Chapter 218
“He’s an egomaniac,” Bella said. “He can’t compute a world where you’re not secretly pining for him. He thinks the whole thing is a sham he can expose.”
“Let him think that,” Jocelyn decided, a cold resolve settling over her. “The shock will be that much sweeter when he sees us at the altar.”
The mail sat on the marble console table in the foyer — a stack of white and manila envelopes that looked too ordinary for a penthouse that touched the clouds. Mrs. Higgins had sorted it with her usual military precision, separating bills from invitations, and junk from the things that actually mattered.
Jocelyn walked in, her laptop bag digging into her shoulder. Her neck was stiff. The meeting with the linen suppliers had run two hours over.
Gaston was already there.
He had just finished a workout. He wore grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips, a black towel draped around his neck, his chest bare and slick with a sheen of sweat that caught the chandelier light. He was reading a heavy, cream-colored envelope.
He didn’t look up when she entered. His body was too still — the particular stillness of someone holding something they aren’t sure how to feel about.
“What’s that?” Jocelyn asked, dropping her keys into the bowl by the door.
Gaston turned the envelope over in his hands. His fingers were long, calloused from lifting weights — or perhaps from signing too many checks.
“A summons from hell, presumably,” he said, his voice rough the way it always was after he’d pushed his body to the limit.
He held it out to her.
𝖱𝖾ad 𝗐i𝗍hо𝗎𝘵 iոte𝗿𝘳𝘶p𝘵io𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝗻 𝘨а𝗹n𝗈𝗏𝘦𝘭𝘀.𝖼о𝗆
Jocelyn took it. The paper was thick and textured, like expensive linen. The embossed crest of St. Jude’s Preparatory Academy was stamped in gold foil on the back.
Her stomach dropped — a physical sensation, like missing a step on a staircase.
She slid her finger under the flap and tore it open. The calligraphy inside was looping and pretentious.
Class of 2014. Ten-Year Reunion. The Plaza Hotel. Friday, 7:00 PM.
“I’m not going,” she said instantly.
She didn’t just say it — she rejected it with her whole body. She walked to the recycling bin tucked discreetly inside a cabinet and dropped the invitation inside. It landed with a soft, final thud.
“Why not?” Gaston asked. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Because I spent four years being invisible there,” Jocelyn said, moving toward the kitchen to find water. “Except when Aspen made me a target. I have no desire to eat rubber chicken with people who peaked at seventeen.”
Gaston didn’t move. He watched her fill a glass from the tap.
“You aren’t the invisible girl anymore,” he said softly.
“Easy for you to say,” Jocelyn scoffed, taking a sip. The water was cold, but it did nothing to cool the sudden heat in her cheeks. “You probably went to some Swiss boarding school where you learned to ski and evade taxes.”
Gaston walked to the recycling bin and fished the invitation out. He smoothed the paper against his thigh.
.