Midnight Lily

  "Good," he murmured, walking to the door. He looked back at me. "I'm glad to see you well, Lily. Very, very glad."

  As soon as he left, I walked quickly to the door and locked it, standing against it for a moment and breathing deeply. Then I undressed, returned the dresses to their garment bags, and hung them back up carefully, resenting Jeffrey for sullying what had been a happy moment. What was the point of looking beautiful in a new dress anyway when the one man I wanted to see me in it, never would? I quickly re-dressed in my jeans and T-shirt.

  As I tiptoed quietly down the stairs, I heard my grandmother talking to Jeffrey. I caught my name, but didn't care to hear exactly what they were discussing. I slipped on my coat and opened the door slowly. Just before closing it, I called behind me, "I'm going out. I'll be back soon." I needed to get out and clear my head.

  I heard a few sudden footsteps coming my way, and so I closed the door behind me and fast-walked down the block, letting out an exhale when I'd turned the corner. I didn't want my grandmother to worry, but I also didn't feel like dealing with her fretting over me going out for a simple walk around the neighborhood. I loathed being treated like a child despite being almost twenty-one. It was tedious and exasperating. Half my life had been spent feeling like a princess locked in a tower. A damaged princess. One who shouldn't expect to be rescued. And now I knew creepy Jeffrey was here, and it made everything worse. So much worse. Why my grandmother trusted him, I had no idea.

  There was a park a couple blocks from my grandmother's rental, a walking path weaving around the perimeter. I turned at the entrance, moving to the side in case a jogger or bike rider came up behind me. It was an unseasonably chilly day for California, bringing to mind being in the woods in Colorado on cool fall evenings. I stuffed my hands in my coat pockets to warm them.

  Children made loud sounds of delight—reminiscent of forest birds twittering—as they played on the playground. I closed my eyes momentarily, attempting to relax, smelling pine and dead leaves floating on the crisp evening air. As I walked, the sun began to set and the daylight dimmed. I walked into a section of path that was shaded by massive eucalyptus trees and for some reason, looking around, the entire landscape suddenly looked like it'd been drawn in black ink, the color leeching from the scene. I blinked, trying desperately to hang on to it.

  No. Not now. The bench. Get to the bench. Quick, shallow breaths. In and out, Lily. In and out. My lungs felt as though they were stinging from the sharp cold of the air. My heart slammed against my ribs. Oh God. A panic attack. Get control. Get control.

  Focused on the ground at my feet, my breathing finally slowed and my heartbeat became regular again. My vision slowly cleared, and I was able to sit up straight. The scene resumed. Sound and color burst forth and I let out a relieved sigh. Why does this keep happening?

  Move forward.

  Move away from the pain.

  When I felt calm enough to continue on, I stood on shaky legs and completed the lap, ending up back at the park entrance again where I hurried back to my grandmother's home. I would never tell her about my anxiety. She'd only worry and use it to contain me. And I wanted freedom. All I wanted was freedom.

  Where would you fly, Lily?

  Anywhere I wanted.

  Anywhere at all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Lily

  "Are you sure this isn't too much makeup? I feel sort of like a Vegas showgirl."

  My grandmother laughed. "Silly girl. Of course not. Would your grandmother let you wear too much makeup? You look stunning. As you should. It's your birthday."

  I smiled. "Yes . . ." I turned to the mirror, taking one last look at myself. I was wearing the deep purple gown and a pair of strappy heels. My hair had been tamed into a swept-up style, and my grandmother had ordered a deep purple lily—almost the exact hue of my dress—from a florist and stuck it in the back of my hair. I smiled as I looked at it in a small mirror held up to see the larger mirror behind me. My makeup was dramatic with dark eyes and nude lips. I didn't quite feel like myself, and yet I couldn't deny that I felt pretty, perhaps even beautiful. Perhaps even like a girl who had a life ahead of her. And if not, maybe, just for tonight, I could pretend it was more than just a misplaced dream.

  The limo was already waiting for us in front of my grandmother's home, and we rode to the hotel where the event was being held in one of the ballrooms. Stepping out of the limo, I closed my eyes and took in a deep, calming breath. I couldn't help smiling.

  Do you feel real, Lily? Yes. Yes, tonight maybe I do.

  My grandmother and I checked our coats and made our way to the ballroom, our heels clicking on the marble of the hotel entryway. Lights sparkled and I could hear the low strains of music drifting to us from inside the event. "Now, Lily," my grandmother, said, leaning close to my ear, "if you get overwhelmed, just squeeze my hand and we'll leave immediately. You don't have to say a word."

  "Grandma, I'm fine. I promise. Please don't follow me around. I love you, I do, but I'll be okay."

  "All right," she said, offering me a small, nervous smile. "Yes, okay, darling. Have fun. Mingle. The night is yours. Of course it is."

  We entered the ballroom, and I looked around as my grandmother led us to our table. Men looked handsome in their stylish tuxedos, and the women glittered and shone, dressed in every beautiful shade of ball gown that existed. They seemed to know the art of easy mingling, some sitting at large tables and others standing to the side. Watching them socialize effortlessly made me feel like an imposter. The tables themselves were decked in orange tablecloths with bright red, purple, and dark orange runners that looked as if they were handmade, Guatemalan I assumed. And in the centers were large bowls of bright, tropical-looking flowers. The sweet, heady fragrance wafted in the air as I sat down in front of the place card that spelled out my name in elegant hand-written calligraphy.

  "The raffle items are over there, if you'd like to come with me to look at them," my grandmother said, pointing to the other side of the room where I could see large baskets and other items on high-top tables. Guests walked the rows of items, many sipping colorful cocktails and glasses of champagne.

  "Yes, I would," I said, standing.

  "Good. And bid on a few things," my grandmother said. "It's for a wonderful cause."

  I smiled at her just as an older woman wearing a long white gown approached our table, greeting my grandmother. My grandmother introduced me to her, and we said our hellos. "I'll meet you over there," I said to my grandmother, indicating the bidding area and nodding again to the woman.

  "Yes, I'll be over in a few minutes," my grandmother said, turning back to the woman in white.

  I wandered through the crowd, taking a tall glass filled with pink liquid off one of the trays and taking one long drink of the sweet, but tart, cocktail. I licked my lips. "Oh, excuse me," I said to the woman who was carrying the tray. "What is this?"

  "A pomegranate martini."

  It was delicious. I might just have two. I'd finish them quickly before my grandmother found me.

  No, no I wouldn't. It was my birthday, after all, and I was twenty-one. I was allowed.

  I walked up one aisle, looking over the baskets first then moving on to the vacations, and the tickets, and the other items that were described in detail on small placards. I wrote my name down on a basket full of spa items. Why not?

  What about you? What do you like, Lily?

  I don't know.

  So maybe it was time to find out. I signed my name below tickets for two to a Broadway show performing at a theater in San Francisco, and then to a hockey game, and a day trip to Napa Valley, including a hot air balloon ride. I had money. Maybe it was time to figure out what to spend it on. Although, should I win, I might not be in San Francisco long enough to use any of it. I took another sip of the pomegranate martini. Looking over my shoulder across the room, my grandmother was still in deep conversation with the woman in white. And now another woman had joined them. She was gestur
ing wildly with her hands, and my grandmother and the other woman had astonished looks on their faces. I rolled my eyes. They were probably discussing the latest gossip at the tennis club my grandmother had joined.

  "Oh look, a trip to Paris," a man said. I stilled, ice moving up my spine.

  "Have you ever been?" a woman asked. With auburn hair swept into a chignon and wearing a black gown that dipped down her back, she was the picture of elegance.

  "No. But I'd love to go someday," the man next to her said, a smile in his voice. My body froze completely. I knew that voice. Would know it anywhere. Oh God. Shock hit me like a physical blow and I backed up several steps, bumping into someone behind me.

  My pulse jumped crazily, and I tried to apologize to the man I'd bumped into, but no words came out. He gave me a strange look but then smiled politely, moving aside. I looked back to the couple still in front of me. My blood was buzzing in my veins, and I felt like I might throw up. This could not be happening. Life could not be this cruel. Oh yes, Lily, it can. Life is pissing itself right now at the opportunity to be this cruel. Life is rubbing its hands in excited glee at this very moment.

  They were both still looking in the other direction. He was laughing now, saying something in her ear, his hand on the small of her back.

  He . . . Ryan.

  Oh no, no, no.

  It was definitely him. I would know him anywhere by the way he held his shoulders, the tilt of his head, the deep golden hue of his hair, the cadence of his laughter. The woman he was with tipped her head back and laughed along with him. Then she turned, and taking his face in her hands, she kissed him. Oh God. He appeared briefly surprised but then he was kissing her back. They were kissing, and I was standing there behind them, shaking, a martini tipping out of my hand. I sucked in a breath, my knees almost buckling, reaching my arm out, placing my glass on a table to my right. Or maybe I'd missed completely. I had no idea. Static filled my head and bile rose in my throat. My guts churned painfully. Run, Lily. All you have to do is turn and run. Do it now. Only I couldn't. I was rooted to the spot, unable to move, watching them kiss, his eyes closed, the lips that had once moved over my skin so lovingly now locked with hers.

  "Lily, darling. There you are," my grandmother sing-songed loudly, coming up behind me, breaking through the painful spell I was under and causing me to gasp out loud. As if in a dream—a nightmare—I watched Ryan's muscles tense, and the girl pulled away from him, looking at him quizzically. The look on his face must have given her pause because she tilted her head, her lips moving. She must be asking him what was wrong. His head turned toward me, and I tripped backward again. He was turning. Oh, God.

  "Lily, what is the matter? You look positively pale, darling. I'm trying to introduce you to Mr. Bradley. He's the—"

  "I have to . . . I can't . . ." I choked out breathlessly.

  Where do you fly, Lily?

  Away. I fly away.

  His eyes were on me now, wide, unblinking.

  Ryan, it was Ryan.

  Just as I'd already known. His face, his beautiful face. He looked shocked, pale. The woman next to him was saying something. And oh, I couldn't do this. I was going to fall down. I was going to fly away. And suddenly in what seemed to be an instant, he was right in front of me.

  "Lily," he choked, grabbing on to my bare upper arms. I squeaked. I couldn't make my mouth move. "Lily!" he almost shouted. He shook me and I let out another small squeak. My heart lodged in my throat. He was here, in front of me. With another woman. Oh God, why?

  "What in the world?" someone demanded. "What are you doing? Miss Corsella, do you require assistance?" My eyes darted briefly to him and then back to Ryan. I could barely breathe let alone answer him.

  "Let go of her," my grandmother said shrilly to Ryan, ignoring the man next to her.

  Ryan turned to the man. "Do you see her?" he demanded. The man's face became a study in confusion.

  "I beg your pardon? Do I see Lily? She's standing right in front of me. Are you all right, young man?" He turned to my grandmother. "Bianca?"

  Ryan ignored the man and turned back to me. "Lily? How? How?" he asked, his voice cracking, panic in his tone. Or was it joy? Oh no, that was worse. That was far worse. Wasn't it? His eyes moved quickly down my body and then back up to my eyes in one quick blink of movement. "Jesus, Lily," he breathed. "Lily."

  "I . . ." The single syllable died on my lips. I tried to pull away from him, but he latched on harder. Oh Ryan, Ryan, Ryan. And I wanted to scream, because mixed in with the shock and intense jealousy of seeing him with someone else, I felt joy of my own. A dazzling spear of elation that spiked straight through my heart. Ryan, my Ryan, my mind insisted.

  Only he wasn't mine at all.

  "No," he said, "no."

  "Ryan, what's happening?" the woman he was with asked softly, standing just to his side and a step behind, looking around, probably embarrassed and confused. I only saw her in my peripheral vision, unable to take my eyes off Ryan. He ignored her, his eyes still trained on me as well.

  "Let go of her," my grandmother repeated, more loudly. She didn't want to attract any more attention than we already had.

  "Please," I finally managed, "please let me go, Ryan." Time seemed to stop as his real name fell from my lips, the room seeming to grow brighter around me. Ryan's eyes widened even more.

  "You know my name," he said. "You do know who I really am. I wasn't sure . . ."

  The woman he was with took a tiny step back, looking between the two of us.

  "Let her go, Ryan," my grandmother repeated for me. "You're making a scene."

  "Grandma, it's okay . . . " I glanced at my grandmother, and Ryan, following my gaze, finally looked from me to her.

  "You," he said. "You were there."

  "Yes, now let go of her and we can step outside and talk. Let go of her." She looked around, offering a small smile to the crowd in general, some milling nearby, some looking at us and whispering. Nothing to see here, folks, nothing at all.

  Ryan looked back to me, his eyes wild, his expression still arrested. He dropped his hands from my arms, and I stumbled back slightly. He stepped forward to steady me, but my grandmother was closer and wrapped one arm around my waist, holding me up. "Let's just step outside," she repeated. She smiled at the man she'd been talking to, the man who I briefly noted was watching the scene with a worried frown on his face.

  "Yes, please, I'd just like to go," I said, turning, my grandmother moving with me. My legs felt like they were weighted as she led me out of the ballroom. I had to focus to make them move. Behind me, I heard Ryan speaking to the woman he was with momentarily, and then I heard his steps on the marble floor behind us. I was woozy as if the half of a martini I'd consumed had gone straight to my head. As if I were drunk.

  I felt his heat behind me before I turned, his hand again on my arm. "Lily, please," he said. We were just outside the ballroom now, the music filtering out into the vestibule where we stood. "You're real," Ryan whispered, his hand took mine and his thumb made a circle over my pulse as if he was checking to make sure I was really alive. I blinked. "You're real," he repeated as though he needed to say it twice to convince himself.

  I felt my face move into a frown. "Did you think . . . that I wasn't real?" I finally asked, confused.

  He let out a gust of breath. "I, Christ, Lily, I wasn't sure. I questioned it. I've been questioning it."

  Something about that hurt. "I . . . see," I said. If he hadn't known if I was real or not, he couldn't have missed me, pined for me as I'd pined for him. He couldn't have. He mustn't have. That's why he was with that woman, giving her his body and his heart. He'd forgotten about me, moved on. He'd dismissed me as nothing more than a dream.

  "You left. Why?" he asked. "Why didn't you tell me you were here? In San Francisco? How long—"

  "Let's move aside," my grandmother said, walking several steps so we were farther from the open doorway. I followed her and so did Ryan. Ryan was staring at my gran
dmother.

  "You were there," he said, repeating what he'd said inside. He turned to me. "She's your grandmother."

  "Yes," I whispered. "My grandmother," I hesitated and then added, "Bianca Corsella." I had considered not offering her name, but there were a hundred people inside the ballroom who could tell him both our names. It hardly seemed worth withholding now. Ryan's eyes were moving over my face, his expression still shocked, confused.

  "Where was your mother, Lily? I don't understand any of it. Please tell me."

  My grandmother took my hand. "My daughter, Lily's mother, has been dead for a long time," my grandmother said calmly. "My granddaughter is ill, Ryan, just as you are. Everything you know of her is a lie. It was Lily living a lie." She looked around to make sure no one had heard her. I squeezed my eyes shut and then opened them. "Please, you have to understand that she can't see you again." Heat was rising up my chest to my neck, filling my head, making me feel like I might pass out. I didn't want him to know. It was irrational because I'd understood him, I'd understood that he was ill, but I just . . . didn't want him to know. Not about me. I felt humiliated and small and filled with despair.

  Because now he'd realize what I had already come to understand: We could never be together. There could never be an us. It wasn't possible. I wasn't good for him, and truthfully, he probably wasn't good for me either. The woman inside the ballroom, the woman waiting for him, the beautiful woman in the black dress who he was going to take home tonight and make love to, she was better for him than I was. I knew nothing about her, but I knew that. And it filled me with pain and a sick, fierce jealousy. I pictured his naked body moving above hers and sucked in a miserable breath.

  Ryan was staring at me, clearly trying to understand. "Lily?" he asked.

  I closed my eyes momentarily. "It's true," I said, meeting his gaze. "My mother is dead. I've been in a hospital this year. I'm sick, Ryan. I've been . . . getting better. It's happened before, I . . ." My voice grew smaller. I didn't know what else to say.