“Sarah, you’re my favorite person in the world.” His voice cracks on that last syllable, but he keeps going. “I care about you too much to let what we have get ruined. The kind of passionate love you’re talking about—that’s the kiss of death for a relationship. A union based on friendship and reason and mutual compatibility?—”
“Is not enough for me.” I fold my arms over my chest and stare at him. “I’m sorry, Ian. I thought it could be.” My throat makes a clicking sound as I swallow. “I was wrong.”
“I’m sorry, too.”
That’s the hell of it. He looks sorry. He genuinely means it, but that doesn’t change things one bit. Ian Nolan doesn’t love me. He would if he could, but he can’t, so he doesn’t, and that’s that.
I rip my gaze off him, too hurt to offer comfort, or to seek comfort of my own in his arms. “I think you should go.”
From the corner of my eye, I see him nod. “If that’s what you want.”
Of course it’s not what I want.
None of this is what I fucking want.
But right now it appears I’m not going to get what I want, so I’ll settle for self-preservation. I have to protect my heart, to keep myself from falling deeper for this man. If he stays the night, if we share a bed or make love even one more time, I swear to God I’ll break to pieces.
I clear my throat, all business now. This is the way Ian wants it, so I can manage that. “In the morning I’ll tell everyone that you had to race back before brunch to get ready for your presentation,” I say. “And next week we can call your mom and let her know the engagement is over.”
“Sarah, please—” He cuts himself off there, and I wonder how he meant to finish that plea. Please what? Stop burdening him with my messy displays of emotion?
No fucking chance.
I turn back to face him, knowing there’s no way to keep the pleading intensity from my eyes. “I need you to go now. Please?”
I hate that it sounds like I’m begging, just like I hate the thought of Ian driving away in the dark to go back to Portland. But I need this to be a clean break. I need to pull off the Band-Aid quickly. If he stays, if he touches me even once, I’ll be consumed by this stupid flicker of hope that maybe he’ll change his mind.
But I can see from the stony set of his jaw that isn’t going to happen.
“Okay.” He unfolds himself from the seat and stands there watching me for a moment. When he leans down to kiss me, I almost jerk away.
But the kiss glances off my cheekbone, soft and sweet and completely platonic.
That’s all he ever promised. You’re the dummy who expected more.
I know then that it’s over. Ian looks at me for a long moment, then sets his nearly-full champagne flute on the porch railing. “Goodbye, Sarah.”
Then he turns and walks away.
No one suspects a thing at brunch the next morning.
That’s what I assume, anyway, until Lisa comes and finds me in my cabin as I’m packing up to head home. She’s wearing tailored black shorts and a top so blindingly white that I wonder how she keeps it clean. Her sandals are sparkly and kitten-heeled, and her blond hair is pulled back in a ponytail.
“Hey,” she says, rapping lightly on the frame of my open door. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
She watches me from the doorway as I pack clothes into my suitcase. I don’t meet her eyes, intent on mashing a lavender wrap top into something resembling a neatly folded garment.
Finally, Lisa can’t stand it any longer. She clicks across the floor and tugs the blasted shirt I’ve been folding very, very poorly for the last ten minutes. She sets to work creasing and pressing and turning my top into something that belongs on a display table at Nordstrom.
“Something happened, didn’t it?” She tucks the crisply creased shirt into my suitcase and picks up the knee-length pencil skirt I wore for the rehearsal dinner. “With you and Ian, I mean.”
She seems perfectly nonchalant as she folds the skirt into an origami rectangle. If I didn’t know Lisa, I’d think she’s just making casual conversation.
But I know Lisa, and there’s nothing casual about her. She knows exactly what’s up.
I stare down at the black lace bra I bought for this trip with thoughts of Ian peeling it slowly off me. I’m overwhelmed by the urge to light the damn thing on fire. “I’m fine.”
