I look down. “Why not?”
“It looks like you’re going to a networking event,” Emmy says gently.
“I might network,” I mutter, retreating back into the closet.
This is a familiar scene—the three of us in my room as I prepare for a date.
So why the hell are my palms sweaty?
“You’re nervous,” Celeste says.
I freeze mid-zip.
“He bought me shoes,” I reply, as if that explains everything.
Emmy and Celeste exchange a look.
I walk back out in a silk top and trousers. “I’m doing everything to scare him, but I’m realizing Beckett doesn’t scare easily. God, I’m sweating. What is wrong with me?”
They go quiet.
That’s never good.
I stop pacing and stare at them. “What?”
Emmy sits upright. “I’ve never seen you like this about anyone before.”
“And?”
Celeste and Emmy look at each other.
No. Absolutely not.
“I think you might be fall—”
I point at Emmy so fast she physically recoils. “Don’t you dare say it.”
Celeste leans forward. “Would it be so bad?”
“Yes,” I snap. “It would be terrible.”
They both blink.
“He’s amazing,” I continue, my voice rising. “Which is the problem. Because shit will eventually hit the fan in my life, and he’ll bolt. He’s fast. God knows he’s been training long enough.”
Emmy presses her lips together to stop herself laughing.
Celeste doesn’t smile.
“Don’t you think,” Celeste says carefully, “that your worrying about him leaving tells you everything you need to know?”
My heart starts pounding harder.
I open my mouth to argue, but nothing comes out because she’s not wrong.
And I hate that she’s not wrong.
My chest feels tight. My thoughts start moving too quickly.
