“Uh, yes?” Her inflection rises in question, and I don’t miss the amusement dancing in her bright brown eyes. “I mean, other than the gardens and the ballroom—with the restoration and everything, why wouldn’t we also focus on the private spaces?” she asks, completely misunderstanding my confusion. “An affair of this size, we must ensure there’s wedding party dressing areas, locations designated for photos, and a cocktail-hour spot. That’s bare minimum.”
I stare at her, completely dumbfounded.
It’s like a weird game of Two Truths and a Lie, only I can’t tell which version is the lie. Downstairs in the restroom, I thought her demeanor was playful sarcasm, but she’sseriousabout this.No small talk. No catching up. Apparently, no eye contact. As far as she’s concerned, we’re not friends anymore—we’re just two professionals in an office, ticking off boxes on a to-do list.
Admittedly, the fact that she’s diving straight into wedding planning and logistics like we don’t share a past…it stings. But what’s even more frustrating is that it’s clear she’s got no intention of apologizing for calling me a liar when I tried to warn her about Julian.
It irks my nerves.
But yeah, okay, let’s keep this to the business, because weabsolutelydon’t know each other anymore.
“Sure, of course.” I shake my head, forcing myself to focus on the iPad in her hands, pretending the sudden tightness in my chest isn’t there. I’m struggling to catch my breath. A thousand questions are racing through my mind. Underneath the mask, how’s shereallydoing? Is she okay with planning a wedding for Hillary’s sister and her ex-brother-in-law?Does Cornelia have something on her, and that’s why we’re partnered? Does Ebony blame me for telling her about Julian?
Instead, I ask the one question burning a hole through me.
“Who are you?” The question slips out, jagged with disbelief, breaking the seal on the moment. An exhausted laugh claws past my lips. “Seriously, like…is the real Ebony in there somewhere? Should I flash my cameraGet Out-style to jolt you from the Sunken Place?”
She straightens, her face unreadable, but I don’t even care. I’m stunned.
“You seriously show up here after three years and act like this is just another vendor meeting? After all the bull that family put you through?” My eyebrows knit together as I glare at her. “No ‘Hey, how’ve you been?’ No ‘Good to see you, Linc,’ and definitely no ‘Oops, my bad for ignoring your warning about my good-for-nothing, lying, cheating ass—’”
“That’s enough, Mr. Bridges!” Ebony’s glare hits me like a sledgehammer.
Mr. Bridges?
She’s shaking, her entire body trembling with the anger that every debutante has been drilled to keep in check. For damn sure, every Livingston.
Self-consciously, she smooths a hand over her hair, like she’s genuinely curious to know what’s changed, and all the humor fades.
It’s the first raw glimpse I’ve seen of Ebony King.
Forget the Two Truths and a Lie. Looking at her is more like analyzing one of those Find the Difference games in magazines with seemingly identical images presented side by side. At a closer glance, there are tiny, trivial changes. She’s still Ebony, only they’ve altered the hairstyle and clothing, removed the wedding ring, and muted the vibrant color that was once there.
I only notice because I remember everything about her.
“We’re not doing this,” she says, her tone curt, steady.
“No, it’s an honest question.” I throw up my hands in surrender. “I get that we’re here in a professional capacity, but you’ve got your hair back, pinned up in a sensible style. In this humid weather, you’re bundled up in cream and cashmere, nothing too flashy, revealing, or colorful, of course. But then there’s the fact that this is the first time you’ve looked me in the eye on purpose. That’s not the Ebony I knew.”
She blinks repeatedly. “Did it occur to you that I’m human?” she asks. “Maybe I was embarrassed that I walked into the men’s restroom where I could’ve happened upon any number of…family jewels on display?”
I bark out a laugh straight from the gut. I’m breathless. “Family jewels? That’s what you’re going with?”
A red blush colors her cheeks, and I’m dying because this whole situation is laughable at best.
“You’re being ridiculous.” Ebony purses her lips. “And this outfit is appropriate for a semi-casual business meeting. Not that you would know.”
“Ah, touched a nerve, huh?” I chew the inside of my cheek, smiling. “I mean, it’s plain as day that I don’t know you anymore, and that’s fine. But do you?”
This earns me a small, shaky laugh.
Immediately, I know that’s it. She’s lost herself. In fact, I’d wager that she hasn’t known the fun-loving, smart firefly of a woman who used to sing on a whim and dream about waterfalls and beaches for, oh, say, about ten years.
I reach across the other side of my desk, grabbing the giant conch shell she brought back for me from one of her vacations in college, holding it with both hands just to see if there’s even a blip on her radar.
Ebony swallows hard, visibly pulling herself back together. She’s rigid and determined to not react, and I admit, I sort of love the cracks in her steely demeanor.
“Just asking questions.” I nod, chuckling to myself.
