Forbidden French

It’s New Year’s Eve, and Collette’s invited me to a party, mostly out of pity. I’ve been sulking at the gallery all day, and she assumes I’ve hit a rough patch with Emmett. I can’t bear to tell her the actual truth of what’s going on, not that it matters; her guess is close enough. We’ve definitely hit a rough patch. My grandmother told me about his morning visit, and it only infuriated me more. He had every opportunity to come talk to me for months before that.

“I know you’re about to say no,” Collette says, holding up her hand to stop me from answering right away. “But it’s going to be low key, just friends and a few others you’d probably recognize. We rented out this swanky little bar and it’ll be packed to the gills, so if there’s someone you’re trying to avoid, I bet you wouldn’t even see him. There’ll be enough strangers there that you could totally stay anonymous if you wanted to, you know, pretend to be someone else for a night.”

“I have nothing to wear.”

She tips her face down so she can stare at me from beneath her brows, thoroughly unimpressed with the lack of creativity in my excuse.

“We live in Boston. There are like ten boutiques on this block alone.”

“Still, I don’t know when I—”

“We’ll go at lunch.”

I clasp my hands on top of the counter. I had plans to watch the ball drop in the comfort of my home, dressed in pajamas and slippers, but this sounds infinitely more fun.

“Okay.”

She raises her eyebrows.

“What?”

I laugh. “Okay, I’ll go.”

“You’re joking.”

“No. I’ll find a dress at lunch.”

“I’ll help!”

True to her word, Collette accompanies me to every single boutique within a mile radius of Morgan’s during our lunch break. Most of them don’t have anything appropriate for New Year’s Eve, AKA slinky, sexy, sparkly, and fun. We luck out at the final shop though. They have a killer white sequined mini dress that I buy straight off the mannequin without even trying it on because we have to book it back to Morgan’s for a 1 PM meeting.

At the end of the work day, Collette doesn’t let me make my escape.

“I know you. You’ll go home and lose steam and then I’ll be receiving one of those lame, ‘Sorry, change of plans. Staying in tonight’ texts. No. Consider me your fairy fucking godmother. Let’s go. When I was supposed to be sending emails this afternoon, I was actually booking us appointments to get our hair and makeup done, and if we’re fast, we can eat at this little sushi place around the corner first.”

Okay then. Who am I to argue with that?

The evening passes exactly as Collette had planned, and at 9:30 PM, I lock myself in her bathroom to change for the party. I take off my work clothes and fold them neatly, then I unzip the dress. There are built-in cups, which is nice because I definitely didn’t wear the right bra for it. I step in and gently tug it up, panicking slightly as I feel the hem hit just beneath the tops of my thighs.

“Uhh…Collette,” I say, my voice already wobbly. “This might not work.”

I reach around to zip it up, hoping that by some miracle, I’ll get more length from the dress once it’s situated on me correctly. I don’t. The bodycon fit hugs my curves, the strapless neckline accentuates my cleavage, and the subtle sequins shimmer in the light.

“How is it?”

“Umm…”

I open the door for her to see it herself.

Her eyes practically bug out of her head. “Holy shit.”

“Too short?”

“Yes. It’s obscene. I love it. Spin.” I do as she says, and she lets loose a ridiculous catcall. “It’s perfect.”

“For a small child maybe.”

“Whatever. I’m obsessed. Here.” She holds out a pair of silver heels that have a thin ankle strap. “I rooted through my closet. I know you’re a half-size smaller than me, but these heels should work if you tighten them enough.”

So this is it. There’s no going back.

Collette and I walk arm in arm through the lobby of her apartment complex to the Uber waiting outside. The driver clears his throat when we get in, his cheeks coloring slightly as he turns back to us.

“Uh, hey. You ladies ready to go?”

Collette grins and shoots me a wink. “Ready.”

Bar 717 has been completely transformed by a team of event designers hired by Collette and her friends. Near the entrance, a thick wall of fresh white flowers creates the perfect backdrop for photos. Disco balls rain down from the ceiling, the bar’s usual furniture has been replaced by modern white tables and silver chairs, and filled champagne buckets ensure no one’s flute is empty. Loud music pulses around us, and the bar is packed. Collette wastes no time thrusting me into the throng of people.

“Let’s get a drink!”

I’m glad she doesn’t abandon me straight away. As one of the party hosts, she knows everyone here, and she’s nice enough to introduce me around as she gets tugged into conversations on our way to the main bar. It’s not long before we bump into faces I recognize from St. John’s.

Collette perks up when she sees her friends. “Pippa, Francesca, Heath, you remember Lainey Davenport?”

Pippa and Francesca look less than pleased to see me. They barely give me passing smiles, but Heath’s interest is immediately piqued.

“Little Lainey Davenport, holy shit. I never thought I’d see you at a party like this. Killer dress,” he says, stepping closer. “Where are you two headed? The bar? I’ll come.”

He drops his hand to my shoulder to help guide me and off we go, the three of us slipping through the large crowd.

I remember Heath from St. John’s. He belonged to Emmett’s group and I think he was on the soccer team too, but I can’t be sure. My blinders were up when it came to other guys at school. That’s how loyal I was to the man I wish I weren’t thinking about right now.

Even still, I remember Heath being such a player back then, and obvious about it too. He dated a senior girl when he was only a sophomore then wound up cheating on her with her best friend. Worse, the original girl didn’t even care. She took him back a month later, and they dated until her graduation, when he promptly dumped her and moved on to someone else.

I look over at him with a shrewd stare. “Do you actually remember me?”

He laughs. “Uh, yeah. You were legendary at St. John’s. Ghost girl, right? Don’t think it’s weird, but I sort of had a little crush on you.”

“Right.”

He smiles. “I’m serious. I mean obviously you were way too young for me, but you could see then what you were going to become…”

I raise a brow. “What’s that?”

He almost looks embarrassed. “Don’t make me say it. A girl as hot as you probably gets compliments thrown at her nonstop.”

A girl as hot as me…

Hilarious.

If only he knew the truth.

I don’t want to care what the former students of St. John’s have to say about me. Quite frankly, his declaration doesn’t change things now, but it satisfies the fragile ego of the young girl still sheltered inside me, the one who felt so alone at that school, the one who clung to the idea of Emmett with everything she had.

“Don’t tell your fiancé I said that.” Heath laughs.

So he knows about Emmett and me. He doesn’t need to worry, though.

Emmett isn’t here.

At least not that I’ve seen, and I’ve looked. The crowd is thick, but not so much so that he’d go unnoticed. Emmett’s never been one to easily blend in.

Maybe he doesn’t celebrate New Year’s Eve like the rest of his old St. John’s friends.

Maybe he’s with someone else. The seductive blonde, perhaps.

“What do you want?” Collette asks me when we reach the bar.

They have a few signature cocktails listed and I peruse the list, landing on a cranberry martini. It’s served with a dusting of sugar on the rim, candied cranberries, and an orange peel garnish. It’s almost too pretty to drink after the bartender passes it over to me.

“You guys want to dance?” Heath asks.

The DJ is playing house music woven with popular songs from artists we all know: Taylor Swift, Lizzo, Justin Bieber. It’s actually pretty catchy.

I look to Collette, and she shrugs. “Sure, yeah. I could dance.”

Well so much for pretty garnishes. I down that drink quickly, both out of fear that I’ll accidentally spill it all over my dress as Collette drags me away from the bar and because I need the liquid courage if I’m going to go out onto a dance floor. Fortunately, there are so many bodies crammed into the space, everyone getting into the music, shouting the words when they know them—no one cares about me and what I’m doing.

I’m on the fringes for a while, barely shuffling back and forth, laughing at the over-the-top enthusiasm some people have for their favorite songs, then the DJ blends a Calvin Harris song with Rihanna lyrics and I can no longer restrain myself. I let Collette pull me toward her and we belt out the lyrics together, adding silly dance moves, mostly just…acting our ages, something I’ve never done.

I’m on my second drink, overheated and having fun on the dance floor still, when Alexander catches my attention and waves to me from across the room.

“You want a drink?” he mouths while miming the gesture with his hands.

I laugh and hold up my half-finished martini.

He nods and cuts around the crowd toward the bar. Then he comes to find us when he has his beer in hand.

I’m genuinely happy to see him until he leans in and tells me, “Just so you know, I texted Emmett to let him know you’re here.”

I rear back, knitting my eyebrows together. “What? Why did you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“Ominous and foreboding, like something bad is about to happen.”

He winces.

“Alexander.”

He tugs a hand through his hair. “You haven’t seen him these last few days…”

“No. Of course I haven’t.”

“Well…let’s just say it hasn’t been good. He’s pretty eager to see you.”

“Alexander!”

He holds up his hands in innocence. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

Lucky for him, a firearm didn’t go with this dress.