11.20.2018

Irene especially requested us to arrive earlier than everyone else. About eight hours too early. This is the first time she decided to invite everyone important she knew for a Thanksgiving dinner. She hopes she would turn this into an annual tradition and wants Aunt Sasha's help to make it so. In another lifetime, Aunt Sasha had worked for an event planner. That was until she met rich Uncle Blake and tied the knot.

The car stops in front of the entrance and Oliver is already at the door.

"I hate this party but I'm so glad you're here," he wraps me in a bearhug. "I haven't seen you in ages," he mumbles into my hair.

"I missed you too, Oliver," I laugh.

The last time we met was on New Year's Eve. Both of us had finally been in New York at the same time. Between my college, and Oliver's trip across Europe, our schedules rarely aligned. But now he had gotten an internship with a well-known wild-life photographer in New York so we could at least meet on the holidays.

"I wish Mom would let me ditch. Nick does it all the time. Like right now, he's already gone," Oliver grumbles as we head inside.

Irene pulls Aunt Sasha towards the family room as soon as we enter.

"Think Met Gala, but without the costumes," Irene babbles on waving her arms around the foyer. "I just want it to be as glamorous as it can be."

"Do you hear her? I have to wear a tux. Can you believe it, Mel? A tux," Oliver rambles on as Irene and Aunt Sasha get out of earshot.

"He's really not attending?" I ask, surprised.

"Who?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Nick," I roll my eyes, heading upstairs.

"I mean, maybe he shows up for the dinner. But who knows with him," he shrugs.

"Come on, I want to show you something," he squeals excitedly before dragging me inside.

Inside his room, he turns on his PC and shows me the photographs he took in Europe. Pictures of landscapes and animals fill up the screen. I watch in bewilderment at the beauty he managed to capture through a single lens.

"And look at this," he grabs a picture the size of an A4 paper and hands it to me.

"This is the one that won first prize at the wildlife photography competition I told you about."

It's a picture of two bright yellow birds sitting on a branch with a backdrop of green leaves. One of the birds is offering the other a small blue pebble.

"It's stunning, Oliver. I love it and I am gonna take this with me," I grin.

Time passes with us catching up with each other. I tell him all about Harvard and Emma and Kevin. He tells me about all the girls he met in Europe.

"There's something about European women, Mel," he smirks.

"Ew, Oliver."

"Come on, we better get dressed before my mother starts yelling," he rolls his eyes.

I head off into one of the many rooms in the Graysons giant mansion. This is the room I usually stay at every time we visit. My things have already been brought up. I grab the plain, navy-blue skater dress laid down on the bed and slip into it. Irene had mentioned to bring something fancy and this was the fanciest piece of clothing I owned. It was a sleeveless dress with a narrow cutout in the back.

Even though Uncle Blake is rich, that didn't mean Harry and I got much money. When I was in high school, I got a little pocket money to buy myself basic necessities like school supplies, clothes, and shoes. Basically, anything I needed, I had to get it with the meager amount of money given to me every week.

And ever since I went off to college, even that had stopped. Uncle Blake did pay my college tuition, not like it was with his own money. Even though it was left behind by my parents, he still made it sound like he was doing me a favor. So, after moving to Harvard, I didn't rely on them for much of anything. I made a few bucks doing some freelance work that required making spreadsheets and such for a firm, and used that money to get by.

I straighten my hair and put on minimal amount of make-up. Pairing the dress with silver heels that I had bought for myself for prom, I finish the look with a dark lip. Harry starts banging on my door as I am just about ready, yelling for me to hurry up.

I rush to the door and give him an irritated look.

"Took forever to get ready and still look ugly," he rolls his eyes, pushing me out of the way and heading to the bathroom.

Before I can retort to his statement, a flash goes off, blinding me for a second.

"Oliver," I groan.

"Don't listen to him. You look beautiful," I catch him staring at me.

"Thanks," I reply, confused. Oliver had never called me beautiful before. Certainly not like this. It made me feel awkward and uncomfortable. But he walks away before noticing anything amiss.

I head out through the hallway and run into Irene.

"Is that what you're wearing," she asks, looking up and down at my outfit. "I said formal. Glamorous," she sounds annoyed.

"I'm sorry, this is all I brought," I feel the blood rush up to my cheeks in embarrassment as I look down, unable to meet her condescending gaze.

"Whatever, just stay out of the spotlight," she walks away, the tail of her shimmery, gold gown dragging behind her.

When I head to the party downstairs, it becomes obvious in a matter of seconds that I am underdressed. Trying to not let it bother me, I stay away from the crowds to avoid running into people dressed in stunning gowns. I focus my attention on the decorations which are almost as tacky as Aunt Sasha. There is gold everywhere. Golden lights, golden champagne glasses, golden tablecloths. And when the dinner is served, all the cutlery is also golden.

We start the five-course meal, with me sitting next to Oliver who seems awfully quiet which is very unlike him. Nick is also here. Sitting opposite us with a girl. Her blonde hair is tied up in a knot and she is wearing an off-shoulder gown of a color as red as blood. She shows off her cleavage and her breasts threaten to spill out every time she reaches forward to grab something from the table.

At one point, a few of the men practically wait for her to lean forward with their eyes glued to her chest. In a few of those instances, even I am one of those men. She knows all those eyes are on her and seems to relish in the attention. All those eyes except for Nick's. He is focused mostly on his food.

His thick, wavy hair has grown and is covering most of his forehead. The navy suit he wore brings out his blue eyes even more. I had had a little bit of a crush on him from the first time I saw him so he always looked good to me. But today, I'm sure he looks good to everyone else too. No wonder his girlfriend is trying so hard to get his attention.

Mr. Grayson's clinking glass pulls me away before Nick can notice me staring at him. Nick barely acknowledges my existence. The earth would have had to swallow me whole to save me from the embarrassment had he caught me staring at him like that.

I focus on my plate as Mr. Grayson gives a small toast. Once he's done, the waiters bring out the dessert which is homemade peach-flavored ice-cream. The next few times my eyes dart over to Nick, I catch him staring at me, making me incredibly aware of myself. I use the napkin to wipe around my lips, concerned that there is something on my face causing him to look at me again and again.

He finally disappears after the meal and I rush to the bathroom to check my face. Luckily, everything is clean and even my lipstick is still intact and in place. I sigh in relief and head back out.

Live music plays in the living room and Irene pulls Simon towards the foyer where they start slow-dancing. The bright gold lights are dimmed and my eyes can finally rest. More people join the dance floor. Oliver joins me as he continues to take photos, not saying a word.

"Hey, why don't you lovebirds go dance," Harry comes from behind and elbows me.

"Ew, Harry. Shut up," I push him away. He grins but walks away.

I feel Oliver stiffen next to me. Bringing his camera down, he finally turns to me.

"Do you want to?" He gestures towards the dance-floor nervously.

I hesitate but then agree. "Sure," I shrug. This was Oliver. My best friend for years. If we could wrestle, we could dance.

But he didn't feel like the Oliver I knew. We had been close before, but tonight when he grabbed my hand, it felt different. His gaze pierced into my soul like it never had before as he brought his hand to my waist and we began swaying to the music.

"You look very pretty," his low voice rumbles through my chest.

"You look very pretty, too," I chuckle trying to ease the tension.

After a few moments of dancing in silence, I try to come up with something to say to ease the weird tension between us but his intensity makes my mind go blank. My body stiffens as his hand slowly moves back towards the cutout in my dress and his fingers brush against my skin. It feels... wrong.

I pull back, as if on instinct. He looks at me, the confusion clear in his eyes.

"I have to go pee," I rumble and dash for the bathroom, unable to meet his gaze.