“Ha!” I force a laugh. “Sure you didn’t.”
He smirks. “I didn’t. That’s all out of my system now.”
“All right, if you say so.” I press my lips together, trying not to laugh.
Miles bops my nose with his pointer finger. “Rude.”
I hand him my half-finished glass of champagne. “Here. I’m going to grab a mojito or something from the bar. Dancing and all the bubbles don’t sit well with me.” I press my hand against my abdomen.
He downs the rest of my champagne, places the glass on a passing server’s tray, and follows me toward the bar. “I’ll come with you.”
We weave through the crowd of celebrities. In front of the bar stands a woman in a red dress. She turns as we approach, and I freeze mid-step, my breath catching in my throat. I stare, glassy-eyed, at a ghost from my past. I haven’t seen her since I was fifteen, yet she looks almost the same twelve years later.
She must recognize me, too, because her mouth falls open in surprise.
Miles steps up behind me, and I lean back toward him, instinctively wanting distance from the woman before me.
“Miranda? Oh my God, is that seriously you?” Tracey shrieks.
Her voice has the same shrill tone it did sophomore year of high school—and just like back then, it makes my skin crawl.
I don’t answer. I can’t. My throat is dry, like I’ve swallowed glass. I’m physically unable to speak.
Tracey’s gaze shifts to Miles, standing protectively behind me. Her nose wrinkles in a sneer. “Ah, so... you traded in for a younger model. Probably for the best. Much more appropriate.” Then she turns her attention to Miles. “Hi, I’m Tracey. Miranda and I go way back.” Her eyes return to me, poisoned and cruel.“Though I have to say, I always thought you and Clive were endgame.”
My step falters, and if not for Miles behind me, I’d have fallen backward. He wraps his arms around me, holding me tight. I don’t know if he feels my erratic heartbeat or the ice spreading beneath my skin, but when Tracey puckers her lips in that mean-girl way she perfected years ago and begins, “Or should we call him?—”
“That’s enough,” Miles snaps, cutting her off.
Tracey clicks her tongue and glares at him. “Excuse me?”
“I said that’s enough out of you. We’re not interested in what you have to say.”
Tracey’s lips curve into a smug pout. “I think you’d find a little walk down memory lane quite interesting. In fact”—she tilts her head—“judging by the deer-in-the-headlights look on Miranda’s face, I’d guess you have no idea what I’m about to say.”
Miles holds me closer. “Get the fuck out of here,” he growls.
“What did you just say to me?” Tracey snaps.
“Look around, Stacey. This isn’t high school. Grow up.”
“It’sTracey,” she hisses, correcting him.
Miles waves his hand dismissively. “Yeah, whatever.” He lowers his voice as he leans toward me. “Come on, Sunshine. Let’s get back to Jaden and Anna. This isn’t the vibe.”
“You really should know?—”
Keeping one hand on my back, Miles steps around me and lunges forward. “Seriously, shut the fuck up,Lacey. We don’t want to hear it. Come near us again, and I’ll throw you out myself.”
“You wouldn’t.” Her attempt to furrow her brows fails thanks to too much Botox.
“Try me,” Miles seethes.
He threads his fingers through mine and tugs gently. Somehow, my legs remember how to move, and I let him guide me away from the bar. He doesn’t lead us back to the dance floor. Instead, he finds a small two-top in a quiet corner.
He grips my waist and lifts me onto the tall-backed chair. “Hey, talk to me.”
I still haven’t said a word. I can only imagine what I look like—terrified, pale, hollow.
