Page 76 of The Boyfriend List
I arch an eyebrow. “You don’t seem fine.”
I rest my cheek against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. It’s anything but steady tonight, sounding more and more erratic as the slow song continues. There are only a handful of other couples on the dance floor, since the room is still well-lit by the chandeliers overhead and wall sconces. Most people prefer to let loose once the lights have dimmed and they’ve had enough alcohol to loosen their inhibitions. But not London. Not today.
Sliding my arms around him, I rest one hand on his shoulder and the other at his hip. His breathing is just as ragged as his heartbeat, though he’s taking deeper breaths, like he’s trying to calm himself down.
“You smell nice,” he says softly. “No. Not just nice. Lovely. Exquisite.”
His voice is so low, I could almost think he’s talking to himself. “You sure you’re not drunk yet?”
“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. I tilt my head back to look at him, a quizzical expression forming on my face. “I—I lied. I’m not fine. My family is—they can be—”
“Tiring?” I prompt, trying to finish hissentence. “Annoying?”
“Dramatic,” he says.
Dramaticdoesn’t necessarily meanbad. It could mean they like to make a big deal over nothing. But somehow, I don’t think that’s what he means. Surely if his family were dramatic, there would have been over-the-top sobbing at the wedding ceremony, or a choreographed procession when they came back into the ballroom. Or something—something other than what looked like the quiet argument I saw between his parents.
I’m about to ask him about it, but he continues. "I love them. They’re just… a lot.”
“Well, most people don’t have four siblings,” I try to joke.
But I think he doesn’t mean they’re crazy or loud or like to get drunk in public. He means the weight burdening his shoulders, the cloud darkening his gaze whenever he glances in their direction. He means that his family is a lot because they expect him to carry the burden of holding them together.
“Yeah.” London gets that faraway look in his eyes again, and I’d do anything to drag him back to the present moment, to remind him that we’re here together.
“London,” I start, before I stop. What is there to say? I can’t save his family any more than he can, and I see the cracks in his foundation slipping. He can’t keep this up any longer than he has already. Can’t keep being the glue that forces them all together. Sooner or later, he’ll break.
“Let’s find our seats. Don’t worry, I asked Sav to seat us at a different table than the rest of my family.”
“You’re ashamed to be seen with me?” I ask. It’s half a joke, but I still remember the words his mom said to me all those years ago.
London grips my hand, almost so tightly that it hurts. “No. Never. Ria, you’re the brightest star in my life, and I could never be embarrassed to be seen with you. If anything, I’m embarrassedyouhave to see my family.”
“I was only teasing.” I reach a hand up to cup his cheek. “Come on. I think they’ll be serving dinner soon.”
We take our seats next to a bunch of Savannah and Micah’s friends, who all know each other and talk amongst themselves, leaving me and London in our own little bubble. If only it wasn’t a bubble that pops every time he hears one of his parents’ voices. I swear he has to hold himself back whenever his mom rolls her eyes at the table next to ours or his dad makes a disparaging comment.
The dinner is a cornucopia of opulent Chinese dishes: jellyfish with duck feet, abalone, fish maw soup, Peking duck, and lobster on a bed of fried noodles. By the end, I can only take a nibble of each before passing my serving to London.
When we finish eating, his parents get up and give speeches about how Savannah survived being the only girl amongst four brothers and how Micah is her perfect match. Then there’s the endless toasts by the maid of honour, the best man, and any other friends or family who want to say a few words.
I feign a yawn, shifting in my uncomfortable chair. The real reason I’m pretending to be tired is that London looks exhausted. Not just physically but emotionally. The dark circles under his eyes and the way he fiddles with his cufflinks while holding back his own yawns make my heart hurt. I wish we could lie down on a comfy couch and watch old movies until our problems disappear.
When the last toast has been made and we’ve had too much champagne, or in my case, sparkling apple cider, I nudge London. “Do you think anyone would notice if we snuck out of here?”
He gives me a smile that’s a ghost of his usual vibrant one. “I hope not.”
We slink out of our seats as the lights dim and the gentle strains of the couple’s first dance song starts playing. Savannah and Micah walk onto thedance floor holding hands, her ballgown swishing around her in a perfect circle.
While Ed Sheeran plays over the speakers, London watches them for a brief moment. I wish I knew what he was thinking, but I’m not so sure I want to. What if he’s thinking about how he doesn’t want to be in a relationship because of all that his family has put him through?
London and I discreetly make our way towards the exit, slipping into the hallway. But we must have gone through the wrong door, because far from being the hotel lobby where we first entered, a service elevator greets us. Next to it is a room with the door cracked open and people’s voices filtering through.
Just as we’re about to turn around and leave, the voices rise. Not just to a normal volume—but louder. They’re still wearing their microphones. But this conversation definitely isn’t meant to be publicly broadcasted throughout the ballroom’s speakers.
“You couldn’t even be bothered to dance with your daughter on her wedding day?” A woman’s tear-soaked voice, shaking with fury and indignation, reaches our ears. It’s London’s mom. “Or with me?”
London goes still next to me. Frozen.
