The Bequest
Chapter 55—Amanda

I always knew Abby was dumb, but I had no idea what a monumental idiot she truly was. If I had someone like Robert on the hook, I would never let him go. He does exactly as he promises he will, staying by my side, attentive to me from the moment we walk through the door. He's intelligent and witty-many people mistakenly think these are the same thing, but they're really quite different. He's polite and thoughtful. And he's so beautiful that he actually gives Eddy a run for his money.

Where Eddy is all light brown and blonde and grassy green eyes, Robert has more olive skin, golden-brown eyes, and black hair. Where Eddy is longish hair that falls in his face, Robert is perfectly groomed short hair with just a hint of dark stubble. In all honesty, if someone had told me that another such perfect-looking guy existed in real life, in our age bracket, I'd have laughed in their face. If anyone has the power to make me forget Eddy, it's Robert. But his eyes never stop following her.

As if it wasn't already obvious from the way his body angles toward her, the way he talks about nothing else this man is so far gone, it's almost obnoxious. It serves as a reminder that I really am entirely and utterly pathetic. I need my sister- in-law's cast-offs that flew in from another state to be my date.

I am such a loser.

After about fifteen minutes-with no Eddy in sight-I'm ready to throw in the towel and go home. If there was any way Maren and Emery could fit in the car with Abigail, I'd be begging off right now. Sometimes having kids is a real drag. Robert's still talking, and this time he's telling a story about how Abigail had the idea to start working song lyrics and later animals, into their various legal briefs when they were associates. Once, in a crowning achievement, she managed to use the word 'platypus' and the phrase 'The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow' in the same legal brief, and it actually improved the argument.

"That might sound silly to you, but among lawyers, this kind of thing, talent meeting whimsy, it's rare. Even in a very boring, very stodgy profession, she brings extra light to every room just by being there," he says with a sigh.

I'm about three inches away from slapping him across the face with my Burberry purse when Eddy walks through the front door. When he sees me, he stops dead, his eyes suitably wide and full of longing. A heartbeat later, he scans to see to whom I'm speaking and catches sight of Robert for the first time.

That phrase, 'a picture's worth a thousand words'? I thought I knew what it meant. After all, it's kind of my job. I take photos that are compelling enough to convince people to purchase products they didn't know they needed. I make sure that I come across as thrifty while also posh. I show my daughters' grace and beauty, while also exposing their underlying vulnerability so that people feel compelled to help me and also want to be like me. That's what makes my brand work. But I never really got it.

When Abigail gave me my pep talk, I heard the words she was saying. How could I not? But deep down, I didn't believe any of it. There's never been a time in my life I couldn't hear my mother saying, "Why can't you sit up straighter? Smile more elegantly. This posture will never get you number one!"

At every single pageant Mom dragged me to, she'd repeat the same thing, over and over, like a crazed mantra. "Shoulders back, head slightly tilted, lips pursed. That's how to win first place, nice and easy. That's where the money is." That's where the money is.

Except I never did quite measure up. I was lucky to take second place, most of the time. Or worse, I'd win "Miss Personality." I'd shove those plaques so far under my bed that Mom would never replace them again. They were worse than taking last place ever could have been.

So Abby's words, while kind, had years and years of stronger, more calculated words to fight with and lose.

But Eddy's face?

In nearly fifteen years of marriage to Paul, he never once looked at me like Eddy is looking at me now.

In more than three years of dating the most eligible men in New York City, not one of them has reacted in an even somewhat similar way.

Eddy's nostrils flare, his jaw locks, and his eyes, oh, his eyes. They're shocked, and then hurt, and then enraged. If he were a bull in Spain, he'd be charging Robert. If he were a dog in an alley, he'd be lunging at him, snarling, feral. But he's not either of those things. He's an educated, civilized man, and his brain reminds him that it's unacceptable to behave in such a way at a community event. And then his date walks through the door after him and takes his arm. I wonder what my face looks like.

Robert says, "Amanda? What's" He spins around and notices the tall, beautiful couple by the door. "Oh, got it. Game time." No matter what he does, no matter how things go with Abigail, I will be eternally grateful to him. In that moment, he leans closer to me, shifts his arm to the outside of mine, his fingers brushing my forearm, and he whispers in my ear, "Don't worry. He may have been able to replace someone else to bring, but she's a dime a dozen. You're a rare beauty, and you're an impressive career woman, too. He's wishing he had never come."

"I don't want him to hate me," I say, softly.

Robert chuckles. "Oh, it's not you he hates. It's me he'd like to rip limb from limb. It's me he's boiling to punch." He arches one eyebrow. "Does this job come with hazard pay? If he does boil over?"

"Pretend you need to go to the bathroom," I say.

He tilts his head until our eyes meet. "Excuse me?"

"I want to see what he'll do if you leave for a moment. Go to the bathroom?"

"Where is it?"

"I think it's just outside," I say. "Look, there." I point toward the back door.

"Alright, but I'm not going to be gone long. Tonight's all about making him jealous. It's not about seeming available."

I nod.

The second Robert's gone, the moment his broad shoulders walk through the door, Eddy moves my way-after ditching his date. My mouth goes dry. My hands begin to sweat. Why does that happen? Does my body hate me? It wants me to sound like a raspy grim reaper and to have the hands of a teenage boy? Ugh.

"Amanda."

I had forgotten how deep his voice is and what a beautiful timbre it has. Even knowing how pathetic it makes me, my entire body curls toward him, like a desperate flower toward the sunlight. "Eddy." My only hope is that he can't see the longing in my eyes.

"Who's the guy?"

I should've known he wouldn't tiptoe around it. "He's a lawyer from Houston."

His eyes widen. "He works with Abby?"

How did he figure it out so fast? "He came out to see "

"At least he's smart," Eddy spits out. "It took him five minutes to attach himself to you, I see." Wait. He is jealous? Even knowing that Robert came for Abby? "I bet he can't stay very long, though. What's he here for? Some kind of trial prep thing?"

"Uh. Sure. But their firm has an office in New York City." Where did that come from? I'm not even sure whether it's true.

But Eddy's hand clenches at his side. "How perfect for you." His words are entirely at odds with his tone and his body language.

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"Eddy?" I realize where I've seen her before. She's the woman who won the barrels competition today. That must be why her eyes look just a little crazy-like a female version of the leader of a biker gang. "Didn't you say you were going to sing? Everyone's asking."

"Later," he says, not even turning to face her.

"We were so late getting here, that it's already later." I hate the past that phrase indicates. They were late. It makes me desperate to know why they were late. "You're like a nagging wife," Eddy says.

She laughs, totally unconcerned that she might be too loud or too much... anything. I want to laugh like that, completely secure in my own skin. "Sing now, Edward Dutton, or forever be remembered as the former pop star who reneged on his promise." Eddy grits his teeth.

Clearly everyone here knows about his past, which makes me feel significantly less special. He came and picked me up and made a big production of telling me the very thing that everyone else already knows. Then again, why wouldn't they? They've probably known him his entire life. Some of them lived through it-probably not this lady who is clearly at least ten years younger than I am, but some of them. The same sense that came over me when we arrived, that I don't belong here and never will, washes over me again.

"Fine," he says.

The girl beams and spins around, presumably to tell whoever was bugging them that he'll do it.

"But only on one condition," he whispers, so quietly he must be talking to me. No one else can hear him.

I glance around anyway, just to make sure. I'm the idiot who's always waving back to people when they were waving to the person behind me. Or I'll say 'you're welcome' to someone who was saying thank you to someone on the phone. But no one else is close-he must be talking to me, right?