Page 33 of Betting on her Best Friend
Chapter Ten
The world pulled out of focus. Colors and shapes fused together before her eyes. The myriad pitches in the din around her melted into a muffled monotone that plugged her ears and pressed in on her brain.
Fingers snapped in front of her face. “Earth to Alyssa. Hellooooo.” Finally registering that someone was calling her name, she turned her head to find Trent smoothing the lapels of his wine-colored velvet dinner jacket. When he saw her face, he gasped and gathered up her hands. “Honey, what’s wrong? You look like me that time Barneys had a huge sale when all my cards were maxed out.”
Her body was a contradiction of reactions. Never one to give in to hysterics or public displays that might draw attention, Alyssa locked her expression in place like that of a Botox patient. A nondescript visage that belied the pain and sadness welling inside her, except for the silent tears that slid down her cheeks.
“I think I just lost the most important person in my life,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what to do, Trent. I don’t know if I can fix it. What do I do?”
“Oh, you poor thing, come with me.” Taking her hand, Trent led her through the crowd of masquerade attendees, and through a door he used a special key card to open.
Inside, a cozy office held a mahogany desk, a wine-red antique settee in place of guest chairs, and a small bar with mini-fridge. Bookshelves lined with copies of everything from encyclopedias to historical fiction to romance novels, all with worn covers that showed they’d been well-loved over the years. The only odd element was the wall made primarily of one massive window that overlooked the ballroom.
“Welcome to my home away from home.” He closed the door and ushered her to the settee. “Here, sit. Can I get you something to drink? Whiskey and water, hold the water?”
She plopped onto the plush cushion in a graceless heap. “Hold the whiskey,” she managed. As lovely as it would be to drink until all her senses were numb, she didn’t want to be riddled with more regrets than she already had.
Trent emptied a cold bottled water into a glass and handed it to her as he sat. “Now tell me what happened, from the beginning.”
She told him about meeting Dylan in the third grade and how he didn’t treat her like a freak for skipping grades and stuck up for her when the other kids teased her. How they became so inseparable that people viewed them as a package deal. She told him everything he needed to know and even rambled about things he didn’t. She relayed important events in chronological order, then veered off to reminisce about a particular story before bringing herself back to the timeline of facts.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Alyssa knew Trent didn’t need to know most of it, and yet she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t bring herself to get to the point in the story that mattered. The part that started with him appearing in a Tarzan costume, continued with him awakening feelings in her she never knew existed, and ended with him leaving in a tuxedo meant for romance. For matrimony.
Because if she did that—if she said it out loud—the bad dream would become a reality.
But then she told him about their weekly dates with reality TV, specifically the one from a few days before where she told him her plan for this weekend and he freaked out on her. And how he showed up out of nowhere and pretended to be a cover model to gain access to the event and then shocked the hell out of her by suggesting she scratch her sexual itch with him.
Trent listened, his rapt attention only interrupted by getting her more water and a box of tissues from his desk. When she at last finished, Alyssa felt drained and not a little defeated from listening to her own tragic story from beginning to end.
“Wow,” she said, dabbing under her eyes. “Somehow I feel worse after putting it all out there. So much for cathartic release.”
He patted her hand between his. “Give yourself a break, sweetie. It’s too fresh; you can’t expect getting it off your chest will be enough to allow a deep breath just yet.”
She nodded. “I guess so.”
He sat back and asked, “How many times have you had your heart broken?”
She frowned and almost asked him to clarify. Then her common sense kicked her overanalytical brain in the shin and took over. The question was simple and had a simple answer. “None.”
“What?” Then he hitched a dubious eyebrow at her. “How did you make it to your twenties without getting your heart broken eleventy-billion times?”
Alyssa shrugged. “I never dated anyone seriously in high school or college and haven’t found anyone worth dating since I came back home.”
“Ah, now I see. You were waiting on him.”
“What? No. Yes. I mean, maybe.” Her shoulders sagged as she sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’m so confused. It’s like I have a split personality. The older me wants to believe that love and a strong commitment can outlast anything. But the younger me keeps reminding me of what happens when you give your heart to someone, and they decide they no longer want it.”
“Someone you know?” he asked with understanding coloring his tone.
Alyssa dropped her gaze to the crumpled tissue in her fingers. “My mother,” she said softly. “I remember how she was when I was young. Vibrant and energetic. Sure of herself, of who she was and her place in this world.” A smile crept through as she remembered playing with her mom, making up games, spending hours in the library together. “She was my hero.”
“And now?”
The smile fell away; the tissue became ensnared in a fist. “Now she’s a mere shell of her former self. To this day, she still says things like ‘When your father comes home’ and gets excited every time someone knocks on her door. She’ll always be waiting for him to love her back, but it’ll never happen. I refuse to be like that. To let my love for someone rule my life.”
“So, what are you going to do now?”
Taking a deep breath, she released it slowly, forcing her shoulders to relax. She may have even succeeded by a degree or two. “Would you mind if I hung out in here for a while? I’m not in the mood to go masquerading anymore, but I’m not quite ready to go back to my room.” Where everything I look at will remind me of Dylan.
