“Now or never.” She couldn’t even manage to be embarrassed at the throaty whisper of her voice as the remnants of the unexpected touch dissipated.
Reese led her through the crowd and over to where Grant was standing with a group of a few people within their age range.
Eyes were on them immediately, the men giving them both a once-over before zeroing in on their clasped hands.
Sydney looked down at their interlocked hands once more, finding it a source of both comfort and strength.
When she took a deep breath and looked up, scanning the group, she recognized Adam Moore. He was one of Grant’s friends she’d met in Boston. They’d done dinner and drinks a few times, Adam always with a different woman on his arm.
There was only one other woman in the group, whom Sydney had seen in person once before. She wouldn’t qualify the interaction as ‘having met’ her.
“Hi, Grant,” Reese said as she stepped into the circle, the half-dozen bodies parting to make room for her and Sydney.
“Reese.” Grant offered her a minimal greeting, but it seemed like they’d all silently agreed to move on from the theatrics of yesterday. He swiped a lock of hair from his forehead before slotting his hand into the front pocket of his khaki trousers.
Then, like he’d thought better of it, he dug his hand out so that he could place it on the small of Brynn’s back.
In spite of feeling like she’d just stumbled into a meat market, Sydney liked that there’d be an audience. She hoped it would keep everyone, including herself, on their best behavior.
“And you must be Brynn,” Reese said, stepping forward again and extending her free hand. “I’m sorry it’s taken this long for us to meet, but let me officially say congratulations in person.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Reese.” Brynn was soft-spoken, far quieter than Sydney had expected.
“And this is my girlfriend, Sydney,” Reese added, like Brynn may not know.
She may not have.
But what Grant lacked in scruples, he did make up for in partners with impeccable fashion sense, at least.
Seemingly disinterested in following the status quo of wearing the traditional white, Brynn was dressed in an expertly fitted navy dress with gold buttons running down the center. Her blonde hair was tousled but loose, falling about an inch above her shoulders.
Quieterandmore understated.
Was this what Grant was after? A Stepford wife who’d better fit into the WASPy New England scene?
Sydney shook the thought away. While she knew what Grant had done and the full extent of his culpability, she wasn’t going to make any assumptions about Brynn’s involvement in the affair. Not without more information.
The fateful day in Boston, when everything had changed, Sydney hadn’t actually looked at Brynn closely. She’d been too focused on Grant, on how he was touching her so intimately.
All of her brain power had gone toward trying to find any reasonable explanation for what she was looking at.
Now she was at this moment, almost exactly a year later, at her ex-boyfriend’s sister’s side, about to meet the new fiancée over canapés and obscenely overpriced champagne.
What a difference a year could make.
Truly, she wasn’t even sure if Brynn had seen her. Especially since Brynn was looking at her now, more curious than bitter, like she was wondering how Sydney fit into everything.
Brynn extended her hand, still speaking quietly when she said, “To be honest, I’m not sure what the protocol is for meeting my fiancé’s ex, but you look beautiful.”
Sydney gave Reese a moony smile before shifting her attention back to Brynn. “Thank you; so do you. And my past with Grant is water under the bridge as far as I’m concerned.”
She didn’t spare Grant a look as she spoke, knowing he’d hate that.
“It’s been a minute, Sydney,” Adam said, pulling the conversation back to the correct side of just-shy-of-awkward.
“Nice to see you again, Adam.” He wasn’t even in the top one hundred people she’d be excited to see out on the street, but at this moment, he was Jesus performing a miracle as far as she was concerned.
Adam looked between Sydney and Reese. “How’d you two link up?”
