Never Got Over You -Whitney G. Page 0,43

to ask if he was leaving, but that was quite obvious. The question, “Why?” wasn’t, but I held back.

“I honestly don’t understand, Kate,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I don’t see why you would ever marry someone who wasn’t me.”

“Well, after all this time—” I let out a breath, noticing the hurt in his eyes, feeling the pain in mine. “I think you could just ask me.”

“You’re right.” He stared at me. “I could just ask you.”

He left without saying another word.

...

Kate

~ December 24, 2008 ~

I STOOD AT THE TOP of the grand staircase, watching guests mingle under the hallway’s glittering chandeliers and glistening Christmas trees.

Per my mother’s suggestion, I was wearing a shimmering black dress with grey feathers on the shoulders. My neck was dripping in diamonds, and even though our stylist had spent hours flat ironing my hair, she’d ultimately pulled it back into a simple chignon bun.

Tonight marked the tenth Kensington Holiday Ball, and only the top socialites and wealthiest people of Edgewood were invited to partake in this year’s “Masquerade for the Night” affair. The suffocating scent of arrogance was in the air, and I couldn’t wait until this shit was over.

Walking down the steps, I smiled and greeted the familiar faces, laughed at jokes I’d heard hundreds of times before.

“You could at least pretend like you’re as happy to be here as I am.” Sarah Kay was suddenly at my side, looking stunning in a poppy-pink dress. “I mean, look at all the people who are here just to suck up to our blood-thirsty parents. It warms my soul, you know?”

I laughed and channeled my mother’s voice. “I’m very happy to be here, since a Kensington woman should never have anything to frown about. Especially in public.”

“Oh, darling.” She played along and pulled me in for a hug. “I knew you’d come around and eventually become as vapid and soulless as me. I’m so happy!”

We both burst into laughter and I hugged her a little tighter.

“Alright, enough.” She pulled away from me and looked at her watch. “I say we work the room for half an hour, show our faces, and then get the hell out of here after your solo performance. Deal?”

“Absolutely.”

I made it about fifteen minutes—shaking hands and smiling so hard it hurt, In the middle of talking to a guest about her “awful experience” at the Prada store (“They only had two of their new line of clutches, and I needed three.”), I realized that I couldn’t take this anymore. The crowd this year was even more annoying than the one the year before, and outside of bragging about themselves, everyone wanted to mention how “impressive” it was that I’d put off graduate school to pursue my so-called dream of being a world-renowned cellist.

I grabbed a glass of champagne off a tray and leaned against a wall. I pulled out my phone and saw that James had sent me a text message.

James: Are you having fun at the party?

Me: I would be if you were here.

James: If I was there, we wouldn’t be at the party at all...

Me: Exactly.

“Your mother really knows how to throw an affair.” A woman in a beige dress stepped in front of me. It took me all of three seconds to realize that she was one of the Vogue magazine editors who my mother was desperately trying to impress. “She must have spent years nurturing all ten of the gardens that are here. I am beyond impressed with her skills.”

“Would you be as impressed if I told you that she’s never lifted a single finger to maintain it?” I downed the rest of my drink. “She wouldn’t know a rose from a tulip, and deep down, you know that. If you don’t, you may want to try something other than being a journalist at Vogue.”

She gasped and placed her hand on her chest. “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”

“Feel free to quote me in your article then.” I walked away and headed straight for the gallery. I wanted to get this solo performance over with.

I took a seat in front of my cello and began tuning it.

“Oh, wait. Wait, wait.” My father stepped in front of me. Then he clinked his champagne glass.

He waited for the conversations to become soft whispers, then silence. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention, please? As you know, our oldest daughter is an accomplished cellist who has been wowing crowds around the