“It was fun when we didn’t know any better,” he said finally. “Before we realized none of it matters.”
Colton was quiet for a moment, staring out at the city lights. When he spoke again, his voice was different—softer, with an edge that might have been pain.
“I miss her.”
Marco didn’t have to ask who. Colton had been moping about Ally for months now, ever since whatever had happened between them in the winter. He’d never gotten the full story, but he could piece enough together. Ally hadn’t wanted this life. Colton hadn’t been ready to give it up. And now his friend spent every party nursing a single drink and looking like someone had stolen something essential from him.
“Have you called her?”
“To say what?” Colton’s laugh was bitter. “Hey, I’m still doing all the things you didn’t want me to do, but I’m miserable about it now—does that help?”
“You could try being honest.”
“Rich, coming from you.” But there was no heat in it. Colton ran a hand through his hair. “I just... I had something real, you know? For the first time in years, I had something that wasn’t about baseball or sponsors or my face on a billboard. And I let it go because I couldn’t imagine a life that small.”
“Was it small? Or was it just different?”
Colton looked at him sharply. “When did you get so philosophical?”
“Side effect of too many rooftop parties.” Marco drained the rest of his champagne. “They give you time to think about all the choices you’ve made.”
A woman materialized at his side—tall, blonde, wearing a dress that cost more than most cars and left little to the imagination. She slipped her arm through his, pressing close enough that he could smell her perfume. Something expensive and floral that would probably give him a headache later.
“Marco.” Her voice was a practiced purr. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
He searched his memory for her name and came up empty. They’d met before—he was almost certain of that much. Some fashion week event, maybe, or a mutual friend’s birthday. She had the kind of face that photographed well and blended into every other beautiful face at every other party.
“Have you?” He smiled the smile he’d perfected at age twelve, the one that made everyone feel important while revealing absolutely nothing.
“Come dance with me.” She tugged at his arm. “It’s criminal for us to be standing here when there’s music.”
The music was a forgettable, bass-heavy track pumping from speakers positioned around the rooftop. The “dancing” would consist of swaying attractively while someone’s phone captured content for tomorrow’s social media feeds.
“Rain check?” Marco gently extricated his arm. “I’m catching up with a friend.”
Her pout was equally practiced. “Don’t take too long.” She drifted away, already scanning the crowd for her next target.
“Smooth,” Colton said.
“What was her name?” He let out a world weary sigh.
“You’re asking me?”
“I was hoping you’d remember.”
“Starts with a K, maybe? Or a C?” Colton shook his head. “They all blend together after a while.”
Marco grabbed another champagne from a passing server, more to have something to do with his hands than because he wanted it. The flute was cold against his palm, the bubbles catching the light from the city below.
He thought about Miami.
Not the Miami of fashion week parties and club openings, but of a single night almost eight months ago. A girl with honey-blonde hair who’d refused to tell him her name. Who’d laughed at his attempts to impress her. Who’d wanted to know him—not Marco Castellano, heir to a fashion empire, but just him. A man at a club with nothing to prove.
They’d danced for hours. She’d been wild and free and completely uninterested in who he was or what he could offer her. When he’d tried to tell her about himself, she’d pressed a finger to his lips and shaken her head. No names. No stories. Just this.
It had been the most authentic night he’d had in years. He’d laughed, real laughter, and wanted the night to never end. And when he’d woken up the next morning, she was gone. No note. No number. Nothing but the faint scent of her perfume on his sheets and a hollow ache in his chest that he still couldn’t quite explain.
He’d looked for her afterward. Had gone back to the club multiple times, something he never did. But how did you find a woman whose name you didn’t know, who’d deliberately left no trace?
