don’t even know if Gavin really counts as a kiss since we never actually kissed in private or exchanged spit. What a sad life I’ve lived. I wish I could tell Em the truth. How did I manage to lie and fool her for so long? I think I even fooled myself into believing that I can pick up any guy and just fuck his brains out and walk away. I think I’m the girl that can have one-night stands and never look back. If they only knew. Only I get to carry the burden of my lies and suffer the aftermath. I could’ve had a life, but I chose, and continue to choose to keep the charade going.
Emily is already directing my luggage upstairs; she orders us some sushi instead of her husband’s food choices, and makes sure it’s not pink. She walks over to me with a flute of pink champagne and says, “‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ by Cindy Lauper.” Clinking our glasses, she adds, “What happens at The Pierre stays at The Pierre,” and winks her baby blues at me.
“Here’s to you telling me all about sleeping with someone other than Louis. And to ‘Little Lies’ by Fleetwood Mac,” I reply and wink right back at her. “Louis doesn’t have this place bugged, right?” I ask, almost choking on my champagne as that thought hits my brain mid-sip.
“I’d rip his balls out. He hasn’t given me a moment of privacy since we got back home. If he’s listening in on our conversation, I’ll kill him.”
Yeah, he wouldn’t go that far, I think reassuringly to myself as I go to plant my ass on the comfy-looking cream-colored couch that’s calling my name. The staff is starting to leave one by one. I was adamant on our ride over that I don’t want a guard or a nanny to watch over me. I’m a nobody and I only plan to use one room and eat out or order in; therefore, I don’t need more than bi-weekly housekeeping services. The Bruels will obviously not let me pay for any of this shit, so I don’t plan on taking advantage of their generosity.
“Can we talk about why your hair is so dark? I can’t even see any of your blond,” Em, states matter-of-factly, picking up a pink olive from our smorgasbord of pink treats. She lifts her eyes at me, pinning me with a stare. Fuck, do I really have to tell her why my hair is almost black? “Sara, what’s up? You’ve been completely not my Sara ever since you married that asshole, whose name I won’t even mention because I’m not trying to upset you or me. But Eddie did mention to Louis that he’s worried about you. And you know I am as well. If you have something to say, you’d tell me, right? You know I would never judge you. I’m here for you—good or bad.”
I nod as I look down, and once again, that feeling of shame and sadness spreads through my body like cold, liquid fire.
I need her to stop focusing on me and start telling me what’s got her out of sorts. “Can we please go back to why you’ve called this meeting today? We need to talk about your mystery lover and why he’s here,” I say with exaggerated hand gestures. Em rolls her eyes and flops down on the identical couch facing mine. “Spill the beans, Emily Marcus.”
She smiles when I call her by her maiden name. “He was a nice guy. I thought he genuinely felt bad for me and just wanted to help me out. You know I’m a naïve dimwit, Sara, I get fooled too easily,” Em says in a small voice with her eyes closed.
I think of how I’ve lied to her our whole friendship and how spot-on her statement truly is. She is in many ways incredibly naïve and gullible. Emily has always accepted any stupid story I’ve told her over the years without requiring much proof or asking millions of questions. She has never doubted my tales and I guess it’s one of the reasons I love her so much; she accepts me as I am, even if she really has no idea who her best friend really is. She wants to believe people are good and that whatever comes out of their mouth is the actual God’s honest truth. She wants to believe that all men love their wives unconditionally the way her dad,