“You okay?” I asked.
He smiled. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Always. You’re the one wobbling.”
“I’m not wobbling.”
“You are,” he said. “And for what it’s worth—he’d be a damn fool not to want you.”
My breath caught. Just for a second. Just enough to feel the tremor I’d tried so hard to bury.
“Really?” I said, trying to keep my voice light, but it wobbled anyway. “I’m not exactly everyone’s cup of tea.”
Monte’s gaze didn’t waver. “No. You’re not. You’re champagne at midnight. You’re neat whiskey in a room full of sweet tea. Some men can’t handle that.”
I let out a brittle laugh. “And some don’t want to try.”
“They’re not worth the burn,” he said quietly. “But the ones who do?” His voice softened, dropped into something intimate. “They won’t just want you. They’ll crave you.”
I looked down, fingers tightening on my clutch. “I’m not built for easy. Or soft.”
“No,” he said. “You’re built for something stronger. Something real. And anyone who’s not man enough to meet you where you are? Doesn’t get to touch you.”
The words landed heavy. And warm. And dangerous.
Because they made me feel seen.
I looked back toward Silas.
The other woman was gone. Just a blur of peach floral and big hair disappearing into the crowd.
He was alone now, but he wasn’t looking at me.
Maybe that was the hardest part.
Because no matter how fierce I pretended to be, no matter how many veils I knew how to lift and ceremonies I knew how to orchestrate—I didn’t know what to do with a man who saw through me.
And still hadn’t come back.
14
SILAS
Ileaned against a jasmine-twined trellis at Verandelle, the brunch humming around me, all soft jazz and clinking mimosas. My eyes weren’t on the crab cakes or the floral arches—they were on Portia.
She moved through the courtyard like she owned it, her floral dress swaying, modest but still a fucking tease, hugging her hips just enough to remind me of that guest suite, her body bare under silk, her moans in my ear.
My cock ached at the memory, and I cursed under my breath, shifting my weight to hide it.
Monte was never far from her, his suit crisp, his eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk. Naval Academy grad, I’d dug up. Annapolis polish, stick up his ass, too good for the enlisted grunts like me.
At least that’s the vibe he gave off, all starched collars and calculated moves. I didn’t trust him, didn’t like him.
I tracked their every interaction, my jaw tight, my rocks glass untouched in my hand.
Monte leaned in to murmur something to her, his hand brushing her elbow, and my blood boiled. She nodded, her face professional, but I saw the way he lingered, the way his eyes softened when she smiled.
Family, he’d called her.
Bullshit. No man looked at Portia Lane without wanting to fuck her. I’d felt it in that shop, her legs around me, her heat pulling me under.
