Until I'm Yours (19 page)

I
have no one to blame but myself for being in this position.

Technically, that’s not true. As I step out of the car onto a freaking red carpet, to flashing bulbs and a receiving line of dignitaries, I realize I can also blame Trevor.

“You didn’t tell me it would be quite so…” I pause long enough to smile for a photographer practically contorting to get the right shot. “Public. Such a big deal.”

“Did I not?” Trevor squints one eye as if trying to remember. “I told you it was formal.”

“Yes, but there’s a red carpet and lots of media, and I think I just spotted a prime minister.”

“Maybe one or two.” He shrugs, broad shoulders straining against his well-cut tuxedo jacket. “Not a big deal.”

I glance at him in a tuxedo. I must admit, we do make a striking couple. Him in his finery, and me in the midnight blue dress François sent from his evening-wear line. It reaches the floor and has deep cutouts under my arms, bares my entire back, and reveals the sides of my breasts. I study the other women here, and feel like I’m a little too much. They’re all wearing evening gowns, but mine seems more glamorous, which isn’t a surprise, but I don’t want to stand out. I haven’t blended in one day of my life, but tonight, I’d like to. It’s Trevor’s night, not mine. And the last thing I want is to become the center of—

“Sofie, who are you wearing?” a photographer yells from behind the rope.

It has begun…

“This dress was sent over by the fabulous François Gerrard.”

Trevor and I take a few more steps before another reporter tosses out a question.

“Where’s Rip tonight, Sofie?”

Trevor is standing close enough for me to feel him tense at my side.

“I have no idea.” I offer a smile so plastic it should be recycled.

“So are the reports true that you and Rip are no longer together?”

“Michael and I remain very good friends, and I wish him well.” Before they can fire another question, probably about Trevor, I continue. “Tonight is about my dear friend Mr. Bishop and this amazing event, and I want to keep it that way. Good night.”

Another round of questions comes, but I dismiss them with a quick wave and another plastic smile.

Trevor wraps one hand around my elbow and lays the other at my back, directing me into the Savoy and toward the ballroom, where the dinner is being held. Before we reach the room, already packed and buzzing with people, I pull him into an empty hall to the side.

“Hey.” I take both his hands, looking up to study the closed expression I’ve rarely seen on his face. “I’m sorry about that. It must’ve been awkward for you. They don’t care about awkward.”

“What was awkward,” he says, reaching to brush the hair I left loose back over my shoulder, “was you calling me a dear friend.”

I open my mouth and then close it, unsure how to respond.

“That’s what has you bent out of shape?”

“I’m not bent out of shape.”

I tilt my head, giving him a knowing look.

“Okay.” His face relents a small grin. “I’m a little bent.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Do you not want people to know we’re together?”

“
You
shouldn’t want people to know we’re together, Trevor.” I drop my eyes to the swirling pattern in the carpet. “Being with me…being seen with me…it draws the kind of attention I don’t think you want.”

“Sofie, I know what being with you means.” He leaves a kiss behind my ear. “It means lots of takeout food.”

He drops a kiss on my lips.

“Lots of cheating in the pool.”

We laugh into the next kiss.

“And lots of blue balls.”

I lean back so he can’t kiss me.

“That, Mr. Bishop, is on you.” I slide my hand under his tuxedo jacket until my hand cups his ass.

God, this ass.

“I don’t believe in blue balls.” My eyes match the sultry heat of his. “Matter of fact, I am fundamentally opposed to them in a relationship.”

“Oh, so we’re in a relationship now?” He teases me with a grin, even though my heart flutters at his words. My breath catching at what I just said. At what he just asked me.

“If that’s the case, maybe I’m against blue balls, too.” His fingers splay across the curve between my butt and my thigh. “Fundamentally.”

I don’t breathe. My heart thumps heavily in my chest. Is he saying…are we going to…is he…

Before I can ask, Henrietta rushes around the corner, eyes slightly panicked behind her glasses.

“Trevor, here you are.” Her eyes drift to me and then snap back to her boss. “Oh, Sofie. I didn’t realize you were coming tonight.”

She doesn’t sound too pleased about it. What’s with her? Is it just my reputation? I gave her the benefit of the doubt the last time she was rude to me. Once more, and she’ll find that when they call me a bitch, it’s justified.

Trevor’s hand moves slowly up to my back and a frown settles on his face.

“What’s up, Hen?”

“Um…I don’t think…” Her eyes shift to me again, hesitation on her face and in her voice.

“What’s wrong?” Trevor’s frown deepens. “Just spit it out.”

“Okay.” She gives him a look that says you asked for it. “Fleur’s here.”

“And that’s a problem?” he asks.

“She’s at our table.” Henri’s poor eyebrows look like they might fight their way through her hairline if they go any higher. “Like, now, at our table.”

“It’s fine, Henri.” He flicks his chin back toward the ballroom. “Go on back in. We’re right behind you. Just give us a second.”

As soon as Henri turns to leave, I ask the question that got lost in everything that’s happened since the Restore luncheon we attended two days ago.

“Who’s Fleur?” I caress the lapels of his tuxedo, eyes fixed on his bow tie. “Halima mentioned her the other day, too.”

He glides his hands over my arms and down to rest on my hips before answering.

“We were engaged.”

My hands still over the lapels, and I lift my eyes to his. He searches my face, the dark eyes gauging my reaction to the words that just sucker-punched me in the gut. He was engaged to someone? There was a woman he wanted to
marry
? And she’s here tonight? At our table?

“How long ago?” My hands fall from his jacket to hang at my sides.

“We were engaged for about six months, and I broke it off almost a year ago.”

I look at him from under my lashes.

“
You
broke it off?” He nods. “Why?”

He glances back toward the ballroom, a small smile playing over his full lips, and shrugs.

“I guess we’ve got time for a little story.”

He pushes his hands into his pockets, the jacket dragging back to display his broad chest and taut waist. I will not be distracted by how fuckable he looks, but with a little more time and a tad bit of privacy, I’d dry hump his leg.

“My mother moved to Lumberton, North Carolina, her freshman year in high school,” he says. “Her father’s job relocated them from Boston, and she was in my pop’s homeroom class. She was outspoken, well read, sharp, and hilarious. He fell hard for her, and he never looked back.”

Trevor’s deep laugh and slow smile make my lips curve, too.

“Growing up, I saw my dad make a beeline for my mom every day after work.” He shakes his head, grinning wider. “For a while, he drove a truck to make some extra money. He’d drive through the night to get home to her. We knew he loved us kids, but there was never any doubt that she was number one. He hated being away from her, and I don’t think in forty years of marriage they’ve spent more than two nights apart.”

“That’s beautiful.” I can’t help but contrast that to my parents’ separate vacations and the marriage that’s felt empty as a tomb most of my life.

“I thought so.” Trevor nods, his smile fading. “So last year Fleur had a special assignment in Ghana, and we didn’t see each other for more than a month.”

He drops his eyes to the carpet, twisting his lips and shaking his head.

“I was fine without her. I mean, I missed her, but I didn’t have to fight myself from jumping on a plane to be with her every day.”

“So there was no passion?” I ask, trying to understand exactly what he’s saying.

“The sex was great.” He meets my eyes unabashed, and I want to kick this girl Fleur in the stomach, or maybe lower, in her lady parts, for having Trevor when I haven’t. “It’s more than passion. More than great sex. It wasn’t…urgent. I know what that kind of love looks like, and I realized we didn’t have it. As much perfect sense as Fleur and I made on paper, we didn’t have
that
, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life without it.”

“So you broke it off?”

“I told her what I just told you—that though I cared about her, probably even felt some version of love, it wasn’t what I needed to sustain a forever commitment. And that’s what marriage is to me.”

I hook my fingers around his wrists, even though his hands were still plunged into his pockets.

“I know that was hard for you.”

“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” He sighs, hands abandoning his pockets to take hold of mine. “But it was the right thing to do. It’s not just that I wanted that. She deserves someone who feels that way about her. She’s a remarkable woman. This isn’t the first time we’ve seen each other since we broke up. We move in the same circles. Her boss, David, is in the Collective, and is being honored tonight, too. I should have realized she’d be here.”

He squats a little to drop a quick kiss on my lips.

“But I’ve been a little distracted.”

I muster a smile, but I’m not looking forward to meeting the “remarkable” woman who’s perfect for Trevor on paper and was
this
close to being his wife.

When we enter the ballroom and walk to our table, I hang behind just a little, wanting the advantage of even a few seconds to study Fleur before she gets to study me. I’m glad I do, because I see her eyes fixed on Trevor, unguarded at that first glance.

And I know she’s still in love with him.

I can’t even resent her, or be angry with her. My heart, that muscle that seems to have found new life since I met Trevor, actually aches a little for her. It would break any woman to lose a man like Trevor.

It might even break me.

She stands as soon as she sees him, and I revise my preconceived notions of what this “perfect for Trevor” woman would look like. I had envisioned a woman like Henri. Attractive in her own way. Bookish. Ordinary, with dashes of special here and there. This woman is no Henri. Beautiful women are as common as the cold in my industry, but Fleur is extraordinary even to my jaded eyes. Incredibly long, thick lashes fringe eyes the color of topaz. Her face, with high, molded cheekbones and flawless, latte-tinged skin, is arresting and framed by a cloud of dark, naturally curly hair. Her mouth, a tightly budded rose, opens up into a full-bloomed smile just for Trevor.

“I was wondering when you’d arrive.” She grabs his hands, leaning up on her tiptoes to reach his cheek and leave a kiss there. “Congratulations. I’m so excited for you.”

And she’s British, her crisp accent softened by her sweet voice. More than anything I want to hate this woman, but I can’t.

“Fleur, good to see you, too.” Trevor pulls away from her hands and turns to me, his eyes checking my face, which I keep neutral.

She still doesn’t realize we’re together, hasn’t even noticed me, and I’m a hard woman to overlook. She’s so focused on him, it makes me sorry that I’m here and that in some ways, I’m about to shatter her world. I don’t mean to. It won’t be the first time I’ve stumbled into breaking another woman’s heart.

“I’m here for a bit,” she says. “Maybe we could grab a drink after this thing, or dinner before I fly back to London.”

“I fly out to South Africa tomorrow,” Trevor says. “And I probably won’t be back until late next week.”

Fleur’s eyes go wide, a quick grin on her lips.

“That’s right. The Collective is meeting this week. David’s going, too, of course.”

Trevor nods and steps back, reaching for my hand.

“Fleur, I’m being rude to my guest. I don’t think you’ve met Sofie Baston, have you?” He gives a gentle tug to my hand, pulling me forward when I really just want to blend into the wall, maybe as a sconce or the wallpaper. “Sofie, Fleur Adeba.”

As soon as our eyes meet, I know she knows. Trevor doesn’t just pull me forward. He looks down at me, his eyes affectionate. His mouth widens into a smile as soon as our eyes connect. His hand goes to my back, gentle and possessive. I feel his absolute full attention turned to me, and I know she feels it, too. The natural smile withers on her face. She blinks several times, pressing her lips together against the emotion I hope isn’t as obvious to everyone already seated at the table as it is to me.

“Hello, Miss Adeba.” I extend my hand, a smile like wax on my lips. “So nice to meet you.”

She looks at my hand for a moment before taking it, her fingers cold and stiff in mine.

“I didn’t…” She licks her lips, bundling her hands at her waist. “That is to say, it’s very nice to meet you, Miss Baston.”

I’m not the kind of competition most women expect to run up against. Not me the actual woman, but the fantasy men build up in their heads about me. The illusion I’ve spent fifteen years constructing for the public. I want to confess to Fleur that no man has ever loved me the morning after. That it’s all just bright wrapping paper, and once they tear it away, I’m that Christmas gift they forget why they even wanted so badly. I get cast aside and lost in the bright paper I came in. I want to tell her those things to make her feel better, but I know by the way Trevor looks at me that she wouldn’t be convinced. Because when Trevor looks at me, it’s not the brightly wrapped box he sees, but all the things I didn’t even know I had inside. And if I can tell that, then surely this woman, with her sharp eyes and obvious keen intelligence, sees it, too.

I’m seated between Trevor and Henri. Fortunately, Fleur is across the table. Maybe it isn’t fortunate, because she has an unobstructed view of us beside each other, and for the life of her, she can’t seem to look away.