Page 2 of Anything For You
Elizabeth opened her mouth to deflect, to say something smooth and noncommittal, but the words didn’t come. Instead, what slipped out was raw, unfiltered, andstupid.
“Yes, I’m seeing someone. She’s wonderful.”
The words hung in the air between them. Elizabeth’s pulse spiked, her stomach twisting.What the hell was that?She hadn’t meant to say it. She hadn’t eventhoughtit. But now it was out there, impossible to take back.
Grace’s eyebrows lifted, her surprise genuine. “You are? That’s—” She hesitated, as if searching for the right word.“That’s great. Really. I was afraid you wouldn’t put yourself out there again. Why aren’t you bringing her to the wedding? You RSVP’d just for yourself. I’m sure of it. I would have noticed if you hadn’t.”
Elizabeth’s throat went dry. She should have stopped there. She should have nodded, smiled, changed the subject. But the lie had taken root, and now it was growing, wild and untamed. “I didn’t want to make it awkward,” she said, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Bringing her to the wedding, I mean. I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it.”
Grace waved a hand, dismissive. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, you should bring her. Charlotte and I would love to meet her.”
Elizabeth’s mind raced.
The whiskey glass was a dead weight in Elizabeth’s hand. She should have set it down. Should have done something—anything—to ground herself. But her fingers had locked around the glass like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
Grace’s smile was warm, genuine.Of course, you should bring her.The words struck with the cold, decisive weight of a judge’s gavel—unquestionable, absolute, sealing her fate with a single pronouncement.
Elizabeth’s pulse hammered in her throat. “It’s your day,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to?—”
“Nonsense.” Grace cut her off with a laugh, her hand lifting to squeeze Elizabeth’s arm. “We’re adults. And we’re moving forward with our lives. I’m happy for you. Really.”
The touch burned. Not in a way that hurt, but in a way thatmattered. Grace’s fingers were warm through the fabric of Elizabeth’s blazer, a ghost of familiarity. Elizabeth swallowed, her throat dry. “I’ll think about it.”
Grace’s grip tightened just slightly before she let go. “Do more than think. Bring her.” A pause. “I’d like to meet the woman who finally got you to slow down.”
The words landed like a blade between her ribs.Finally.As if Elizabeth had been waiting. As if she’d beenbrokenuntil now.
Grace excused herself with a final smile, weaving back into the crowd toward Charlotte. Elizabeth watched her go, her chest tight.
The moment Grace was out of earshot, Elizabeth’s control snapped.
What the hell had she just done?
She knocked back her whiskey and set the empty glass down on a passing tray with a sharpclink, her fingers trembling. The room tilted, just slightly, the hum of conversation suddenly too loud, the air too thick. She needed air. She neededspace.
She turned on her heel and cut through the crowd, her strides long and purposeful, her expression carefully blank. No one stopped her. No one even looked at her twice.
The terrace was empty, the night air still holding the damp warmth of a May evening, thick with the scent of city rain and distant exhaust. She gripped the railing, her knuckles white, and forced herself to breathe. In. Out.In.
Two weeks.
Two weeks until Grace’s wedding. Two weeks until she was supposed to show up with a girlfriend she didn’t have. A girlfriend she’dinventedin a moment of pride and panic, like some kind of reckless idiot.
This wasn’t her.She didn’t lie. She didn’t panic. Sheplanned. Sheprepared. She didn’t dig herself into holes she couldn’t climb out of.
But she had.
And now she had to fix it.
Her mind raced, scenarios flashing behind her eyes like a bad legal deposition.Hire an escort?No. Too risky. Toovulgar.Ask a friend?She didn’t have friends like that. Not ones who’d agree to this. Not ones who were single or who didn’t already know Grace.
Elizabeth’s fingers dug into the railing, the metal cool and unyielding beneath her grip. She pressed her palms against her eyes until the pressure sent sparks of light behind her lids, her breath coming too fast, too shallow.This was insane.She wasElizabeth Moretti—a partner at one of the most prestigious firms in the city, a woman who built her reputation on precision, on never being caught unprepared. And yet here she was, standing alone on a terrace, sweating through her silk blouse like some desperate amateur who’d just torched her own credibility with a single, reckless sentence.
Her stomach twisted, a slow, sickening coil of dread.How the hell was she going to make this work without humiliating herself?Without Grace looking at her with that quiet, knowing pity—the same look she’d worn when Elizabeth had insisted, during the divorce, that she wasfinewith the split, that she didn’t need anything, that she wascompletelyin control.
Two weeks.
That was all she had.
