All the Lies - Charlotte Byrd Page 0,13

the sparkling pool, run past the guest house, and throw myself over the cliff.

“Thank you for being here,” Alex says, reaching for my waist.

I take two steps away from him and load my plate with some carbohydrates.

“I'm not here for you,” I say blankly. “My mom refused to call off the party.”

“I know. I asked her not to.”

I stare at him.

Of course, he did and, of course, she went along with it.

“Don't be mad at her,” Alex pleads. “I'm the asshole. It's just that my parents and all of our family and friends flew in and I didn't want to make everything that happened public until we were sure what was going to happen.”

I start to laugh.

“What's so funny?”

“You really have a way with words. Everything that happened? I love how that statement assigns no fault. The only reason this wedding is off is because of you. I didn't do anything wrong.”

“I know,” he says, casting down his eyes. “That's not what I meant. I just didn't want to…”

“What?” I press him.

“I am embarrassed, okay? I didn't want to tell my parents what I did. I didn't want all of my family and friends to know. I want to make things right with you. I want you back.”

I shake my head and let out a long sigh.

“You were with Jen for three years before you met me,” I whisper. “Then for two more years afterward.”

“Just one more year,” he corrects me and I tighten my grip on my Martini glass, stopping myself from throwing it at his head. “Look, I'm not proud of that, but you have to believe me. It was nothing. Jen and I just got into this habit of hanging out together at work. That's all that it was. Some people like to go to the same restaurant for lunch. Other people like to order the same things. We like to have a quickie in the office. It didn't mean anything, for her or for me. She had no plans to ever leave her husband and she never wanted to break up her family.”

“What about you?” I ask. “I know all about her intentions, but what about yours?”

A few people approach the hors d'oeuvres table and it's no longer safe for us to talk here even in hushed tones.

Alex motions for me to follow him out back. At first, I hesitate, but then I see a large group of my dad’s relatives heading in our direction and I quickly escape through the sliding glass door.

When my parents bought this house, it came with a big round pool and an attached hot tub. The view from the house is beautiful, but the pool was an older design with tile all around.

Last year, they had updated it by making it a modern rectangle to match the angular design of the rest of the house. They also resurfaced it with a pebble finish that gave it a more natural coloring.

“This view is magnificent,” Alex remarks, looking out past the infinity edge and how it meets with the spaciousness of the Pacific Ocean below.

“Yes, it is,” I agree.

I had reveled in this view every day for a month when my parents were in Europe last summer. Just because I live in a crappy apartment and refuse their money, it doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate the finer things in life.

“I want to buy a home here with you,” Alex says.

“No,” I say sternly.

“It doesn't have to be here. We can get something in Laguna Beach, overlooking the cliffs. We can get something in San Diego or Santa Barbara. Wherever you want.”

“No,” I repeat myself.

“It doesn't have to have a view of the ocean. We can have a view of the city. Imagine living in the Hollywood Hills with all of Los Angeles sparkling below you.”

I turn around to face him.

The sun has dipped over the horizon a long time ago and the backyard’s twinkling lights dance in his irises.

“You don't get it, do you? I don't want to live with you. I don't want to marry you. I don't want to be with you.”

The words come from the pit of my stomach, originating from some inner strength that I didn't realize that I had.

But when Alex turns his back to me and walks away, tears resurface and slide down my cheeks.

9

Emma

A few minutes later, someone touches my shoulder. I whip my head around expecting to see Alex, but it's my mom. Somehow, that's worse.

“I can't do this,” I say, shaking my