The Trouble With Love (18 page)

“You hurt me!” Emma exploded. “You
hurt
me, Cassidy!”

“You hurt me, too, Emma!” he shot back, his statement every bit as vehement as hers, made even more fierce by the look of torment on his face. “You think it’s easy, seeing the woman who once tore me in two on a daily basis? You think it’s easy sitting across from you at the conference room table, or riding the same elevator or sharing a damned cheeseburger with you? Somehow you’re managing to pull me closer even as we’re further apart than ever, and I’m fucking tired of it, Emma.”

Her lips parted a little in surprise at the unexpected outburst. Cassidy had never been one prone to monologues. And certainly not ones that had to do with his feelings.

“I’m not trying to pull you closer,” she said, her voice quiet. “I don’t want things to be complicated, I just want . . .”

He looked at her, eyes bleak. “What do you want?”

She forced herself to meet his eyes. Took a deep breath. “I want to be over you. All the way over you. It’s the reason I agreed to this damn story. But I approached it all wrong. Talking about it isn’t going to help. There’s nothing we can say that the other person wants to hear.”

“So what would help?” His voice was rough once again.

She swallowed. “Distance. I need some space.”

“We’re neighbors. And we work together. Distance is going to be a little hard to come by.”

“We did it before,” she said, her voice slightly desperate now. “We’ve survived in each other’s orbits for the past year without things being weird. You’ve had girlfriends, I’ve dated people. . . . I want to go back to that.”

He searched her face. “You want me to date other women? You want to see me bring a woman back to my place on a Friday night—want to see her leave the next morning?”

Emma felt nauseous at the thought, but she forced herself to nod. “We’ve done it before. We can do it again.”

He uncrossed his arms, shoving his hands into his pockets as he resumed his initial stance at the window, staring out. Except before, his expression had been contemplative.

Now the hard set of his jaw and the distance in his gaze made him look cold.
Ice
cold.

He didn’t look at her as he spoke. “You know, when I came here tonight, I knew it would be about me answering questions. I was prepared for that. But I’d hoped to get you to answer some questions, too. I wanted to know what you remembered about us.”

He cut his eyes to her. “But you don’t want to remember.”

She put her shoulders back and stared blindly at the twinkling lights, not really seeing them. Not seeing anything.

“No. I guess I don’t,” she said softly.

His chin rested briefly against his chest before he nodded once, twice, before moving away from her, scooping his jacket off the chair, and walking toward the front door.

She turned and watched him walk away, although she didn’t try to see him to the door. She wasn’t entirely sure her legs would work.

Cassidy turned back before moving out of her line of sight. “You used to be brave, Emma. What happened?”

“
We
happened. We’re no good for each other. There was no payoff in being brave. I’d rather be cautious.”

It hurts less.

He searched her face for a long moment before unexpectedly moving in her direction, stopping by the table to pick up both wine glasses. He handed one to her.

She took it in confusion, searching his face for an explanation, but his features were blank, his eyes cool. He clinked his glass to hers. “To moving on. To fucking
distance
.”

He took a long swallow before she had a chance to react, then turned away, setting his glass on the counter as he headed for the front door.

“Cassidy.”

He paused, turning back, and the flare of hope in his eyes was almost her undoing, but she didn’t tell him what he wanted to hear. She couldn’t.

“The last question,” she said. “For my article. Why did we break up?”

His eye shuttered, and his laugh was harsh. “Why did we break up? I’ll tell you why. . . . The girl I loved—yes,
loved,
Emma—told me she didn’t want to marry me. In fact, she threw the engagement ring I spent four weeks picking out at my head.”

Emma sucked in a breath, and Cassidy shook his head sadly. “I’m sure you’ve got your version of what happened, but my version?
My
version ends with the girl who’d claimed to love me not even listening to me. I made a mistake. Yes.
Mistakes
. But
you
left
me,
Emma. Be sure you get that part right in your story.”

She heard the door open. Heard it shut. And still she didn’t move.

Her brain knew she’d just dodged a whole lot of heartache by ensuring their cold war raged on.

But her goal had been protecting her heart, and she was desperately afraid that it was too late for that.

That it had been too late from the day she’d met him.

Chapter 18

“Scale of one to ten, how painful is this?” Riley asked, appearing at Emma’s side.

Emma glanced at her friend. “It’s not painful.”

Much.

Okay, it
was
painful. No.
Pain
didn’t begin to describe it. Emma was in
agony
.

Riley’s grin flashed, her teeth white against the siren red lipstick that bumped up her already-bombshell status to the stratosphere. The short black dress wasn’t so bad, either.

“Come on, Ems. You
know
you want to vent to someone.”

Emma pursed her lips as she pulled one of the glasses of wine off the small bar set up in the corner of the private room where Julie and Mitchell were having their rehearsal dinner.

“I figured it would be bad,” Emma admitted. “I’ve been mentally pep-talking myself for days.”

“Yeah?” Riley asked, grabbing a glass of wine for herself and tugging Emma over to the corner of the room where they could talk.

“Yeah,” Emma said. She took a sip of her wine, her eyes scanning the crowded room even as they purposefully avoided Cassidy.

“And?” Riley prodded. “Was it as awful as you thought?”

This time Emma’s eyes did land on Cassidy, looking handsome and completely at ease as he talked with Julie’s aunt and uncle on the far side of the room.

“It’s worse, Ri.”

Her friend made a motherly clucking noise and put an arm around Emma’s waist. “I strapped a flask to my thigh for exactly this sort of situation.”

“It’s an open bar,” Emma pointed out.

Riley squeezed her shoulders. “Honey, you’re at your best friend’s rehearsal dinner with your ex-fiancé. And the best I can tell,
your
rehearsal dinner is when everything went south?”

Emma lifted her eyebrows. “Went south? That’s a gentle way of putting it.”

“You know what I mean. Imploded. Exploded? Hit the fan in a shitty burst of rage?”

“Closer,” Emma agreed, taking another sip of wine.

Riley glanced at her. “You’re different tonight. Angry.”

Emma sucked in her cheeks and considered. Was she angry?

She was . . . something.

It had been a week since she and Cassidy nearly kissed in her apartment, and, true to his word, he’d given her the distance she’d asked for. They still worked together. Still saw each other at the mailboxes in their apartment building. But whereas before there’d been intentional disregard between them, now it was like she no longer existed.

She was invisible to him.

It was exactly what she’d wanted.

Emma had every intention of ignoring him tonight just like she did every other day. And everyone knew that rehearsals were more or less a formality. If you’d been in one wedding, you’d been in a million.

As a bridesmaid, your biggest worry was how high your heels were, and assessing the walking surface you had to deal with. If you were a groomsman, your biggest concern was checking out the bridesmaids.

Everything was always the same. Don’t walk too fast. Turn off your cellphone. Stand up straight. Don’t lose the rings.

But tonight, Emma had been thrown a curveball.

Unlike other weddings she’d been in where the groomsmen escorted the bridesmaids down the aisle ahead of the bride, Julie and Mitchell had opted to have the bridesmaids walk in alone, while the groomsmen would stand beside Mitchell at the end of the aisle.

In other words, Emma had to walk
toward
Cassidy.

Just like she would have done seven years ago, had she not lost her temper the night before their wedding. Had he not been so wrapped up in his pride that he hadn’t been able to forgive her when she’d apologized hours later.

She hadn’t looked at him as she trudged her way up the makeshift aisle at the Plaza. Didn’t have to look at him to know that he wasn’t looking at her, either. She hadn’t glanced at him as Mitchell’s pastor droned on and on about the structure of tomorrow’s ceremony.

It had been surprisingly easy to stay in the moment. To remember that she was there for her best friend. That this day was about Julie, not Emma. And then the rehearsal had been over, and she’d survived.
They’d
survived.

But now they were at the rehearsal
dinner
.

And Emma was mad. Because for the first time in a long time she was reliving moments she’d long thought dead inside her.

Riley was watching her, looking half-worried, half-amused. “You sure you don’t want this flask? Just in case? Because this just might be one of those nights where a nice glass of wine doesn’t quite cut it, you know?”

“We’re at one of the most expensive restaurants in Manhattan,” Emma replied. “I’m not going to start drinking from a flask.”

“If it makes you feel better, the flask is from Tiffany. Twenty-first birthday present from Liam. First and only time Big Brother has stepped inside that store, so it’s practically a sacred object. Also, pretty damn classy for a whiskey vessel.”

“I’m good,” Emma said, forcing a smile. “But thanks.”

Riley forced a smile back, her eyes sad, and that made Emma feel so much worse. This was supposed to be a night of celebration and happiness, not a dreary trip down memory lane with her friend trying to force whiskey on her.

She mentally shook herself. “You know what? Let’s go mingle,” Emma said. “You’re looking way too good to be huddled in the corner by yourself. That dress is—”

Riley gave a cocky grin and a wink. “Sam liked it, too. Twice.”

“No more detail,” Emma muttered, holding up a hand. “Please.”

She let Riley pull her into a conversation with some of Julie’s high school friends from California, and did her best to ignore the fact that Cassidy was about four feet to her left, now talking to a leggy brunette with crunchy-looking hair and a dress that was even shorter than Riley’s.

Julie bounced up to them, looking adorable in a white halter top cocktail dress and a perky ponytail. She looked fresh faced and radiant.

And happy. Almost unbearably happy.

Emma remembered what that sort of happiness had felt like.

And
that’s
why she was mad. Not because she was remembering the bad parts. Because she was remembering the
good
parts.

Julie made polite excuses to everyone else before pulling Emma, Riley, and Grace aside. “Okay, no pressure, girls, and by that, of course, I mean feel entirely obligated by what I’m about to say. Mitchell’s parents are insisting we do toasts.”

“So?” Riley asked.

“So, they’re paying for this whole fancy thing, so they get to do what they want, but so help me God, if Mitchell’s mom gets up there and starts talking, this party will turn into group nap time and this blowout will have been for naught—”

“Naught?” Emma interrupted.

Julie pointed at her. “You try living with Mitchell and not picking up words like that.”

“Calm down, Jules,” Grace said. “We’ve got you covered. If Mitchell’s parents start to drag the mood down with their monologue, Riley will pretend to be drunk and make a grab for the microphone.”

Riley nodded. “Did I mention I brought a flask? Might as well be a prop, since Sinclair here claims to have no use for it.”

Julie and Grace both glanced at Emma, and Julie’s hand reached for hers. “How are you doing?”

Emma groaned. “I’m
fine
. I’ll hate myself if you spend even one second worrying about me.”

“I’m not
worried,
” Julie said, “It’s just . . . this is when it happened, right? Whatever went down between you two was at the rehearsal dinner?”

“A long time ago,” Emma said, squeezing Julie’s hand. “Cassidy and I have both moved on.”

Julie started to bite her fingernail before realizing she didn’t want to ruin her new manicure. “So you’re not suffering from relationship PTSD?”

“Yeah, that’s not a thing,” Emma said, keeping her voice light.

Riley was watching her with narrow eyes. “Uh-huh. What is it with you two lately?”

“What do you mean?” Emma took a sip of her wine.

Rile snorted. “You think we’re not aware every time there’s a tiny shift between you two?”

“Actually, we’re all the more aware of it
because
the changes are tiny,” Grace added. “It would actually be less suspicious if you two alternated between blowup fights and playing nice. But instead you both try too damned hard to ignore each other.”

“Yep. And it’s
very
damning,” Julie said with a nod.

Emma glanced around the group. “Can one of you translate all that? Because it sounded like some sort of nonsense assessment I should have been lying on a couch for.”

The three of them exchanged glances. Then Grace spoke up. “It’s like this: For a long time, we thought you and Cassidy avoided each other because of some horrific breakup that left you hating each other.”

“And now?” Emma prompted, even though she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to hear it.

“Now we think you two avoid each other for a much more dangerous reason,” Grace said quietly. “It’s because you have the power to hurt each other.”

Emma looked away. Yep, she definitely did not want to hear this.

“He watches you, you know,” Riley said. “When he thinks you’re not looking.”

Emma hated that her heart did some sort of flippy thing.