Breakaway

For as long as I can remember, the Magnussons have been known for their lavish parties.

Thanks to an inherited fortune, they have more money than can ever be spent, and they spare no expense on food and decor and entertainment. Mrs. Magnusson is a kind, outgoing woman who loves to play hostess, so they throw a big party at least once a month.

I attend every one of them and have since I was a kid. The Magnusson twins are three years older than me, but we went to the same school and our parents are friends. My mom and dad aren’t hurting for money, but they don’t have anywhere close to the fortune the Magnussons possess. They run in the same social circle in Green Valley, North Carolina, however, and so I’ve always been included in that crowd too.

I’m Lily Carmichael. Twenty-six years old. Only child of brilliant parents. Good at music and word games and daydreaming and being invisible.

Tonight I’m attending the Magnussons’ cocktail party. It’s a fairly low-key get-together for them, offering drinks and hors d’oeuvres and a lot of small talk to the accompaniment of a string quartet. I’ve been here since eight, and I’m getting kind of restless.

I want something to happen, and nothing ever does.

At the moment, I’m standing in the corner of a vast living room with six of my friends. People I’ve known since kindergarten. Green Valley is a small town with an unnaturally high percentage of wealthy people since it was built up around a country club and marina on a large lake. Tonight a group has gathered around Elias Magnusson as it usually does. He’s one of the twins. He’s got brown hair and blue eyes and perfectly chiseled features—strong nose and chin and high cheekbones. He’s wearing a business suit that he’s probably been wearing all day.

Around him are two or three members of his entourage. That’s what Leo calls his brother’s sundry female admirers. I guess I’m probably one of them, although I never think about myself that way.

I don’t follow Elias around in hapless adoration.

But I’ve been in love with him for ten years.

He’s responding to something Carter Wilson just said. Carter is a few years older than my group of friends, so I don’t know him as well as the others. But like the Magnussons, he’s been a fixture in Green Valley life since I was born. He is almost as handsome as Elias—warm and kind and happily married now. I’ve always really liked him, but I don’t know his wife very well since she didn’t grow up in Green Valley with the rest of us.

Her name is Ruth, and she must see me look at her. She gives me a wide, genuine smile. I return it since I recognize sincerity when I see it.

I’m still smiling when I turn back to Elias, and for just a moment his eyes land on me. He blinks as if taken by surprise. The corners of his mouth turn up just slightly, which is a dramatic change to his typically cool, stoic expression.

My heart jumps and then begins to gallop. A pressure of excitement rises into my throat. My smile turns a bit trembly, and I don’t look away from his eyes.

Maybe, maybe he’s really seen me again. At last.

But he turns back to Carter and asks a question.

I wait, almost holding my breath. My heart hammers so hard I’m afraid the others might be able to hear it. But Elias doesn’t turn back to me.

He’s always been deeply focused, pouring himself into whatever is currently holding his interest, and those interests have never been me. Not since I was eighteen years old and he gave me a single lily.

It was just after my final recital with my piano teacher—the one who’d taught me since I was five years old. It was a big, formal, high-pressure event and the pinnacle of all the intense music training I’d had up to that point. I was nervous and uptight preparing for it, and I happened to run into Elias the day before since he and his brother were back in town from college for their summer break. He asked me what I was up to, and I told him about the recital. For the first time, he seemed to really be listening to me. Seeing me. He said something casual about being showered with red roses afterward, and braver than normal, I told him that would be nice but I’d always dreamed about getting a lily instead. A single perfect calla lily to match my name. I’ve never been a person who opens up easily, but that afternoon I told Elias that the simple gesture would mean more to me than fountains of roses since it would mean someone really knew and understood me.

The following evening, after I went backstage after performing at the recital, there was a single perfect white lily lying on my black jacket.

There wasn’t any note, but I knew it was from Elias. I’d never told another soul about dreaming of that particular gesture.

I’d always had a girlish crush on Elias, but that moment turned it into a love I’ve never been able to shake despite never getting any further encouragement from him. He’s never spoken of it, and neither have I. And most of the time he barely notices I exist, so I have to assume the lily was a random, kind gesture on his part and not an expression of interest.

Even so, I keep waiting. Wondering if he’ll ever really see me again.