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“You know I’ll always love you, right, Lizzie?” Luke asks.
“Of course,” I say. Though I’m thinking, Oh my God. This is so… Are those really tears? Actual tears? Why aren’t I crying? Should I cry? I guess so, I’m the girl. Oh God, I should be crying. But I don’t feel like crying. Is that because I’m not in love with him anymore, because I’m in love with Chaz? Shouldn’t I cry for what might have been, for the children Luke and I will never have now? Is this because of the hives? It’s hard to cry for a guy who gave me so many hives, I guess. And because he gave up medical school to be an investment banker. If he’d gone through with the doctor thing, I’d be crying, for sure.
I think.
Then Luke gives me one last affectionate hug, kisses the top of my head, and leaves.
As soon as I hear the front door close, and I see him walking slowly down my street through my front window, I’m on my cell phone.
“Get over here right now,” I say into it.
“Is this a booty call?” Chaz replies, sounding delighted.
“You are never going to guess who was just here,” I say.
“Seeing as how you were at the Gecks this evening,” he says, “I am going to take a wild guess and say… Neil Diamond?”
“Luke,” I say, clutching my phone so tightly my fingers hurt. “He shared a private charter over from Paris with his uncle. We just broke up.”
“I’m on my way,” Chaz says, not even a hint of humor in his voice.
T he first known bachelor party took place in Sparta in the fifth century B.C. Military comrades about to conduct a raiding party to fetch themselves some new brides toasted and feted one another. Since then, men have gathered on the eve before one of them is about to tie the knot to become inebriated, mourn the passing of their friend’s singlehood, and ogle dancing girls.
Brides are encouraged to ignore this long-standing rite of manhood. It’s been around way longer than you have, honey. Let him have his fun. You’ll get your revenge… on your wedding night.
Tip to Avoid a Wedding Day Disaster
Mother of the bride (or groom), don’t think we’ve forgotten you. You’ll want to look your best on the big day as well. How? It’s easy. Start shopping for your dress early, so you’ll have plenty of time to find the perfect look for you. Neutrals are always elegant (leave red to your husband’s trashy new wife and white is, of course, for the bride only), as is black if it’s not a morning ceremony. Nothing too glitzy unless it’s an evening reception.
And remember, you can never go wrong with a good support undergarment, such as Spanx.
LIZZIE NICHOLS DESIGNS™
• Chapter 23 •
Let us celebrate the occasion with wine and sweet words.
Titus Maccius Plautus (254–184 B.C.), Roman playwright
He is at my apartment in fifteen minutes. It’s amazing how fast a taxi can travel seventy blocks uptown along First Avenue after midnight.
“I want to know everything,” he says, slinging his backpack—we have not progressed to the point where either of us has a drawer at the other’s apartment yet—onto my couch. “But first… how did it go at Ava’s parents’ place?”
“Oh, Chaz… ”
And the next thing I know, I’m in his arms, and it’s—I don’t know how to describe it. It’s completely different from being in my former fiancé’s arms. Instead of feeling self-conscious and strange and awkward, the way I had when Luke and I hugged a little while ago, I feel safe and comforted and, most important of all, loved—completely and wholeheartedly loved—when Chaz’s arms are around me. I close my eyes, letting his warmth envelope me, and suddenly the tears that hadn’t been there with Luke show up.
“Whoa,” Chaz says with a gentle laugh, kissing my cheeks. “It was that bad? They didn’t like your drawings? How could they not have liked them? I’ve always loved your little stick women. Did you put top hats on them? I love it when you put top hats on them.”
“N-no,” I stammer, shaking my head as he grips my waist. “Th-they l-loved the top hats! Well, I mean, I didn’t put top hats on any of them. But they loved the drawings.”
“They did? Then what’s the problem?”
“I–I’m just so happy!”
It’s true. I feel so happy, standing there in my living room slash dining room slash kitchen, with Chaz’s arms around me, and—now that I’m no longer engaged—my status on the Bad Girl Scale back to negative, I think my heart might burst.
“So the Gecks are buying your designs,” Chaz says.
I nod. “I’m in charge of design and quality control. Ava’s doing marketing. Her dad’s taking care of everything else. Chaz… I think this could be really great. It’s not going to be crappy. It’s really not. Because Ava’s super-invested in it. Because her name’s going to be on it. She’s actually taking it seriously. I’ve never seen her take anything this seriously. It helps that she’s so into this DJ Tippycat guy, and he turns out to have a business degree from Syracuse. His real name is Joshua Rubenstein. He was there tonight too.”
Chaz looks impressed. “And what about the shop? Tiffany and Monique, and Sylvia and Marisol?”
I chew my lip. “I have a plan for them too,” I say. “But… it’s going to involve some driving.”
“Driving?” he echoes. “Driving where?”
“To New Jersey,” I say, taking his hand and pulling him down onto the couch. “But first… Chaz, seriously… and no joking around. Just tell me. I need to know. What did you mean when you said that stuff about Luke not being a Boy Scout while were dating? Because when we broke up just now… he insisted on my keeping this.” I lean over and pick up the ring from where I’ve hidden it beneath a copy of People. “Chaz, this is an expensive ring. Why would he insist on my keeping it unless he felt super-guilty about something? Huh? It doesn’t make any sense.”
Chaz looks down at the ring and shakes his head.
“God,” he says. “I can’t believe he didn’t take it back. Did he cry?”
“When we broke up?” I look at him in surprise. “Yeah, he did, a little. How did you know?”
Chaz takes a deep breath. Then he lets it out in a whoosh.
“Luke wasn’t exactly Mr. I
I blink. “I knew it,” I say. “Shari was right! He really was too perfect. There was something creepy about it.” Then I add, “Wait. You’d better not be making this up to make me feel better about what we’ve been doing… ”
“Better?” Chaz echoes. “Hell, all this time, I’ve been afraid to tell you. I thought you’d have a nervous breakdown if you found out.”
“If this is a joke,” I threaten, still not sure whether or not I believe him, “to make me feel less like a two on the Bad Girl Scale, it really isn’t very fu
“I’m not joking,” Chaz says gravely. “And I don’t know what a Bad Girl Scale is. It was that girl Sophie, from his class, all right? The one who knew the guy who got us a table at the Spotted Pig that night. He was doing her behind your back all last semester. You should have seen her. You’d have flipped out. She wore that Juicy Couture stuff you hate. And those giant sunglasses with Dolce & Gabbana written on the side?”
I shake my head.
“No,” I say. “Nice try. But you’d never have kept something like that a secret this long. You’d have told me.”
“Actually,” Chaz says, sounding dead serious for a change, “I couldn’t tell you, Liz. How could I have told you about Luke sleeping with another woman behind your back when you were still so in love with him—or at least when I thought you were still so in love with him? How would that have looked? Consider my position, being in love with you, and wanting you for myself. Had I come to you before I’d actually, ahem, managed to win you over, as I apparently have now, and suggested to you that your fiancé was sleeping around behind your back, what, exactly, would I have accomplished? Yeah, you might have broken up with Luke, and yeah, you might have slept with me. But how would I know that I wouldn’t have been just some revenge screw—some way for you to get back at Luke for what he’d done to you?”