He keeps coming until he’s close enough that I have to tip my head back to hold his gaze. Close enough that I catch the faint trace of the cologne I used to steal from his bathroom cabinet when we were teenagers, and I thought no one noticed.
“Hi,” he says, voice low, rougher than I remember.
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.
Up close, he’s overwhelming. The width of his shoulders, the heat radiating off him, the way his eyes flick over my face like he’s cataloging every change since October.
“You look good,” he says.
I manage a nod. My fingers tighten around the champagne stem.
He glances at the glass, then back to me. “Can we talk somewhere?”
I shake my head too fast. “Not really the place.”
His jaw flexes. “Tomorrow, then. Dinner. Just us.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Something shutters in his expression. “Savannah—”
“I have to go find Ellie,” I blurt, and then I’m moving, weaving through bodies and fairy lights, clutching my untouched champagne like a lifeline.
I don’t look back.
I can’t.
Because if I do, he’ll see I’m hiding something from him, and I’m not ready for the moment Oliver Adams realizes he left me with a hell of a lot more than a bruised heart.
Chapter two
Oliver
One second she’s standing in front of me, green eyes wide and wary, the next she’s slipping through the crowd like smoke, leaving me holding nothing but the echo of her refusal.
I don’t think that’s a good idea.
Months of replaying every second of that Halloween night, of telling myself I did the right thing by disappearing before dawn, and she shuts me down in under ten seconds.
I drag a hand over my face and try to breathe past the sudden weight in my chest.
I deserve it. I know I do.
I left her in that hotel suite without so much as a note. Just a single text sent from the back of a town car on the way to the airport.Emergency in Singapore. I’m sorry.
I was sorry, I am sorry, but I was also panicking.
That night had started as a fun night out. Ellie begged me to come to the masquerade because “it won’t be the same withoutyou.” Savannah laughed in a red cape and plastic fangs, daring me to dance with her while “Thriller” blasted through the ballroom.
One dance became three. Three dances became shots of tequila in the VIP lounge. Tequila became her mouth on mine, her back against velvet wallpaper, her legs wrapped around my waist while I forgot every rule I’d ever made about not touching my little sister’s best friend.
I told myself it was the alcohol, but I knew the truth the second I woke up tangled in sheets that smelled like her and felt something in my chest crack wide open.
So when my phone lit up with the Singapore crisis at 4:17 a.m., part of me was relieved. A clean exit. A way to pretend the night hadn’t rewritten every plan I had for my life.
I took it, and I ran. Now I’m back, and she can’t even stand to look at me.
I down the rest of my whiskey in one swallow and head for the bar. Another drink won’t fix this, but it’ll buy me five minutes before I have to smile for relatives who want to know why I’m not married yet.
