I laugh despite myself. “Why?”
“Because you’re smiling,” he says, spinning me gently, “and he didn’t do it.”
My heart does that stupid little squeeze again.
Like hope trying to exist.
Don’t, Lucy.
When Theo brings me back toward the table, I’m warm, not flushed with romance, just warmed by movement, by the brief feeling of being something other than burden.
We’re almost there when Julian passes us.
He’s walking with a woman.
She’s stunning in that magazine-cover way, perfect hair, perfect skin, perfect dress. And she’s young. So young that the wordgirlflares in my head before I can be fair.
Julian’s head is turned slightly toward her, listening.
Theo’s hand squeezes around mine for half a second.
“That’s weird,” he mutters.
“What?” I ask, though my stomach has already dipped.
Theo’s eyes follow Julian, but he doesn't answer.
The words from earlier spark,Julian doesn't dance.
I tell myself I don’t care.
I tell myself I have no right to care.
I tell myself he is not mine and I am not his, and this is not a relationship.
And yet my body reacts anyway, like it didn’t get the memo.
At the table, my seat is taken.
A man sits there like the world rearranges itself around his comfort.
He looks up when Theo approaches, and his gaze sweeps over me, making my skin crawl. Not appreciation, something cruel and cold.
Like I’m a piece on a board he’s deciding where to place.
“Ah,” he says. “There you are.”
Theo’s face hardens.
“Dad,” he says, flat.
Oh. Julian’s father.
My stomach drops. I’ve met enough men like this to know what they do to rooms. They make everything smaller. They make women feel like objects even when they’re smiling.
Theo gestures to me, voice forced into politeness. “This is Lucy. Julian’s date.”
Richard North’s brows lift, and his smile spreads like he’s amused.
