Page 100 of The Ring
I’m wearing Jimmy Choo boots with a gigantic heel, paired with a black sheer cape top I saw on a girl online—surprisinglyfrom Zara—tucked into a mini black leather skirt by Retrofete. As for jewellery, I’m dripping in Jessica McCormack: my everyday ring, a 24-inch yellow gold ball chain with a cross diamond pendant, 0.20-carat gypsy hoop earrings, a diamond button-back bracelet, a stack of Spaghetti Hoops Bands—some with diamonds, some without—in my middle finger on my left hand, and on my pinky, I’m wearing a 2-carat east-west button-back emerald-cut diamond. My bag is a black Mini Kelly with gold hardware, and my hair is in a messy bun.
But even the outfit made me feel bad. When Benedict saw me in it, he told me how beautiful I looked, and while he was saying it, all I could think was—I hadn’t dressed for him. I’d dressed for TJ. When I should have been doing it for him, my boyfriend.
Well, technically, no woman should dress for a man, but you know what I mean—you’re influenced by the person you want to impress.
I’ve accepted that everything about tonight is going to make me feel awful—I just don’t know how awful yet.
We arrive, and the hostess guides us to our table, where Weberly and TJ are already seated, a frozen margarita and a bourbon, respectively in front of each.
Weberly smiles as she sees us—something I haven’t seenever. “I thought you weren’t going to make it, seeing as you’re…” She picks up her phone from the table, glances at the time, and sets it back down. “Forty minutes late.”
“Sorry for the delay; there was a lot of traffic,” Benedict says apologetically, but it’s a lie. We weren’t late because of the traffic. We were late because we had been “searching” all over my house for a necklace I wanted to wear, which doesn’t exist,thinking that maybe, if it got late enough, he would say,let’s cancel.
Benedict pulls out my chair, and I sit down in front of Weberly as she says, “And here I thought it was because Cornelia was afraid.”
I tense but hide it by flashing her a smile. “Why should I?” I know why.
My eyes drift momentarily to TJ, who hasn’t said a word but has been watching Benedict and me since he arrived, especially me.
As Benedict sits, Weberly’s face shifts through many expressions before settling on a smile. “Forget what I said.” She places her hands on the table. “How have you two been?” she asks, light and casual, as if we were old friends or as if someone had told her to behave and she’d just remembered. Maybe TJ did.
I look at him, but he looks as confused as I do. This is all weird, but I don’t know her well enough. Maybe this is her idea of fun—coercing people into dinners they don’t want to attend. Or maybe she wants to be my friend, not because she likes me; she’s made that clear, but because of my money and who my family is. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has done that. Annabelle always says she’s a social climber, and now I’m wondering if that’s exactly what Weberly is up to.
“We’ve been well, and you two?” I reply, trying not to sound defensive. She seems to be trying to be nice, and I should try to reciprocate, even if it’s painful.
“Same,” she says, pulling her chair closer to TJ. “You’re about to finish the summer term, right? I assume, since Laurie is.”
I hate that she knows so much about Laurie, and probably about West. She has infiltrated our lives so much.
“Yes, in a few days.” It’s not a topic I want to talk about, butshe’s not bringing it up to bother me. She can’t know I flunked two courses. I haven’t even told Anthony. It’s the first time I’ve ever failed something. I had so much on my mind, missed a few deadlines, and couldn’t find the motivation. Now, I’ll be graduating with Laurie or even after him.
“Let’s not talk about school. I don’t think you want to hear me go on about numbers and stocks—it’s boring. And I’m sure,” I signal to Weberly and Benedict, “you two have a few interesting acting stories to share.” That seems like a neutral topic of conversation.
Chapter 60
TJ
Idon’t know what the fuck Weberly’s deal is, but I’m starting to think I’m being played. I didn’t even want this dinner. It’s fucking unbearable having a front-row seat to watch the love of your life with another man. And ever since Cornelia arrived, Weberly has been swooning over her—at least by Weberly’s definition of swooning.
The only thing she hasn’t done is compliment her outfit, which Cornelia looks stunning in. I was breathless at how gorgeous she looked when she walked in, but that’s nothing new. She always takes my breath away when she enters a room. But we’re only three courses into this seven-course meal, so there’s still a chance Weberly will get around to it.
I think this whole dinner was Weberly’s plan to get on better terms with Cornelia. After all, she’s the unofficial Queen B, and if Weberly ever wants to truly be part of the group, she needs to be in Cornelia’s good graces. I would have preferred it if Weberly had told me the truth instead of bringing me here under false pretences. But then again, if she had, maybe I wouldn’t have come.
The waiter is explaining the third course—Rice & Flesh—and the inspiration behind it, along with the adjustment they made to Benedict’s dish to cater to his preferences. Apparently, he’s vegetarian. But I can’t seem to pay attention. All I can focus on is Benedict touching Cornelia’s neck.
Fuck, I wish he’d stop.
Fuck, I wish I were him.
Do you know what really fucks with your head? Watching your girl date a man you used to watch on TV with her—listening to her comment on how romantic he was, joking about having a crush on him. And since the show has spicy scenes, you now have a fucking visual reference for how he probably takes her at night.
I don’t know what kind of bad fucking karma I accumulated in my past life, but it must have been a lot to land me in this situation.
I put my arm around Weberly, pulling her closer and stroking her shoulder, while playing with the strap of her black dress. Cornelia glares at me. We have barely interacted all night. She quickly turns back to Benedict, but I know it made her jealous.
Good.
I like making her jealous. I’d even take her hating me—anything but indifference. Because hate isn’t the opposite of love. Indifference is. Most of the people you hate, you hate because you once loved them.
