I take the champagne away before she can finish the rest and hand her my water.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends, Poppy?”
“Ronan. This is Derek. And Monique.”
“So these are—” I don’t continue my sentence.
Poppy’s tight expression and quick nod confirm that this is her ex-fiancé and his current flame.
“Oh my God! You’re Ronan Masters,” the girl simpers, gazing at me with star-struck eyes. She looks like every other girl in LA—tall, blond, stacked—but she stands out in this small town in upstate New York.
Derek doesn’t seem happy about the attention I’m getting from Monique. He puts his arm around her. He’s tall by normal standards, but I tower over him. Hell, I tower over everyone except professional basketball players.
If I made even the slightest effort, Monique would leave good old Derek so fast, his head would spin on his thick neck. Not that I want her. Who would be idiot enough to be with this girl when he could have Poppy?
“Why are you here?” Derek asks me with sullen curiosity.
Again. Can’t a star crash a wedding these days without all these questions?
The amusement drains out of Poppy as she watches her former boyfriend, the man she was going to marry, act possessively toward another girl.
That’s it. No one puts Poppy in a corner.
I take the drink in my hand, set it on a table and pull her to me.
She’s so short that, tucked into my chest, she only comes up to the top of my abs. I put my hand possessively on her hip. She looks up at me with a dazed expression. The sadness in her eyes is gone. Good.
“I’m Poppy’s date.”
Poppy’s glass slips from her hand, but I catch it midair.
She opens her mouth. Will she deny my claim? Laugh at me? Play along. She closes her mouth. Opens it again. And…
Hiccup.
* * *
Poppy
It takesanother glass of champagne to get rid of my hiccups.
You might think my irresponsible drinking caused the hiccups. But nope. They’re a nervous habit. I get them when I’m stressed, and alcohol helps.
This theory was tested when, before my first performance as a ballerina at Mrs. Bellamy’s Dance Academy, I got a horrible case of hiccups. My mom gave me a shot of sherry, apparently a family cure, and both my hiccups and nerves vanished.
Perhaps it wasn’t the best of life lessons—giving alcohol to minors to solve their problems—but it worked. I don’t like hard alcohol, so I’ve been trying champagne.
Unfortunately, it’s led to the side effect of being a little tipsy.
But in addition to getting rid of hiccups, I got rid of my sadness over Derek the Dick, and my inhibitions and self-consciousness around my new fake date/boyfriend, Ronan Masters.
I made up that part about him being a fake boyfriend. No one truly believes that. But everyone has been shocked into silence that he’s here with me, so I’m thinking it’s the best idea ever.
Although Ronan is the strong, silent type, I feel surprisingly comfortable around him. And let’s be real, he doesn’t need to talk much anyway because I nervously chatter enough for both of us. He’s also an excellent slow dancer, which is another surprise. Derek’s been staring at us with an annoyed look for the last hour, and all the people who were once watching me in pity are now watching in envy.
Because even in jeans and a T-shirt, Ronan Masters is just…more…than any other male present. Any other male anywhere. He’s ten times bigger. Ten times more masculine and ten times more ruggedly handsome. And, for the night, he’s all mine. Sort of.
I don’t fool myself into thinking he’s here for any other reason than he feels sorry for me. He’s kind beneath his stoic silence. And maybe he had nothing better to do, what with this being Snowflake Harbor and all.
