But I wasn’t fine. And I wasn’t going to make it through the rest of the night unless I talked to Logan. I splashed cold water on my wrists, dabbed beneath my eyes, and straightened my dress.
The hallway outside the ballroom was quieter. Soft carpet, dark wood panelling, low lamps. I caught sight of Logan’s silhouette exiting the washroom and intercepted him.
“Hey, what?—?”
Laughter sounded down the hall, and a group rounded the corner. I didn’t want to look like we were hiding or having an intense conversation, so I did the only thing my panicking brain could think of.
I pressed into him, pushing Logan back against the wall and sliding a hand up his chest.
His hands flew to my waist on instinct. “Whoa—okay.”
“Shh,” I hissed. “I need to talk to you.”
His fingers tightened, his confusion melting into performance. He angled his body, dipped his head close to mine, breath warm against my ear. To anyone watching, we looked like two people who couldn’t wait to get a hotel room.
Absolutely necessary?
His thumb brushed my hip through the fabric of my dress, and my pulse bucked.
“What’s going on?” he murmured.
“I’m going to tell you something. I was hoping to wait until later, but I don’t think I can.”
His throat caught. “Okay.”
I swallowed hard, fingers curling against his lapel. “And if you’re already aware, then . . . I don’t know. You better have a good explanation.”
His breathing quickened. “Not loving that, but got it.”
“I saw something,” I whispered. “At the gallery. With your mom and Norman.”
His hand froze. His body went rigid.
I kept my face turned slightly toward his neck, my lips millimetres from his skin.
“They were kissing, Logan.”
No breath. No sound. No movement. After ten seconds, I worried his heart had handed in its two weeks’ notice.
“You’re sure?” His voice was clipped.
“Positive. I didn’t mean to spy,” I explained in a rush. “The door was cracked. I was returning to the office to grab a file. And . . . did you know?”
It was like someone flipped a switch. “No.” His hands slid off my waist. I stepped back, searching his face. His eyes were blank, like a shutter had been slammed down. “Thanks for telling me.”
“Logan—”
“We should go back in.”
I reached for his arm, but he moved away from me.
“No,” he said. Not sharp. Not angry. Just final. “Later.” And then he turned and strode back into the ballroom.
I took a moment, feeling somehow worse than when I’d entered the washroom. By the time I arrived at the table, Logan had already reclaimed his seat. His hands were folded, his face pleasant.
Norman lifted his champagne glass. “I’m glad you’re back. I wanted to make sure you were here for this announcement.”
I didn’t think I could take much more excitement for one night.
