- Edited -
I'm not familiar with wealth or extravagant events.
The fanciest places I've ever been were restaurants where the chefs cook and prepare the food right in front of you. So I can't contain my shock as I overhear people in suits asking to take jackets at the door.
"They're taking jackets!" I whisper dramatically to mom, craning my neck to see an older man take a jacket to a room behind the check-in desk. "That's how you know your bosses can pay you more."
Mom bumps her arm with mine and shakes her head, but her crimson lips curve into the smallest of smiles—a clue I said what she was already thinking.
"Would you like me to take your coat, ma'am?" a woman asks wearing her signature sweet smile. The question most likely heavy on her tongue as I've overheard her ask it about four other times to those around us.
"No, thank you," Mom says. She pulls the oversized blazer tight around her frame. The big piece of clothing engulfs her entire body with only the smallest sliver of her dark purple dress peeking out from the bottom.
The woman walks away, her robotic smile never falling as she moves to ask the next people the same question.
"Geez," I comment. "Mom, why are you wearing that?"
"I'm cold," she answers quickly.
"It's seventy degrees."
She does nothing but pull the fabric closer to her body, swiftly ignoring what I said and leading me deeper into the hotel.
Quite a few coworkers wave and greet mom as we make our way to the ballroom. I smile awkwardly here and there, grateful most of the attention is on her.
I feel like I stick out like a giant rock in a sea of pebbles. Everyone here is an older adult, with an exception of a teenager here and there. They're all sitting alone, staring at their phone screen as if they've been dragged here against their will.
I can't blame them, though. I'm resisting the urge to pull out my phone as well.
We step into the main area: the ballroom. I'm looking at my shoes as we walk, but as soon as we step onto the white marble flooring, my head snaps up without a thought.
It looks like a scene straight out of a high budget movie. The floor's white marble is sleek and pristine with a gold flower design stamped in the center. The walls are a matching white with pillars stationed at each corner. About four large windows sit on the far side of the room, allowing us to look out into the garden sitting just beyond the glass. Gold curtains are tied to the sides so as to not obscure the view.
I look at mom.
Mom looks at me.
"I would literally vacation here. Just at this hotel. No need to leave the building or anything," I say.
A waiter balancing a tray of champagne flutes on his hand approaches. "Champagne, ma'am?"
"No, thank you. I'll take apple cider, though."
"And for you?" he asks, turning to me after handing mom her drink.
"I'll take the same."
The waiter gracefully dashes to other dinner goers, leaving mom and I to sip on our drinks and gawk at the interior design of the ballroom in peace.
I'm relieved I decided to break out a dress for this occasion. I prefer pants to showing my legs any day, but anything but a skirt or dress seems out of place for a fancy place like this. My wedding will probably be held at a cheaper venue, so I better enjoy it while I can.
"Oh! I see an empty table!" I say, pointing to a small table nestled in a corner.
A tall man blocks our view before we can take three steps, effectively stopping us in our tracks. He's dressed in a standard black and white tuxedo. His jet black combed back hair and trimmed beard is the cherry on top of his dapper appearance. His smile is friendly, and wide enough to meet his eyes which are lined with wrinkles forming in the corner.
"Emma...so nice to bump into you tonight." He and mom shake hands. The shift in her energy doesn't go over my head. The straightened posture, firm handshake and wide smile is in stark contrast to the reserved yet laid-back temperament that has been shown to everyone else tonight.
This man is no doubt one of her bosses.
"And this must be your daughter," he says turning to me. His striking blue eyes firmly plant me to my spot as I grasp his hand, trying not to wince at the strength behind his shake.
"Paige," I smile.
"Adrian, where's Amelia?"
He looks around. The champagne in his glass swishes slightly as he turns his body each way. "She's trying to track down our son before we make our speech. He's a sly one. One moment he's there, you turn away for ten seconds, and he vanishes!"
Mom laughs, making that awkward sound that comes out when you aren't sure what to say next to fill the silence.
"Paige, honey, why don't you go grab that empty table you mentioned earlier. I'll be over shortly."
I step away with a final smile to Adrian. It falls as I make my way over, however, hopeful I won't have to socialize anymore than that tonight.
The table I spotted is in a quiet corner; away from the chatty groups and line of people grabbing finger food at the appetizer table. The tablecloth has a small plate and numerous sized spoons and forks on each side, to which I have no idea which is for what purpose.
'why do I have, like, a million different sized spoons and forks?'
I send the text to Logan and wait for a reply. Not even twenty seconds pass of me twirling my finger around a petal of a fake flower in the table's centerpiece before my phone dings.
'lol each sized utensil is made for a different dish. like there's a salad fork and a dessert fork.'
I tilt my head curiously. 'why can't I use my salad fork for my dessert?'
'i'm a film geek. not a silverware geek.'
"Adrian found Amelia. They're about to make a speech." Mom grabs my hand and pulls me towards the front of the room before adding, "You can go back to your corner as soon as it's over," she says after spotting my pout.
The stage is about a foot off the ground with a podium on the far left. A woman with long black hair and a diamond ring so huge I can see every fine cut stands to the side of it with her hands clasped in front of her. She's dripping with professionalism as Adrian comes to stand next to her.
"Excuse me, everyone," he says into the microphone, effectively silencing the crowd. "Thank you for coming out tonight to celebrate the merge with Sage Consulting. We know it hasn't been the easiest process, but I would like to appreciate each and every person here in this room for putting in the effort to make it happen."
Someone else hops on stage, late, and takes the spot on the other side of Adrian. Amelia smiles tightly at the newcomer, but keeps her composure through her husband's speech.
"I want to be completely transparent and inform you of some of the engineering plans my wife and I would like to build upon, with the input from you all of course."
I glance over, curious as to who crashed the speech when apple cider gets caught in my throat.
He's dressed to the nines in a dark silk suit. A dark blue floral pattern lines the black blazer, an eye catching difference from the usual black and white tuxedo you'll spot every other man in the room wearing.
A hand in his pocket, the other ring clad and wrapped around a champagne flute. Ashton is already looking at me. Pure shock muddles my mind as Adrain's—Ashton's father—voice fades into the background.
There's no mistaken that the two men are related. Ashton is like a copy and paste version of his father with a couple decades taken off the age.
And he's still looking at me.
Why is he looking at me?!
"Close your mouth, honey," Mom whispers subtly.
I look to her, then back at the podium, completely unaware that my mouth was ajar in the first place.
Ashton, whose expression was flat and undefinable, now cracks a smile but hides it by taking a sip of his drink.
I only relax when he puts his attention elsewhere. The intensity behind his gaze never fails to make me feel like prey.
"Again, thank you all for coming," Adrian says. He glances over the audience confidently, briefly locking eyes with as many people as possible before concluding, "Eat, drink, and celebrate! I look forward to the work we'll produce in the years to come."
Everyone begins to clap, the conclusion of Adrian's speech a cue for conversation to pick back up.
"Not hungry," I mumble. I make a beeline for our table, happy to find it still unoccupied and fall back onto the hard seat.
"You know that boy?" Mom questions. She sets her clutch on the tablecloth and waves to a few coworkers before giving me her full attention.
"His name is Ashton. He goes to my school." She nods, but the crease in her brows show she's unsure where the problem lies. "Logan doesn't like him."
Her mouth falls into an 'O' shape. "I see."
"This would be a great time for some motherly advice," I say after a few moments of silence.
"Oh, right. Well...what does your heart say?"
My heart says that the internet would give better advice than she can.
"It says I want everyone to kiss and make up."
"And what does your mind say?"
My mind? "Like, if I were to take away all the emotions and stuff?"
She nods and offers a small understanding smile. For some reason I feel like I've struck gold with her. "My mind is saying I can't force people to do what I want. Even if all I want is sunshine and rainbows between my friends," I say with my head in my hands.
Okay. I'll give it to her. Her advice went in a direction I wasn't expecting.
"Hello." Freeze. I know that voice. "My name is Ashton Brooks. I go to school with your daughter."
"Oh, I know," Mom says in a voice that'll tell anyone we were just talking about them.
My head pops up so fast I'm surprised I don't get whiplash. Ashton wears a smile that's innocent enough to make any trouble maker receive a thumbs up from parents.
"What a surprise seeing you here," I say.
"I'm equally thrown off," he says to me, then to mom, "Do you mind if I borrow Paige for a bit? I would hate to intrude."
I'm sure he's loving every minute of this.
"Not at all. You two have fun."
It seems a friendly smile is all it takes to get on mom's good side. With a quick smile and shoo of her hands, she's already engrossed in conversation with a group of ladies at the table next to us.
"Small world," Ashton mumbles next to my ear. He places a hand at the small of my back, the gesture so feather-light I can barely feel it, and steers us out of the ballroom.
***
Ashton and I gravitate to the garden. Walking through it put it's size into perspective. It being larger than I expected, the flower beds and bushes stretch the length of half the building with a two tier water fountain placed in the center.
I'm seated next to a bed of red lilies while Ashton got comfortable on a boulder besides the gardening equipment.
"Your parents have made quite the life for themselves," I say, staring through the large windows and into the ballroom. Mom stands in the center, now relaxed as she chats and laughs with her coworkers.
He scoffs and downs the rest of his apple cider. His face twists in disgust as he drops the glass next to his feet with a clink and pulls a flask out of an inside pocket of his blazer. "What? I need something stronger," he says in reply to my stare.
"You aren't happy you're born into all this? Your suit probably cost more than my mortgage."
He shrugs. "What's the point of having all this if you lose the people closest to you on your way to the top?"
The question hangs in the air like an unsolvable riddle, and I definitely consider it to be a riddle because I'm at a loss for how to respond.
"Do you remember what I said at the ice cream shop? The 'something bad?'"
I nod, thinking back to how Ashton told me an incident turned him into the distant person he is now.
"Before that, my parents were practically absent from my life. Working to get all this, as you put it." He waves his hand toward the hotel before grasping his flask again; rings clinking against the cold metal. "But after that, it was like a flip switched. They wouldn't leave me alone. I guess to make up for their absence beforehand. But it was too late, and very performative if you ask me."
I don't ask him to reveal what the incident was. In this fragile state I want him to tell it in his own time, or maybe never at all if that's more suitable for him.
After all, I can relate to a fraction of what he's saying. Parents give us this beautiful life, but they can also make it hell.
"Can I have some of that?" I reference his flask with an outstretched hand, ignoring the look of shock scribbled on his face. "Oh, so you're the only one who can let loose?"
He raises his hands in surrender. "Be my guest."
He hands me the flask with a cautious glance. It's only an inch from my lips before the foul smell overrides the garden's earthy scent making my nose wrinkle in disgust. Ashton watches me with an amused smirk, but his cockiness pushes me to act now and think later.
I down a mouthful of the amber liquid, completely forgetting what alcohol feels like going down fast and nearly cough most of it up.
"I'm fine," I sputter as Ashton stands to make sure I'm okay. "I don't do this often."
"Clearly."
I cross my legs. The action doesn't go unnoticed by him as his eyes trail up the bare skin and does a once over of the thin strapped black dress I'm wearing. I pull at the hem, only succeeding in covering about a centimeter of skin or so in attempts to clear the heat bubbling in my stomach.
I'm not sure if it's from the alcohol or that keen stare of his.
Ashton clears his throat. "Promise me you won't do too much damage tonight. I don't want to mess up the good impression I left on your mom."
The fact that he knows he left a good impression with barely any feedback says so much about him. "I promise! I'm the best at keeping those."
***
Well, I'm good at keeping promises. 'The best' may be a bit of a stretch.
"Paige!" Ashton whisper-yells behind me.
"Hmm," I hum. There's a pulsating warmth in my head, chest and stomach. The alcohol had a dizzying effect on me, but not one that I regret.
I'm stumbling through the halls of the hotel. Each footstep feels like I'm walking down a hill, or being pushed to the right by some invisible force. I giggle and stop abruptly at the corner of a carpet.
"I will walk a straight path in life to reach my destination," I say. The words feel oddly heavy on my tongue. Like I have to work harder to get every syllable out.
I don't walk the line more than three steps before stumbling to the side, and unfortunately into a couple walking from the opposite direction.
"Sorry!" I say, standing stick straight and saluting the very confused pair.
Ashton comes up from behind and once again puts a hand at the small of my back. He gives the older couple his charming smile and says something along the lines of an apology, but colors at the end of the hall catch my eye.
I wiggle out of his grasp and speed stumble to a room that smells of chlorine.
"Blue!" The water's reflection casts a blue glow on the room's white walls. I walk cautiously on the tiles, but luckily there's little to no water along the edges.
"Get your drunk ass away from the pool." I jump at the echo of Ashton's voice, turning to see him by the double doors with one hand outstretched in a 'stop' motion like I'm some sort of hazard.
"Relax," I drawl. "I just want to get my feet wet."
I land on my butt and take off my flats, sticking both feet in at the same time. I hiss as the cold sensation bites my skin and decide it best to ease my legs in slowly until the surface of the water laps just below my knees.
Ashton sits next to me. He's completely dry as he pulls his knees in and tilts his head back, closing his eyes with a sigh.
"I'm a headache?" I giggle.
His eyes remain closed as he shakes his head. "Not as big as the one you'll have tomorrow."
I push my lip out into a pout. "Hey," he says, eyes now open and gazing at me sincerely. "No. You're not a headache."
Our eyes latch for a moment or two. His eyes.
"Your eyes. Like the water. So pretty," I sigh.
His lips perk into a tiny smile, but he doesn't say anything back, which I'm grateful for because that comment should've never been more than a fleeting thought anyway.
Logan pops into my head and, as if on cue, so does a text from him.
'where'd you go?'
'the pool'
I giggle and hit send. I can see the confusion on his face now.
"Boyfriend?" Ashton questions.
I nod just as Logan responds with a simple question mark. Suddenly aching to see him, I press the FaceTime icon. Ashton's head snaps to me at the sound. "That's not a good idea."
But Logan picks up on the first ring, just in time to miss the end of Ashton's comment. He looks to be in his room sitting at his desk. There's a mechanical pencil in one hand, and the other pushes a pair of thick rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"Hi handsome," I blurt, unable to reel in my enthusiasm at seeing him sport his cute glasses instead of contacts.
"Hey gorgeous," he smiles, then with a slight dip in his brow asks, "Why are you at a pool? I thought it was a dinner."
"It is! But you see the dinner is at a hotel, and the pool is also at the hotel, so now I'm at the hotel pool."
His brows furrow in even deeper confusion. "Are you drunk?"
"No."
"You're slurring. Didn't they ID you?"
"No, again! My friend shared his stuff with me."
Ashton shakes his head frantically but not in enough time for me to catch myself. I flip the camera like a spotlight and shine it on him. Logan immediately tenses and I swear I can hear the sound of him bending the mechanical pencil in his hand.
"Hey, man," Ashton waves slowly.
"Hey," is all Logan replies with. I may have had more to drink than usual, but not enough to miss the way his facial features darken under the dim light of his desk lamp.
"Don't be mad!" I plead, flipping the camera back around and grasping at whatever straws I can to pull me out of this situation. "I'd thought it best to be honest, and you said you were fine with us being friends."
"When I said that I never thought to explicitly say not to get drunk with him," he seethes. "Why is he there with you anyway?"
I can't spot one sign of hurt or sadness in the way he looks at me. Just pure anger as he takes his glasses off and rubs at his temples.
Maybe that's his way of calming down, but if I'm being honest, nothing I've done tonight can warrant this much anger.
"I won't do it again."
"You shouldn't have done it this time!" As kids, Logan was rarely short tempered. But when he was, his anger would simmer for a bit before it would eventually boil over. The moment after our movie date was understandable. I pushed several buttons and didn't pay enough attention to the visual cues telling me to stop, but trying to diffuse the situation early on is proving futile. "I mean, fuck, Paige. I know you're new to relationships but that's not an excuse to do dumb shit without taking me into consideration."
"Hey-" Ashton attempts to cut in, but I interrupt.
"Why would you say that to me?" I try to stay stern, but my voice cracks on the last word. It's like he paid no attention to how small I felt to his yelling last time.
He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose like I'm an annoying child who's disturbing his peace. "I didn't mean-"
Having enough, I do something I wouldn't do sober.
I hang up.
"Ugh! You know, I was enjoying this moment. It feels nice to not care! Here I was, in my bubble of peace. And here he comes, popping it."
My phone rings—a cute off guard photo I took of Logan filling his cheeks with air pops on screen to exaggerate my point. I decline the call. "I don't want to hear it."
I wind my arm back to chuck my phone in the pool, but Ashton reaches up and clasps my wrists together. "It's not the phone's fault your boyfriend is a dick."
He rests the phone on the tile between us, then takes his suit jacket off before unbuttoning the first few buttons of his dress shirt. I like fancy Ashton. But I think I may like casual Ashton even more. The one that doesn't pretend to be something he's not in front of strangers.
As he's fixing his cuffs, I zone in on the black 'x' tattooed on his skin, peeking from beneath the fine cloth. It's the same design and location as Logan's. I blink and shake my head, and when my vision refocuses, his cuff is repositioned over the spot.
I don't ask him to reveal it. In fact, I hope I imagined it; a sick manifestation of how Logan has imprinted on my mind.
"I don't like when Logan yells at me. And he knows that. It takes me back to how my brother used to yell at me when I wouldn't mind my business. It would trigger so many fights between he and my dad." I kick my legs gently, letting the water glide between my toes as I bring each one up before plopping it back below the surface. "Sometimes I miss his yelling. It would mean he's still here."
I didn't expect this night to include a drunken vent session with Ashton Brooks, but here I am.
"My brother is in a gang," I say, the random sentence rolling off my tongue without much of a thought. I expect any negative reaction. I've witnessed it all: shock, revulsion, the slight inching away someone does when they don't want to be connected with a person who has a family like mine. But Ashton does none of the above. He continues to stare into the pool without so much of a hint that he heard me.
"Do you have siblings?"
He shakes his head slowly. "No."
"Do you think I should stay away from Logan?"
He pulls his lips into a straight line. "You have agency over yourself for a reason. No one should try to take that away from you."
Being around Logan is easy; except for when I have to tiptoe around the Ashton topic. With Ashton, there is no tiptoeing. I can say Logan's name without him yelling at me. He doesn't try to feed me rumors to plant distrust. He doesn't try to tell me what I should do.
Sharing space with Ashton is worry-free. He's a peaceful connection when everyone in my life lately has been making me feel anything but.
"I want to go for a swim." There's a danger in my thoughts that I don't dare explore any farther. I need to get away from this entire situation.
I push myself off the side of the pool, expecting my feet to immediately touch tile but instead, there's nothing.
My arms and legs begin to flail as there's no surface supporting my body. I kick my legs out to touch any form of solid ground, but there's absolutely nothing besides the heavy push back of water.
Just as I inhale a lungful of air, something wraps around my waist and lifts me up.
I cough and sputter, clinging to the concrete sides of the pool so hard I'm surprised my nails don't rip off.
"Why...why did you do that?!" Ashton stands above me. He's dripping wet, clothes sticking to his body like a second skin. His actual skin is flushed, however. His breaths come in short pants but aren't as bad as my wheezing.
"I thought we were in the shallow end," I whisper, ducking my head in embarrassment after his eyes grow wide in bewilderment.
We're back to normal ten minutes later; minus the uncomfortable feeling of being wet for too long.
I'm trembling in my little black dress. Ashton is fine, though, and with a swift, "Take this," he drapes his fancy suit jacket over my damp shoulders.
He refuses to take it back despite my protests. I expect some sort of chastisement for my dangerous mistake, but instead Ashton gives a, "Be careful next time," and leaves it at that before leading me out of the pool room.
It takes a few burning breaths and shaky steps to realize Ashton is guiding us back to the ballroom. "Wait!" My fingers tighten around his bicep as the mumbled chatter of the dinner party intensifies. "We can't go in there like this."
"What is the alternative? Curl into a ball under the hand dryers in the bathrooms? You're not getting this by your mom."
He's such a smart-ass. But he makes a good point. "I just don't want everyone to see me like this. Not to mention ruin your parent's big night."
My eyes widen as his fill with a type of mischief that can only be connected to some evil plan. There's an idea blossoming in that devious head of his, and my breath stills at the thought of me planting it.
"I guess that's how we balance each other out, because I don't care what people think about me and I'll jump at any opportunity to get under my parent's skin."
He lets go of me, his absence leaving a chilly sensation that sends a shiver down my spine, and confidently strides through the entrance of the ballroom, trailing wet footprints behind him. He turns a few heads as he passes and goes straight towards mom.
Her smile immediately falls as she gives him a once over, too distracted by the droplets of water gliding down his hair to pay attention to anything he's saying.
Mom's mouth drops open as she locks eyes with me and scurries out of the crowd. Behind her, Adrian and Amelia gather around Ashton. They look none too pleased as their son stands soaking wet in the middle of their work dinner.
I feel nothing but guilt—and the occasional cold chill—as mom stops to stand before me. Ashton wouldn't be in this situation if it weren't for my impulsivity.
"Paige! My goodness, what happened to you?"
Mom's gentle hands caress my cheek and damp hair as she looks me up and down. Again, the guilt creeps in.
"Almost drowning can sober a person up real quick."
She blinks, shakes her head, then sighs. Probably at a loss for words because I don't usually get myself into trouble. "Let's go home."
She retrieves her clutch from the ballroom before walking me out of the hotel. She rubs my arms soothingly the entire way. Mom was never one to punish when I was up to no good as a kid, and time didn't seem to change her parenting style.
It isn't until we're halfway home, engulfed in heat and mom's shuffled playlist blasting through the speakers to drown out the awkward car silence, do I realize the faint scent of sandalwood on the fabric pressed against my nose.
I'm still wrapped in Ashton's jacket.