Pretenders (Firsts and Forever 3)

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Why are you defending him?”

He thought about it, then shrugged and said, “Habit, I guess.”

“Well, you should probably stop doing that. It’s okay to be pissed off about the way he treated you.”

“You’re right, but please be cordial to him when we get to Bora Bora. I can’t face a huge showdown.”

“Don’t worry. I refuse to be one more thing for your family to use against you, so I won’t make a scene. Remember what I said before about killing people with kindness? That applies to Jack, too. But when it’s just you and me, we’re gonna have a good, old-fashioned bitchfest, I tell you what.”

Wes chuckled at that. His arm was still around my shoulders, and he said, “Good. It’ll be nice to have someone to vent to.”

“That’s absolutely necessary. I can’t believe you’d actually been planning to go to this unholy union by yourself before you found yours truly.”

“What choice did I have? I wasn’t dating anyone, and I don’t know a lot of people.”

“I don’t know his name, but did you consider asking your lawyer friend to pose as your boyfriend? That seems much more straightforward than what you ended up with.”

Wes frowned at that. “His name is Cedric, and god no. I mean, he’s great as my lawyer and okay as a friend, but the thought of introducing him to my family makes me cringe.”

“Because he wouldn’t fit in with them?”

“No. He’s exactly like them, and that’s the problem. They’d probably adore him, just like Jack. But at some point after that week was over, I’d have to tell them Cedric and I were no longer together. That would earn me fresh helpings of disappointment, scorn, and pity, and the cycle would start all over again.”

I thought about that for a few moments before saying, “It’s making more sense now.”

“What is?”

“Why you’d take a lavender-haired, tattooed party boy to this wedding. Your family’s going to be horrified by me, aren’t they? So, later on when you tell them you’ve dumped me, it’ll earn you some brownie points with your parents.”

“No! None of that even crossed my mind when I decided to hire you.”

“It’s fine,” I muttered. “At least I’ll serve a purpose.”

“You are serving a purpose, but that’s not it. You’re keeping me from being sad and lonely and having one of the worst experiences of my life. In fact, you’re turning this into something I’m actually looking forward to, when I’ve done nothing but dread it. You’re also making sure there’s one friendly face at this event, one person who neither pities me or feels mortified because the jilted ex actually showed up at the wedding. You’re my buffer, my friend, my safety net, and my sanity saver, Ash, and you’re literally the only reason I can go through with this.”

“That’s actually pretty great.”

“Yes, it is.”

I smiled at him and said, “Okay. I believe you didn’t just hire me because I’m perfectly dumpable. Also, I’m glad you’re actually looking forward to this.”

“To be clear, I’m only looking forward to parts of it, including spending time with you and hopefully enjoying a little down time, since it’s my first vacation in ages. But watching Jack and Warren get married is going to feel like a knife in the chest. Even just seeing them together is going to be awful. That’s why I haven’t been back to visit my family since I moved to San Francisco.”

That made me picture him all alone last Christmas in a city where he knew almost no one, and it broke my heart. I made a point of keeping that to myself, though. The last thing he needed was to think I felt sorry for him.

Wes paid the fare when we reached his apartment, and I grabbed my things and followed him out of the cab. We were in a neighborhood called South Beach, for no discernible reason. It was on the edge of the bay, but there was no beach to be found. What there was instead was the massive Bay Bridge, looming gray and imposing directly before us.

I turned to look at the high-rise where he lived and tried not to frown. It was stark, modern, and lacking all the personality of the quintessentially San Franciscan Victorian I called home.

Wes unlocked the main door and held it for me, and I stepped into an impersonal white and gray lobby. We rode the elevator to the tenth floor, and then he let us into an apartment that felt as sterile as a hospital operating room. The walls were white, the floor was pale gray, and it was all just stark and empty.

I left the foyer and wandered into the dimly lit living room. All it contained was a single, dark gray chair and ottoman, flanked by a floor lamp and stacks of books. The chair faced a floor-to-ceiling glass wall, which offered a panoramic view of the lit-up bridge, and presumably the bay when it was light out.