A Detestable Thing

She was perfect at the party.

I’d known she would be.

When I saw Emma walk into the cocktail lounge with an updated version of her Halloween dress wrapped around her figure, I felt my mouth go dry. If she were anyone else, I might have judged it more harshly. The style bordered on being too cocktail for a formal event but she was stunning, and it was a beautiful gesture of affection.

But that gesture was aimed at Misha.

When she saw me, her expression dimmed and her eyes flicked downward, a little flutter of guilt crossing her face. I tried to unclench my jaw, and Evie noticed it, her finger tapping my arm with interest. Evie notices everything. A little like Emma, come to think of it, if Emma made a more regular habit of weaponizing her observations. Like she had on her birthday.

Evie had objected to showing up on time— “Who does that?” She’d scoffed. But I was responsible for Misha’s presence as well as Emma’s, and I knew he would show up at precisely the time on the invitation, as he had for the rehearsal days.

My Misha dossier had expanded exponentially over the last six months.

I’d forgotten about the University Club’s library until earlier in the day, when my mother had sent me to check in with the club’s event coordinator to make sure everything was prepared. When I glimpsed it from the hall, I imagined sharing it with Emma and how much she would love it. In the end, I sent her there with Misha rather than join them.

It was out of character. Or out of the character I had once been, maybe. This entire weekend would have infuriated me a year before. I wanted her, had come to want to replace Misha by her side in a way that tasted far more acrid than all my romance novels suggested.

And Misha’s father was poised to do me the favor of dragging him back to Russia.

But after her birthday, when I’d so wretchedly miscalculated everything about where I stood with her? I wasn’t sure she’d give me a chance even if Misha was gone. At least this way, I could point to something that she might see as truly selfless. Even if that line of thinking paradoxically made it selfish, too.

So when Misha came to me armed with a legitimately strong presentation and the equally strong smell of desperation—when he’d even willingly told me the opportunity I would have if I declined—I hadn’t been able to say no. If Misha Konstantinovich Sokolov could put away his pride and do the “noble” thing, I refused to be a lesser man.

I waltzed all four of us through the party, Evie in perfect sync on my arm. Misha’s easy charm made the simpler interactions go smoothly, though I sensed Emma’s agitation at the speed and superficiality of the introductions. Slow and deep were much more her style, taking the time to really see a person.

That said, when Misha almost slipped with Ms. Zhao, Emma covered for him beautifully.

At dinner, he was in the zone, watching the conversations and finding the right moments to comment, and the right comments to make. My mother, ever the gracious hostess, made sure everyone had a turn in the spotlight. She told me later she was impressed by Emma’s career aspirations. It was hard even for me to tell how serious my mother’s comments were, but I suspected that one was real and a dull ache in my chest joined the bitter taste in my mouth.

The more comfortable Emma got, the more she smiled. The more she smiled, the harder it was to look away—and perversely, the more I hated to look at her.

By the time the evening was winding down to a close, I was exhausted. I’ve never enjoyed these events, even though the movements were so ingrained in me it usually felt effortless. But that night, juggling my dignity against my irritation left me eager to slip into a car and get somewhere quiet.

So naturally I ran into Emma, almost literally, outside of the ladies’ bathroom while I was waiting for Evie.

Her eyes were wide as she focused on me truly for the first time that night, and I couldn’t help returning the stare. One of her tidy curls had begun to slip from its place over her shoulder and my hand twitched with the urge to fix it and set it right.

But when I’d reached out to her on her birthday, she’d made it clear she didn’t want me in her space. So I stood still, unable to move closer or leave. It was a little gratifying, at least, that she was doing the same.

She broke the stalemate, biting her lip and squaring the lovely arc of her elegant shoulders. “Adrian…thank you,” she said, and for a moment I thought she might reach for me. But she didn’t.

Of course she felt obligated to thank me. “I owed you both an apology,” I said with all the nonchalance I could muster. “And it cost me nothing, really.”

Born who and what I was, there were few things in life that were beyond my reach. She was one of them, and one of the only ones that had ever mattered to me before.

I hated it.

“Still,” she said, “I appreciate it. We both do.”

I knew she did. Emma would never see this as making up for a past transgression. That sort of transactional thinking was as anathema to her as it was everyday to me.

For a brief moment, I fought the urge to tell her that, to tell her she was better off staying away from me and from Misha too. That the kind of empathy she stood for would never survive the worlds he and I had been born into.

“You did well,” I said instead. “My mother was very complimentary.”

She glanced down and blushed a rosy shade of pink. “Thanks,” she said.

“But I think…I think I’m going to avoid seeing you around,” I heard myself say. “This is…difficult.” It was the practical thing to say, really. The honest thing. The right thing.

A detestable thing.

She blinked, then understanding filled her features as I expected. “Of course,” she said.

“Did you call the car?”

Evie’s sharp voice broke into the conversation and she marched up to me, her arms crossed the way she always did, ignoring Emma entirely. It appeared Evie had decided she was officially done being my “date” for the evening.

“Yes,” I told her, glancing at Emma as she stepped away, giving me a tiny little wave.

Evie and I rode back to the hotel in amiable silence, or as amiable as Evie ever was. I’d known her most of my life, and she was a dependable ally. We understood each other, but understanding isn’t passion. Neither of us wanted to feel that way about the other, so we simply didn’t. I could get all of the passion I needed from ink on paper, anyway.

But when I returned to my hotel room, not a single book could hold my attention.

Author’s Note

B-Side Track: The Marvelous Wonderettes – All I Have To Do Is Dream

Our final interlude/bonus chapter. Poor Adrian. He sees now that he can’t have what he wants with Emma—even if he took advantage of the opportunity he had to (possibly) get Misha out of the way, he knows Emma wouldn’t ever be able to look at him like she looks at Misha.

FUN FACT:

While making all these bonus materials, I wound up having to create a lot of little supplemental things using public domain or affordably-licensed assets. For example: the Crownbridge University logo you see in the speaking program above (I also have it in full color), the Classic Vinyl & Curios logo, and the Sigma Theta Rho crest. But one thing I haven’t found any excuse to use in the actual materials is the Calloway Global logo that I made. So, here, enjoy. A bonus material for the bonus material.

Next up: Emma meets Konstantin. 😬