That drew a genuine smile from her. “Good to know.”
Carlo’s eyes tracked briefly across the room then returned to her, one brow rising. “Speaking of knowing things… Any reason Rhys Langston looks like he’s grinding his molars into dust?”
Gaby stiffened. She followed his line of sight. Rhys stood near a column, hands in his pockets, posture deceptively relaxed, jaw anything but. The muscle there ticked as his stare locked on her and Carlo with an intensity that made heat crawl up her neck.
Why? What had she done this time? Or was her presence in the same social setting too much for him?
She dragged her attention away. “I’m sure it means nothing.”
“Uh-huh.” Carlo didn’t even pretend to buy it.
She didn’t have to deny it further because the band chose that moment to play a slow, melodic intro. Dev and Cari stepped onto the floor. Instead of a private first dance, they turned to the crowd. “Join us,” he called, smiling in a way Gaby had never seen from him before.
A wave of movement swept the room as couples drifted toward the center.
Carlo extended a hand again, this time in invitation. “Since the bride and groom insist… dance with me?”
A dozen reasons to refuse came to mind instantly. But if she was going to move forward, she had to take the first step. And she refused—absolutely refused—to become like Ashlynn at the club, angling for scraps of attention that would never come.
“One dance. Zero pressure,” Carlo said, tone easy but eyes keen with understanding. “Think of it as a test. Proof to yourself,or possibly to him, that it really does mean nothing. And the best part? You don’t have to worry about tripping over me at work tomorrow.”
She huffed a soft laugh despite herself. “Are you a mind reader, too?”
“No,” Carlo said warmly. “You just have a very expressive face.”
Drat. That again.
She drew in a slow, quiet breath and placed her hand in his. “One dance. No tripping.”
Carlo’s answering grin was pure Brooklyn mischief. “Deal.”
As he led her onto the floor, she focused ahead, avoiding the intense, inscrutable man across the room.
***
Rhys watched Gaby and Carlo move together, easy and natural, in a way that scraped along every raw edge he’d tried to ignore. Mancuso’s hand rested at her waist, fingers drifting lower. He hadn’t crossed the line to inappropriate but was close enough that Rhys’s palms itched with the urge to intervene.
“You look like you’re two seconds from committing a felony. Try some champagne instead.”
He took the glass Alec held out but didn’t drink. His attention stayed locked on the dance floor, on Carlo turning on his Italian charm and Gaby rewarding him with a smile. A real one. A gift she rarely gave anyone. One Rhys had never earned. Envy twisted like a knife in his gut.
Alec followed his gaze, brows lifting. “They look good together. Maybe she’s moving on.”
“Not with him. He’s going back to Jacksonville in the morning.” Rhys felt Alec’s stare before he saw it.
“How’d you know that?”
He didn’t answer, unwilling to admit he’d asked Greta about Mancuso’s schedule.
His silence was answer enough. Alec snorted. “I thought you two were done.”
“We are.”
“Then why do I fear for Emily’s stemware? Ease off, bud. It’s crystal.”
Rhys forced his grip to loosen. He also tore his attention from Gaby long enough to meet his friend’s gaze. “Drop it.”
“Like you did with me?” Alec angled toward him. “You act like restraint is a virtue. At the club, sure. But, in relationships, it can leave you cold.”
