The Boy I Hate(88)

She glanced over to the seat she’d seen Tristan sitting in not five minutes earlier and found it empty, which caused her stomach to drop a few inches. She took a calming breath, turning to Renee again and straightening her shoulders.

“A few months ago, Renee called at midnight to tell me about a guy.” She raised her brows, indicating she wasn’t happy about being woken up so late. “He was wonderful, and perfect, and she was going out on a date with him. But four weeks later, after many phone calls in between, she told me she loved him.” The crowd began to chuckle, and Samantha cracked a tiny grin. “Quite frankly I was shocked, but who was I to judge?” She paused for a moment, shaking her head. “Then she told me she was going to marry him.” Samantha looked down, her heart so raw and open she may as well have been lying on an operating table. “I thought she was having one of her crazy moments—like literally had lost her mind. Because I’d spent six years with a man, and my heart still wasn’t open to the idea of forever.”

She looked up then, glancing around the crowd who had suddenly gone completely quiet. “How, in such a short time, did she know that she loved him?”

Everyone around her began adjusting in their seats, whispering, but she didn’t stop.

“You see, Renee and I are the same age. Born only two weeks apart. We’ve done everything together. Shared the same birthday parties, the same friends, same graduation. How could she be so frivolous with her heart to marry a man after such a short time?”

Gasps could be heard throughout the hall, and she looked into Renee’s eyes, her lips quivering with the tears she held onto so desperately. “But six days ago, I realized that Renee had it right the whole time. Because time isn’t a factor in matters of the heart. I can see now she’s given her whole heart to Phin. That she’s shown him her flaws, and let him really see her.” She looked toward the ground. “Because that’s how love works. That’s what I want. I don’t want perfect. I want flaws, and I want passion. I want someone to give me everything without holding back. Even the ugly pieces. Even the pieces hidden from everyone else.”

The audience hushed, and Samantha turned back to face them again, knowing Tristan was out there amongst them. Somewhere. “Love is about being vulnerable. It’s about doing things that scare you. Like giving your heart to someone after a few weeks, or a few days. When you find the right person, time stops.” She nodded and smiled at her best friend. “That’s what happened to Renee and Phin.” She placed the microphone back on the podium and whispered, “And that’s what happened to me.”

The crowd went silent, and she lifted her glass above her head. “To the bride and groom, and to love that is timeless.”

Everyone cheered and clinked their glasses. Mark stood up, then lowered his head in a nod of respect. She could see he was proud of her, and frankly, she was proud of herself, too. Because she would have never done this a week ago. She wasn’t strong enough then.

Mark came toward the podium, placing his hand on her shoulder before whispering in her ear. “Good job, kid. The ball’s in his court.” He then relieved her from the spotlight, and had the whole room laughing before she made it to the bottom step.

She weaved between the tables, not intending to stick around. Because every last drop of her strength had been used up on that stage, and she needed to get out of there. First, she focused on getting to her table, then, gathering her things, putting one foot in front of the other, breathing in and out. Because if she tried to focus on more than that, it was too overwhelming. She made it to her table without anyone noticing her, took a couple sips of wine as she gathered her things, but before she could turn away, an elderly man came forward to block her path.

“Is that piece yours?” he asked. His voice low and eloquent. He looked to be in his sixties, elegantly dressed, with a kind face.

Samantha glanced back to the sculpture near the dance floor and nodded her head. Light was bouncing off the tiny leaves and a few people had gathered around to examine it. “Yes,” she answered, trying to move around him again.

He stepped in front of her, eyeing her up and down curiously. He held out his hand in introduction. “My name is Henry Covington. I own a gallery downtown.”

She swallowed quickly, glancing up into his face in a daze.

He adjusted his stance, then took a sip of his dark drink and tilted his head. “Pieces like yours are exactly what I’ve been looking for, miss…?”

The wind left her lungs and she forgot how to speak—everything. Even her own name. This had been the darkest day of her entire life, and now this man stood in front of her, offering her a candle of hope. Tears brimmed her eyes and she looked down to her feet.