La Vie en Rose {Life in Pink} Read online

  “Who cares what I thought? What happened?”

  Shuffling to the living room without shutting the door, she delicately sat on the edge of the overstuffed chair. The picture of the carnation ball was still in her hand, drawing his attention to her enormous engagement ring as it winked in the sunlight.

  “He was supposed to be in class,” she whispered.

  Rarity scooted to the edge of the chair and removed the crumpled magazine page from her grip. “Toots, look at me. What happened?” she asked again, slowly.

  Drawing in a shaky breath, Emma shook her head. “He said he couldn’t marry me. He said he’s...in love with someone else.”

  “What?”

  Emma sniffled. “Her name’s Goldie.”

  Rarity drew back and made a face like she tasted vomit. “Goldie? What is she, a retriever? Who the hell has a name like Goldie?”

  “Good question, Rarity,” he chimed in. Goldie Hawn’s hot. Don’t mention that now.

  His sister’s evil stare snapped to him. “Shut up, dick.”

  Yeah, he’d better stay out of this. Figuring now was a good time to escape, he gripped the arm of the couch and—

  “How could he do this to me? I’m so humiliated!” Emma burst into tears again.

  Riley dropped his head to the back of the couch and shut his eyes. This was going to take a while.

  ****

  Six horribly uncomfortable days later things hadn’t improved. Emma had planted herself on the couch and only got up to use the bathroom, but never for bathing. Riley never saw her eat, but someone took his ice cream, a conundrum that had consumed him. Her hair had inflated to three times its usual size and her eyes were vacant pools of pink.

  There could only be one explanation for such a drastic change. She was in some sort of zombie chrysalis stage and he was scared.

  “Shouldn’t we do something?” he whispered anxiously to Rarity as he lurked in the hall by her bedroom, never completely taking his eyes off what used to be Emma.

  His sister shrugged as she folded a shirt and placed it in a vintage Pendleton bag. “Maybe she just needs to feel this right now.”

  “Who wants to feel something like that, Rarity? Rejection’s awful. And she’s hogging the couch. There’s snotty tissues all over the place and I’m pretty sure she ate my ice cream.” I know she ate it.

  Sending him a sidelong glance, she rolled her eyes and went back to packing. “Is this about your concern for Emma or the fact that she’s monopolizing the common area of the loft?”

  “I’m concerned.”

  “About your ice cream.” She closed her bag and tied a red flannel around her waist. “If it’s bothering you, say something to her.”

  He frowned as she hefted the bag off the bed. “Where are you going?”

  “I have a shoot this week.”

  “A far away one? Where? How long will you be gone? What about Emma?”

  “Calm down, Riley. I’m only going to Saratoga Springs. It’s the yearling auction.”

  “You’re abandoning your best friend in her time of need to go take pictures of stuffy bluebloods throwing down millions at a horse auction?”

  “It’s one of my best paying gigs. I can’t miss it. Emma knows that. I’ll be back in a week with my BFF-Got-Dumped checklist.”

  His brows lifted. “Is there really a list for that?” It might be helpful.

  “Shut up.”

  He grabbed her arm as she shouldered her way out of the room. Sometimes having a sister short on feelings was an issue. “She’s upset, Rare. I don’t think you should leave her. She’s all drippy and making puppy sounds—I’m not versed in that language.”

  She arched a brow. “And you think I am?” Peeking through the hall they stared at their sniveling roommate. She was sobbing into a tissue and hugging her wrinkled gown, which showed up an hour after the groom dumped her. Irony—the bitch—had impeccable timing.

  His sister sighed. “Look, there’s nothing I can do for her at this stage. When she gets to the angry stage I’ll jump in the game, but she’s days away from that, maybe weeks. She’s going to be sad, Riley, and she’s going to cry. Emma dreamt about getting married since she was a little girl and Becket crushed her. Let her mourn.”

  He shifted and scuffed his shoe over the wood floor. “Can I leave?”

  “No, you can’t leave. Someone has to keep an eye on her!”

  He scoffed. “You’re so full of shit, all your talk about grief and necessary feelings. You’re bailing, because you don’t want to see her this way. Well, she’s your best friend, Rarity. I’m just the roommate. It’s not my job to babysit—”

  “No one said you have to babysit her. Just make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid, like contact Becket or beg him to come back. The man is scum.”

  “Oh, like I’m qualified to stop her if she wants to call the guy.”

  “Just run interference and stop being such a pansy. Now move, I have to be there by seven.”

  “You’re a... pansy,” he muttered, unable to think of a better insult as she went to the kitchen and grabbed an apple from the bowl.

  Rarity went to the couch and kissed Emma’s head. “This too shall pass, toots. I’ll be back in a week. Riley’s here if you need anything and I’ll have my phone on me. Don’t text him. Love you.”

  Emma only nodded, made an ugly crying face, and a high pitch hum like a teapot. The door closed and they were alone. Great. Sticking to the perimeter of the loft, he crept to his room and quietly shut the door.

  Riley avoided the common area as long as possible. Eventually Emma’s tiny whimpers stopped and she slept, some British romantic comedy playing softly in the background.

  It was his night off and he didn’t have plans, but he couldn’t stay there. Her depression was suffocating him. Sneaking into the kitchen, he swiped his keys off the counter, the nearly silent drag of metal over granite having the effect of a tray of dishes toppling to the floor.

  “Riley?”

  He cursed his luck and rotated, pasting on a fake smile. “Hey, Em. How’s it going? I’m lovin’ the new do.”

  Frowning, she lifted a hand to her hair and patted down the nest of blonde frizz. “Are you going out?”

  “I...uh, yeah. Out.”

  Her shoulders shook as the puppy whimpers started again. He drew back at the awful, high-pitched whines. It wasn’t a natural sound for a woman to make.

  “O—kay,” she stuttered. “Ha—have fun.”

  Oh, for the love of fuck. He tossed his keys on the counter and trudged to the couch. It would be cruel to leave her like that.

  Sighing, he pushed her legs out of the way and dropped to the sofa. “Come on.” He held open his arms. “Let’s hug it out.”

  Startlingly, she collapsed into his hold and proceeded to wail.

  “There. There.” What did that even mean? There where? He dragged a hand down her back and inelegantly blew away the straggly snarl of hair sticking to his lip, as her arms wrapped around his waist and squeezed.

  He couldn’t remember ever hugging Emma before. As Rarity’s best friend, she was in the no touch zone by default. It was strange touching her now. He never realized how short she actually was. Like really short. How did she drive? Or look a bank teller in the eye?

  “Thanks for staying with me,” she whispered.

  Staying? Had he said he’d stay? Definitely didn’t remember agreeing to that. “Um...no problem.”

  If he wasn’t making a clean escape that didn’t mean he was on the soggy hug shift. Something had to give. Her arms tightened and he panicked.

  He could be a friend, but not this kind. He’d keep her company, but crying made him uncomfortable. She’d have to toughen up if she wanted him to stay. And he needed to eat. “What do you say to ordering some food?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  Damn women and their ridiculous bird appetites. This was exactly why his sister was a cool chick. She’d throw down a T-bone steak and chase it wi
th a tray of garbage fries. She never played the I’m not hungry game. And for a girl who wasn’t hungry, Emma sure ate the shit out of his ice cream.

  “How about a milkshake?”

  “No, thanks. Just order something for yourself. Don’t worry about me.”

  Was this one of those things where a girl said she wasn’t hungry then ate all the guy’s food? Because he wasn’t down with that. It was the first meal of his ‘day’, coming off nightshift. He wanted to eat and wasn’t in the mood to share. He’d order her whatever she wanted, so long as he had enough to fill his own belly.

  “What about a pizza?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll just have a can of soup if I get hungry.”

  It was useless. Fishing his phone out of his pocket he speed dialed the pub around the corner.

  “Hair of the Dog.”

  “Hey, is this Jasmine?”

  “In the flesh. Who’s this?”

  “It’s Riley.”

  “Oh, hey, Riley. When are we gonna go out again? I had fun last time.”

  He chuckled. Yeah, she did.

  “That reminds me. I think I lost an earring at your place. You didn’t see it lying around, did you? It’s gold with a topaz stone.”

  “No, but I’ll keep an eye out.”

  “Thanks, hon. What can I get’chya?”

  “I need a porchetta, heavy on the au jus, an order of Old Bay fries, and—” he glanced at Emma who was still hugging him like she was choking a pillow. “You sure you don’t want anything?”

  She shook her head, her messy hair snagging on his five o’clock shadow.

  “And put aside a six pack of Brawler for me.”

  “You got it. I’ll see you in twenty.”

  He ended the call. “Uh, Em...my arm’s falling asleep.” His stomach was also starting to sweat, which was weird.

  “Sorry.” She eased back and sort of crumpled into the sofa, pulling the wedding dress over her chest like a blanket.

  “What do you say we put the dress away for a while? It’s getting all wrinkled.”

  A derisive laugh puffed past her lips. “Like that matters. Do you know that this gown is a Martina Liana? It was the wedding gown I dreamt of since I was sixteen. It’s the gown. And now it’s ruined. Tainted.”

  “Maybe if you stopped wrinkling it and dripping on it—”

  “It’s not ruined because of tears! It’s ruined because it’ll always remind me of him and I’ll never have the chance to wear it. I’ll have to get married in some other stupid gown that isn’t perfect and I’ll look fat and ugly. Not to mention I’m out three thousand dollars!”

  He clearly wasn’t getting the dress from her. “When I go pick up the food do you want me to grab you something? Beer? A bottle of wine?” A tranquilizer? He remembered she liked some sort of pink drink. Maybe if he gave her enough she’d relax and let go of the dress.

  “I can’t drink.”

  He paused. “Why not?” Please don’t be pregnant. Please don’t be pregnant. If she was knocked up with that guy’s trust fund progeny, he was definitely calling Rarity. Talk about being underqualified to deal with a situation.

  “Because if I drink I’ll call him and I can’t do that.”

  Huge relief. “Well, in that case I could just take your phone.”

  She sniffled. “I don’t know.”

  “Tell me what you drink and I’ll pick up the stuff when I get the food.” Soggy Emma was getting old. His only solution was giving her copious amounts of alcohol and hoping for the best. She needed to dry out, cheer up, and maybe pass out for a day or seven.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Why not?”

  She shrugged. “We never drink together.”

  “There’s a first for everything. Besides, it’s not like you and Rarity haven’t hung out at the inn while I’m working. That’s sort of the same.”

  “I guess.” She shrugged. “I like Malibu bay breezes.”

  He tried not to gag. That sounded about right. “Delicious.” Standing, he grabbed his keys. “You have my number if you think of anything else. Can I trust you not to call Grayson?”

  “Yeah.” She snuggled into the dress.

  Step two was peeling that satin nightmare away from her. “I’ll be back.”

  By the time Riley got the mixers and booze to make Emma’s drink, his food was cooling. Starved, he raced up the steps to the loft. Those Old Bay fries were getting seriously violated the second he opened the door. And that porchetta—

  Oh shit. Not good.

  Emma lay on the couch, much like he’d left her, only now she was in the dress. “Uh... you changed.”

  She shrugged. “At least I got to wear it. Believe it or not,” she quietly wept, “it sort of makes me feel better.”

  “Better is good.” He shut the door and cursed his sister again. “I’m not real sure about your sanity at the moment, but better is definitely good.”

  He dropped his bags on the coffee table. Time for part two of his plan. “Hand over the phone and I’ll make you a drink.” With all that lace, fluff, and bad hair, she had a dumpster version of Glenda the Good Witch going on.

  Taking the phone was silly, but, according to Rarity, he was supposed to be on guard. Still, if she asked for it back he’d hand it over.

  Grabbing a cup he mixed the drink. It might not be to his taste, but as a bartender in the Upper West End it was his business to know every froufrou concoction to ever exist, so he made her a good one, lime rind twist and all.

  “These fries are delicious.”

  Riley stilled. Mother of God. Pivoting, he mentally prepared for what he might see. She better not be eating my food. I asked four times if she wanted food. I swear, if she’s—God fucking damn it!

  He forced a smile. “Oh... you found my fries. They are good. That’s why I ordered them, because I wanted them. Remember when I asked if you wanted anything?” His shoulders drooped. She wasn’t listening.

  She hummed with appreciation and sucked the seasoning off her fingers. “Wow. What else did you get?”

  How about a can of soup? “A sandwich.” Clenching his teeth he continued to smile. “Want half?” You better say no.

  “I don’t know. I feel bad eating your food.”

  He hated girls. Seriously hated them. Sighing, he turned, and mumbled, “I’ll get a knife.”

  Carrying two plates, a knife, and her cocktail back to the living room, he shoved her dress out of the way. The skirt was everywhere, like a frothy nightmare.

  He divided the food, not caring that it was a seventy-thirty split, heavy on his end. By the time he cracked open a bottle of Brawler and bit into a fry it was cold.

  “So it’s just going to be us this week,” she announced, letting a good amount of the au jus drip from the sandwich. She was ruining it. If she couldn’t properly respect the sandwich she shouldn’t eat it.

  Looking away before he lost his temper, he responded. “It’s not like Rarity hasn’t gone away on a shoot before.” His sister wasn’t a homebody. She often slept at Lexi’s and frequently traveled for work.

  “Yeah, but I took a leave of absence from my job, so I’ll actually be home when you’re home. Usually we keep opposite schedules.”

  Dread knifed down his spine and he tried not to panic. He couldn’t be the designated tissue dispenser all week. If this weepy shit carried on much longer he’d drive to Saratoga and haul his sister’s ass home, high paying horse auction or not. “Cool.”

  Chances were he’d be sleeping when she’d be awake and vice-versa. Maybe he could grab an extra shift or two at the bar, nothing against Emma, but bonding was not on his agenda.

  She nudged him with her shoulder, the netted material of her gown rustling loudly. “We might actually be more than roommates by the time the week’s over.”

  His mouth stilled mid-bite. “What?”

  “We might end up friends.” She smiled, with those big eyes as trusting as an unseeing doe with a rifle aimed at its six
. “Don’t look so shocked, Riley. You and I both know we aren’t close. I mean, we live together, but you’re my friend’s brother and I’m your sister’s friend. That’s where our connection ends. I really don’t know anything about you.”

  Why did girls talk so much? He finished the last fraction of his sandwich, still hungry and searching for a distraction.

  His fingers peeled at the label of his beer. “What do you want to know?” Why did they have to know anything about each other? As long as she knew he was going to make his portion of the rent their relationship should be complete. No other details necessary.

  “I don’t know. What made you want to be a bartender?”

  “I’m good at making drinks.” He’d give her a few impersonal facts and she’d likely move on.

  “What about the people?” she asked, a fanciful smile curling her lips. “I bet you meet some fascinating people bartending at the inn.”

  “Not really.”

  “Do you have any funny regulars, like a guy who hates going home to his wife or a know-it-all social misfit everyone finds annoying?”

  “It’s the West Inn, Emma, not Cheers.”

  “Oh.” Her posture sort of deflated. Maybe she was looking for a distraction from her own problems.

  He could humor her. “How about you? What made you want to be...” Shit. “What do you do again?”

  “I’m a personal assistant at Phibbs & Grayson.”

  “Grayson as in Becket Grayson?”

  “Yeah. I should have never taken that job. Now I’ll have to see Becket’s dad every day. I’m so humiliated.”

  “Is he your boss?” That would suck.

  “No, Donald Phibbs is my boss, but he’s Mr. Grayson’s partner so we see each other often. That’s why I took a few weeks off. I’m too embarrassed to face them right now. I’m a laughingstock.”

  Wiping his fingers clean, he tossed the napkin onto his plate. “Hey, what do you have to be embarrassed about? Becket’s the one who did something wrong.”

  “It’s demeaning. He cheated on me. That tells the world I wasn’t satisfying his needs, that some girl named Goldie is better than me.”

  “No, it says you’re better than him. He probably knew it all along. Maybe this Goldie chick is more in his league. He did you a favor, Emma.”