It Had to Be You by Georgia Clark (e reader for manga .txt) 📗

No one moved. All fidgeting and whispers and wine guzzling had ceased. The room was utterly, eerily silent.

“I was scared, I guess. Of something that I didn’t know anything about. Something that seemed very… strange to me.”

Liv tensed. Pull it back, old man.

“But I’d like to get to know you, Vanessa. I’d like to meet you. The real you. If it’s… if it’s not too late.” The general’s eyes watered. His voice thickened, on the verge of breaking. “Because I’ll always be your father. Your daddy.” And now his voice did crack. “You look so beautiful, sweetheart. I wish you and Lenny nothing but the best.” The general offered a shaking hand. “Would you do me the great honor of joining me for the father-daughter dance?”

Vanessa let out a sob, and rose to her feet.

Liv’s eyes welled. It’d been so long since she’d borne witness to this. A moment in which this cruel and terrible world seemed almost good. Almost wonderful. Across the room, Sam was standing at the entrance to the kitchen, wiping away a tear. Liv caught his eye and held his gaze. For a long moment, they were the only two people in the room.

A tiny latch, no bigger than a thimble, sprung open inside Liv’s chest.

Vanessa crossed the floor to her father. Zach put on “You’ve Got A Friend” by James Taylor. The sweet and simple melody filled the hall—“Winter, spring, summer or fall, all you have to do is call…”—and General Tucker Adam Fitzpatrick danced with his only daughter, the two of them holding each other with a careful, new tenderness.

49

It was well after midnight before Darlene and Zach were able to load out their gear. Ordinarily, Darlene wouldn’t need to wait for the end of a wedding before leaving, but she made a lame excuse, and Zach didn’t protest.

Having a fake boyfriend was suiting Darlene Mitchell very, very nicely. When she needed help installing some new blinds: Fake Boyfriend. When she wanted someone to go with her to the Cindy Sherman retrospective at the Met, Fake Boyfriend was on hand. When Fake Boyfriend invited her to go see the Yankees—his version of an art gallery—she accepted. Seeing a professional sports game in New York had been on her bucket list for years, and she was surprised by how much she liked it. Or maybe, how much fun seeing it with a fake boyfriend made it. Zach was getting better at being on time for gigs, and he never skipped out on loading out at the end. And it did not go unnoticed that the usual string of frothy blondes he kept in his orbit had either disappeared or were being kept discreetly out of sight. She hoped the former. Of course they hadn’t had the exclusivity conversation, because they weren’t really dating, but deep down Darlene hoped she was the only person Zach was kissing.

For social media, she reminded herself. For the money.

Photographing themselves for Zach’s Instagram—and the rather disturbing likes Zach’s mother gave their couple photos—had actually helped maintain a boundary between them. Kissing Zach made her think about Zach—a lot—so Darlene had decided no more spontaneous smooches; only staged ones. She made their affection feel like acting in an advertisement, and that was good. That made it manageable, even as she could tell Zach wanted to throw her against a wall and, well…

She’d confessed the scheme to her book club, framing it as a clever plan to make a ton of cash but underlining that obviously, Zach wasn’t a serious contender for a boyfriend. They weren’t as judgmental as she’d expected. “Do you” was the general mantra; “And if that means doing him, more power to you, girl.”

Darlene’s boundaries were getting squiggly. The Harvard Club guests had loved her set and Zach had looked so cute and confident behind the decks and, hey, weddings really did put you in the mood for love…

They piled the equipment into the rental car and came back up for one last sweep of the Great Hall. Incredible how a space could be transformed by a flash mob of love and fun and dancing. Darlene drifted onto the empty dance floor, tipping her head to take in the chandeliers. Zach took her hand, twirling her in a circle. She giggled, tired and punch-drunk. “What are you doing?”

He hooked his arm around her waist, taking her right hand in a waltz position. “Dancing.”

She laughed as he spun her around the floor, awkwardly, out of step, two silly rag dolls. Then he tugged her into a dark corner. His hand lingered close to her ass.

“Zach!” She glanced around. “We’re still at work.” But it was only a half-hearted protest.

He pressed her against the wooden wall. “Damn, Dee. You looked sexy tonight.”

The smell of his skin made her mouth water. His arms felt strong beneath the fabric of his shirt. “This isn’t professional.”

“Dee, everyone already thinks we’re together.”

She could feel the urgency in his every cell: to take her, to kiss her. “What, for another photo?”

His voice was low and delicious in her ear. “No. Because I want you, Darlene.”

The words ran over her like a harpist caressing her strings. It was too much: his blue eyes, and beautiful mouth, and the way he was looking at her like she was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen. She wanted this boy. More than anything. Her words came in a breathy pant. “Kiss me.”

Zach Livingstone kissed her like the world had exploded and they were the last two people left on earth. Urgent and desperate but also sweet, also tender. His hands cupped her jaw, warm thumb pads brushing her cheekbones. His kiss was like hearing her favorite song: the hot whoosh of affection; the calm, deep connection; the way it soothed the anxious part of her soul. They were both smiling, and Zach laughed, maybe out of sheer joy or surprise. Darlene pulled him back to her, her