Page 120 of Don't Be in Love

“James?”

“Well, it’s an original piece from Beverly. And then the note mentioned my birthday, but I saw you that day. I would’ve thought the keychain was my gift—”

“You thought that’s all I got you?”

“Apparently not seeing as you sent the dress too.”

“Dress?This dress?”I dragged my eyes up and down her figure trying to confirm this wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment purchase I made and sent while drunk. Despite loving to think about every curve of her body, I would’ve remembered buying this.

She nodded in confusion.

“Someone sent you this dress?”I asked.

Her mouth opened—

“Mind if I cut in?”

41

Don’t Go to the Gardens — Adelaide

Without even looking, Dorian began, “Not right—”

“James, hi,” I said, startled, finding him in an ash gray suit. I let go of Dorian immediately as if we were caught making out.

Everyone was beginning to change dance partners and shift around the ballroom for the next dance—my chance to get away from Dorian. “That would be great.”

Accepting James’s hand, I watched Dorian’s wilt at his side, looking staggered as we stepped away. My view of him disappeared as other girls approached him like pinecones congregating on a branch. Other guests filled in my view of him.

James’s hold on my frame was light once the music began again. I elongated my steps to keep up with the singing of the violins and the guests around us. Every few steps, his hand would slip off my back and I’d rush my footwork to keep it in place. His right foot forward, my left foot back, his hand on my back, and our elbows up. The room was a crowd of sparkles as dresses were spun and champagne was sipped.

“You and Dorian alright?” he asked.

“Of course,” I reacted. He smiled but the corners of his lips barely pushed at his cheeks.

“I wasn’t sure if I was interrupting something.”

“Just the agony that is Dorian talking.”

“Ah he does like to talk.” He laughed lightly. It had an unsettled fizz to it. “Anyone else around here subject you to boring conversations?”

“Unless you count the guy at the coat check, no. I know approximately four people here and that includes you.”

“That’s not true. You’ve met my mother, and she’s here. Dorian’s parents are here too, have you met them yet?”

“That sounds about as terrifying as it was to meet your mother.”

We turned together and now I was facing the glass garden doors. “She can come off that way at first, but that’s only at events. She’d rather people she doesn’t know to just leave her alone, especially if she’s in the middle of having a drink.” He raised his brows. “Mrs. Blackwood is the same way, but she doesn’t show it on her face. She’d want to meet you though.”

“I appreciate you saying that, but she looks like she’d ask me to lint roll her shoes if I approached her.”

He laughed. “You’re not the only one that thinks that—maybe the lint remover part since that’s a tad specific—but Dorian’s father said she was always had this look on her face that said, ‘leave me alone.’”

“Her husband said that? Really?”

He shook his head. “Not in a cruel way, no. They attended university together—that’s how they met. They were both in this film history course and she’d sit at the front. If she wasn’t greeting someone she knew, then she’d be sat at her desk, pencil between her fingers, writing things down with a furrowed brow. Until she dropped it one day—or more so flung it—and it bounced right off Mr. Blackwood’s head when he walked in. She apologized profusely. He said that’s when he realized how kind she was. That the face was a façade. A way to get people to let her concentrate in peace.”

“And he asked her out after that?”