Chapter 6 Heroes and Awkward Silences

Adelaide

"Addy Bettencourt?"

I whirl around and see Jacques Beaumont standing behind me. He's a French-American prick I had the displeasure of meeting right after high school. I was with the friends I made in summer camp—Anice and Veronica, the same ones I'd soon be meeting—when he approached me. They knew him because they'd been in the same boarding school all their lives, but they didn't warn me of just how obnoxious he was as a person. 

Long story short, I made the mistake of giving him my number so we'd stay in touch after I left Paris, and he sent me multiple dick pics among other things. In my defense, he seemed like a really nice guy. We had such intelligent conversations at the time and he was really into literature—I was, too. We used to chat all the time, but then he sent me those awful pictures and I had a hard, hard time getting rid of him. 

"It is you," he claims, stepping forward. He looks just about the same, except his hair isn't shoulder-length and greasy anymore, and he's sporting a mustache. Jacques isn't that much taller than me. In heels, we're about the same height. "I never thought I'd see you again. How have you been?"

"Okay."

He smiles and stretches out his arms. "Come on, Addy. Don't tell me you're still mad at me about that little row we had?"

My mouth drops open. "It wasn't a row, Jacques. You sent me inappropriate pictures and when I told you I wasn't interested in you like that, you proceeded to send me screenshots of pornos to show me what you 'wanted to do to me'."

He doesn't look embarrassed at all. "I was just shooting my shot with the prettiest girl I'd ever set my eyes on. Can you blame me? I've always worn my heart on my sleeve."

I start walking away from him and he follows. "Addy, wait."

He puts a hand on my shoulder and I whirl around sharply. "Don't touch me, Jacques!"

"I heard you were married," he claims, inching closer to me and blatantly staring at my lips. "That's funny."

What is with this guy? Why does he take pleasure in being such a creep? "Yeah? And why is that?"

"You don't have a ring on your finger," he murmurs. I can smell vodka on his breath. "In my world, when a married woman doesn't wear a ring to a place like The Poison Kiss, it means she's looking to have some fun. It sends a message, loud and clear. Where's your ring, Addy?"

"I'm not trying to send any messages to anyone, Jacques," I answer in an equally low voice. "You haven't seen me in years. What makes you think you have the right to walk up to me and make me such a lewd offer?"

"I'm just trying to..."

He trails off when someone approaches me from behind, and I can tell it's Everett because of his cologne. 

"Beaumont," he begins in that cold, gravelly voice, "is there a problem?"

Jacques looks taken aback by the question. I can tell he's intimidated right away. "Not really, no. Addy and I have history. We go way back."

"We do not go way back, Jacques," I cut in. 

"Sure we do," he states, not taking his eyes off Everett's face. "Are the two of you here together or something?"

Everett steps toward him. We're standing side by side now. "Why don't you order yourself a drink and have fun elsewhere, Beaumont? It's on the house."

We turn away at the same time, but Jacques is clearly not done with either of us. This reminds me of the time when I tried getting rid of him. I'd block him and he'd just text me with another number. Eventually, I had to change my number. "I don't understand what you're so pressed about. We're just talking."

"But you're not," Everett claims, turning back around. I steal a quick glance at his face and see that his thick, dark brows are stitched together. "She's been trying to walk away but you keep following her. You know the rules, Beaumont, better than anyone."

Jacques looks at me and my stomach churns. "You've been watching us, have you? So, you are here together?"

"What's it to you?" I question. "Why can't you get a hint for once?"

Jacques brings his hands up and backs away. The smile on his lips is tight, though, and he doesn't look happy. He just knew this wasn't a fight he was gonna win. 

Everett and I exchange a look, and it occurs to me to thank him for helping me out even though I didn't really need his help, but we're approached by a man in his early thirties with shaggy dirty blonde hair. He has a stunning woman with long black hair on his arm. "Everett, I wasn't expecting to see you tonight! You've met Lian."

"How are you?"

"Great, thanks," Lian answers with a dimpled smile. 

His gaze slides to me, and for a moment, he seems to falter and I have no idea why. I've never seen this man before. 

A semi-awkward silence falls upon us, and then Everett gestures at me with a hand before shoving it in his pocket.  "This is Adelaide Upston."

"Ah," the blonde man says before extending a hand for me to shake. "I'm Reynold Brookes. This is Lian, my girlfriend."

Lian and I exchange smiles. 

From there, all four of us move to one of the high tables at the far end of the club. Lian and I stand next to each other, and she gives me another inquisitive look before smiling. "Wow. You're gorgeous."

The compliment catches me off guard. "Thank you. You're stunning yourself."

"Everett has really good taste," she adds, winking at me. I part my lips to tell her she has it all wrong, but she says, "But I have to warn you—he's a bit of a player. From one girl to another. Unless you're only looking to have fun?"

"No," I claim, blushing. "I'm not here with Everett."

She looks confused. Rightfully so. 

"I mean we're not together," I explain while absentmindedly rubbing the bare spot on my ring finger. I don't want to tell her that I'm married, because technically, I'm not anymore, so I leave it at that. 

"But you could be," she smiles before bumping her shoulder against mine. "You're just his type. Dark hair. Hazel eyes."

I smile and choose to say nothing else. Everett and Reynold are standing on the other side of the table, and when I glance at him, I find him staring at me in that disconcerting way of his. I keep my eyes glued on the table, then ask Lian how long she's been with Reynold. 

Some drinks are brought to our table and I have a glass of white wine. Lian is a hell of a conversationalist, so much that I don't have to say anything. She has three shots of vodka in rapid succession, then turns to me with an excited look on her face. Grabbing my hand, she suggests, "Let's dance!"

I don't even have a chance to say no before I'm dragged to the dance floor. I've always said that I wasn't much of a dancer and that's the truth, but I end up having a lot of fun, and Lian and I even exchange numbers. 

I thought this night would end up being a hell of a disaster, but it actually turned out to be pretty great. Back home, all I ever did was stay home and wait for Rick's arrival like the perfect little wife. I haven't felt this liberated in a long time, and I start changing my mind about this incredibly long day. 

That is, until we get home.