faint. The smell of roses usually has a calming effect on me. Not this time. "What makes you so sure?" My voice is shaking.
"Has he ever told you he loves you?"
My throat tightens painfully. It's as if she knows which buttons to push to hurt me. I remember his reaction when I told him I loved him at the hospital: his arms stiffening around me, his voice getting colder, and everything that followed.
"That's none of your business."
She gives a high-pitched, hateful laugh. How can someone who looks so graceful have such a murderous voice? Something to warn people that she isn't as doll-like as she appears, I suppose.
"He hasn't told you. Because he will never love you, Serena. Just because he called you his girlfriend for three days doesn't mean he wants something serious with you."
It bugs me how much she knows. Because she couldn't know this unless James told her. Which means that no matter the superficial reason she's here tonight, there is a bond between them that goes way beyond her pouring money in his businesses or occasionally jumping in his bed. The patronizing expression on her face tells me she's thinking the exact same thing. But there's something else behind the contempt in her eyes. Something different. A flicker of fear or doubt, perhaps?
So I take a wild guess.
"Maybe not. But it's certainly better than being his perpetual… call girl, always waiting to become more. That's just pathetic. Haven't you wondered why he has never called you his girlfriend? In all the years he's always come back to you? Let me give you some advice, for once. Two words: meaningless sex. That's the only thing he wants from you. You'll never be able to keep him."
My guess pays off. Big time. In a fraction of a second, Natalie's porcelain skin turns a violent red all the way to the roots of her dark brown hair. Who knew the lark had a weak spot? She slams the door of the terrace so hard on her way in, I'm afraid the wall might collapse.
I smile. I never believed Jess when she said that sometimes it's worth being a bitch just because. Now I do. But I disagree with the last part. It's not just because. Some people simply deserve it. On the strength of my victory, I decide to return to the table. I wait a few minutes though, to make sure Natalie is already there.
I don't feel as confident when I step back inside the building. Strangely, the sight of the roses outside gave me strength. Not so much the sight of the creamy white walls in here. Or the person leaning against the door down the corridor.
"Red really suits you," James says.