When I Spilled Champagne, He Called My Name

For the first time in three years, I was this close to him. My head remained bowed, knuckles white around the handle of the cleaning cart. A dull, aching pain settled deep in my chest, sharpening with every heartbeat. 'This extravagant birthday party... it must be all for her. Uncle Evander Thorne has clearly gone all out.' At the center of it all, next to the towering cake, Evander was laughing. Gently, with a tenderness I remembered from another life, he placed a glittering tiara onto the head of a girl dressed in a princess gown. The crowd around them buzzed with cheerful conversation, their laughter a bright, discordant soundtrack to the tightness in my throat. The scene burned behind my eyes, a sharp, painful blur. A low hum filled my ears. Steadying myself against the cart, I drew a shaky breath. "Hey! Cleaner! Stop daydreaming and get this champagne over to the main table, now!" The supervisor's sharp voice cut through the haze, his finger jabbing in my direction. Wordlessly, I nodded. Lifting the heavy tray, I began to weave through the glittering crowd. Crystal flutes chimed softly, their golden liquid swirling with every careful step. Closer. And closer still. My heart hammered against my ribs. The ache in my right leg, a constant companion all evening, suddenly flared into a white-hot protest. My knee buckled, useless. The world tilted. The tray flew from my hands. A shower of champagne arced through the air, landing with perfect, devastating accuracy all over Evander. The expensive suit darkened immediately, rivulets of liquor tracing paths down his stunned face. Silence. Thick and absolute, swallowing the music and laughter. Every eye in the ballroom turned toward the disaster. I froze, mind utterly blank. Then, my gaze lifted and crashed into his. His expression was one of pure, unadulterated shock. "Sylvia Thorne?" His voice was a strained whisper. Then, stronger, laced with disbelief and something else—panic? "Sylvia, what are you doing here?" He moved before I could react, his hand closing around my wrist. His grip was firm, trembling slightly. "Is it really you?" I said nothing. My eyes traced the redness blooming around his eyes before drifting past him, pulled toward the massive screen dominating the wall behind. It glowed with birthday wishes and a slideshow of photos. There they were. Evander, his smile reaching his eyes in a way I hadn't seen in years, his arm wrapped protectively around the petite girl. They stood before a storybook castle at what looked like a theme park, leaning into each other. A perfect picture. A world with no space for anyone else. "Sylvia, talk to me." His voice grew urgent, pleading. "Is this about what happened back then? You're still angry, aren't you? I can explain everything, I swear. The situation was—" "Mr. Thorne." I cut him off, the title feeling like ground glass in my throat. My own voice sounded disturbingly calm, detached. "I apologize for damaging your clothes. The cleaning bill can be deducted from my wages. If that's all, I have work to do." I tried to pull my arm back, the movement awkward as I fought to conceal the limp I'd been hiding for years. Evander took a step, blocking my path. "Sylvia, don't. Please, don't be like this. I know you're upset. Just... wait for me here, okay? Let me get through this, and then we can talk. Just don't—" "Evander!" A clear, sweet voice pierced the tense bubble around us. He stiffened, his words dying on his lips. "Come on! You promised to cut the cake with me!" Amelia Thorne called out, a playful pout in her tone. His friends swarmed in then, laughing, slapping him on the back, pulling him away from me. "Yeah, man, later! Don't keep the birthday girl waiting!" I was pushed to the fringe, invisible again. Evander glanced back at me, his mouth forming silent words lost in the noise, before allowing himself to be swept toward the center of the room, toward the light, toward her. The pain in my leg was a living thing now, a vicious vine twisting up from the old injury, coiling around my lungs, squeezing my heart until it hurt to breathe. 'This is pointless.' Turning on my heel, I headed for the nearest service exit. I slipped down the stairs, through the chaotic, steamy back kitchens, and finally pushed open a heavy door into the cold embrace of the alley behind the hotel. The wind bit through my thin uniform, making me shudder. Under the dim, flickering light at the alley's mouth, Miranda Wesley was perched on her little stool, eating her dinner from a plastic container. The kind, mute woman who worked in the laundry. She saw me, immediately set her food aside, and dug into her apron pocket. Pulling out a crinkled paper bag, she pressed it into my hands. Inside was a warm sandwich. A sob hitched in my throat. Hot tears spilled over, splashing onto the paper bag. "Miranda..." Her wrinkled face creased with worry. Her hands moved in a silent, graceful question, as if she was asking, "What's wrong?" I just shook my head, leaning back against the rough brick wall. As I took a bite of the sandwich, the familiar, comforting flavors mixed with the salt of my tears, creating a taste that was uniquely, miserably mine. "I had a family once, you know," I said softly, my gaze fixed on the distant, brilliant lights of the hotel. The words were for her, and for the ghost of the girl I used to be. "Someone always saved the best bites for me. Stood up for me whenever the other kids got mean. He promised we'd always be the most important people in each other's world. That we'd never be apart." The wind whipped through the alley, stealing the last vestiges of warmth from my skin. Miranda listened, her silence a profound comfort. She reached over and patted my back, her touch feather-light. "But then, he chose someone else. He... let me go," I whispered, closing my eyes as more tears escaped.