He didn’t respond. Just stood there, coiled tight like a spring ready to snap.
The silence stretched out, uncomfortable and heavy. “Okay,” I said, drawing out the word. “I’m going to head back to the house. I have to meet Jax in a few.”
I walked away, leaving them on the beach. They belonged together. I’d known it all along.
I wished I had admitted it to myself sooner, but the good news was I was free.
CHAPTER 12
HARLOW
Everything was perfect.
Standing at the edge of the dance floor with a champagne flute in hand, I watched Kaia twirl in Jax’s arms.
For once, nothing had gone wrong.
My chest tightened with the kind of happiness that made you want to ugly cry, so I took a large sip of champagne to drown the feelings. I already touched up my mascara twice tonight.
My bridesmaid dress swished against my knees as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. My feet were killing me.
A prickling awareness crept up my spine, and I knew he was close. I lifted my gaze, scanning the room until my eyes snagged on Owen.
He was leaning against one of the marble columns near the bar, watching me. The intensity of his gaze made my breath catch, and my stomach flutter. A whiskey glass dangled loosely from his fingers, and even from across the room, I could tell it wasn’t his first or even his third.
He was gorgeous.
He’d abandoned his tux jacket, his tie had disappeared, and his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, exposing the hollow of his throat. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing darkink that covered his forearms and the corded muscles that flexed when he lifted his drink to his lips.
I looked away, realizing I was staring. Shit. I looked back. He was still watching me, and now he was smiling, that lazy, crooked smile that I always loved.
My heart did an annoying little flutter-kick thing that I really wanted to stop.
Owen pushed off the column and started walking toward me, his walk slightly looser than usual, telling me he was drunk. Not sloppy or stumbling drunk, but definitely drunk.
I had been avoiding Owen since I left him on the pier to figure his shit out. I was angry when I walked away, but since then, it had mostly subsided into mild irritation with the situation. What was most annoying about it all was how, after everything, my body still responded to him. He’d made it perfectly clear that we could never be more than friends, and yet still a small part of me hoped we could be more, and it only made it worse when he looked at me like that.
I considered running to the bathroom, but that would require coordination, and my legs had suddenly forgotten how to function, and the heels weren’t helping. Neither was the way his gaze held mine as he closed the distance between us.
So I did what any mature, emotionally stable twenty-year-old woman would do: I pretended to be very interested in the floral centerpiece on the nearest table.
“Wow, these peonies are... peony-ish,” I muttered, leaning down to smell them like they held the secrets of the universe. The petals tickled my nose. I sneezed.
Smooth, Harlow. Very smooth.
“Pretty sure those are Lilie’s.”
I jumped, nearly sending champagne sloshing over the rim of my glass. Owen stood beside me now, closer than necessary.
“I knew that,” I said, straightening up and trying to look dignified. “I was testing you. You passed. Congratulations.”
“Did I win a prize?” His voice was lower than usual as his eyes moved over my face.
Yes, my sanity. Here, take it. I’m not using it anyway.
“The prize is the satisfaction of being correct,” I smirked.
“Hmm.” He tilted his head, studying me. “I can think of better prizes.”
