Make It Better

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That pretty much brings you up to speed. Until tonight. Tonight, when all my hard work for Bonnie paid off. Tonight, when everything on my to-do list was finally checked off. Mostly.

I spent last night and the early part of today directing vendors- the flowers go here, the kitchen is in there, etc, etc. Once that was done, I went back to Bonnie’s house, slipped into a robe, and spent the next few hours with her getting ready. I knew I’d never match her in class and style, but I tried my best. She wore a brilliant silver gown and a necklace worth twice as much as my life, and walked effortlessly in heels a woman two-thirds her age would break their ankles in.

I went simple, but elegant. At least I hope that’s how it came across. A black dress with a beaded bodice that fit my curves, and a bottom half that flowed away from my body but every so often would show a bit of leg. I piled my hair high and prayed to the beauty gods my eyeliner would stay as sharp as Bonnie’s tongue. And then it was time to go.

Bonnie and I arrived together, checking last minute details, and standing in awe at our own early, private performance from the acrobats and aerialists all dressed in silver to match Bonnie and the decor. She had the guest list tucked under her arm- the only element of tonight I hadn’t overseen- not really my area as I know nobody and Bonnie knows literally everyone. She waltzed away from me to hand it over to whatever staff needed it, and I snagged a glass of champagne off a nearby tray.

Nervous doesn’t begin to explain how I was feeling. Nauseated is closer. Despite her constant assurances (“It’s like you were born to organize soirées, darling girl,”), I was afraid I was going to let Bonnie down somehow. Every detail had been checked three times or more. I’d worked my ass off. But I’d been distracted, try as I might not to think about Sebastian. He lived in my head, rarely giving me a break; like he had taken root there and parts of him grew through every pore of me, he was never off my mind for long.

I finished my champagne and started another as the first guests started to arrive. Bonnie invited me to greet them with her, but I waved her off and retreated to a corner to watch. I admire the ease with which she can converse with anybody and make them feel instantly welcome. There’s a lot about Bonnie I admire, actually, but as I watched her speak in turn to everyone who came through the door, I started noticing that even those who looked bored as they entered (I imagine yet another Bonnie McBride charity event was the last thing some of them wanted to do) came away from their chat with her smiling and eager to explore the room.

I was proud of myself too, and that started bubbling to the surface, drowning my anxieties. I’d had some great ideas. From tiny fairy lights in subtle places, to the silks and their masters overhead, to the music, the mood was perfect. I drifted from table to table, making sure all was as it should be. I weaved my way around guests and wait-staff until Bonnie grabbed me by the elbow.

“This is my girl. This is Winnie. And all this,” she said, gesturing around us, “is hers.”

An older gentleman I recognized from somewhere, but couldn’t quite place, took my hand and squeezed it. “It’s wonderful. I told Bonnie she’d outdone herself and she wouldn’t take an ounce of credit.”

“Winnie, this is Phil. You met, however briefly, at the last event you attended as my guest.”

It clicked. “Oh, right. Yes,” I responded, feeling my stomach drop. He’d been with Bonnie on the dancefloor the night I realized I loved Sebastian. “You’re a wonderful dancer, as I recall.”

I excused myself, suddenly needing to find a glass of water. I scolded myself. Of course there were going to be reminders of him here. I needed to pull myself together and keep myself focused on making sure things ran smoothly and to plan. There was no time for emotional Winnie to come out to play. I found my way to the kitchen, got a glass of water, took a few steadying breaths, and went back out to the large room where I calmed myself enough to make small talk with a few strangers and try to enjoy myself.

Sunnyside (a Sebastian Stan story)Donde viven las historias. Descúbrelo ahora