I’ve been avoiding Brookes. Like the bubonic plague. In my defense, I’m only twenty-three years old. And I’ve never had someone tell me he loves me before, especially not after sex, while still buried deep inside of me. I’m nowhere near emotionally equipped to handle such a declaration. Besides, I don’t even think he meant to say it. The way he backtracked so fast he literally fell out of the bed and onto the floor… surely you can’t blame me for assuming that was some sort of defaultI-fucked-upreaction. Whatever it was, it sure ruined an amazing moment. Now, hand in hand, as we walk toward the beach to where the wedding ceremony is set up, we’ve barely spoken more than seven words to one another all day.
Brookes and I take our seats and wait, still not talking, barely even looking at each other, like the grown-ass adults we totally are. The sunset paints a beautiful backdrop, offering up a vast sky brushed with mauve, pink, peach, and gold, taking my breath away. But when I feel Brookes’ hand touch my knee, I’m pulled from the candy-floss sky, my traitorous attention captured by the feel of his fingers dancing over my skin as he rubs up and down my thigh.
“I’m sorry,” Brookes murmurs, his lips grazing the shell ofmy ear, his breath and his tantalizing scent causing me to shudder against my will. Damn him.
Allowing my eyes to wander, I meet his gaze, something passing between us, and as I study his annoyingly handsome face, I search for the truth as I ask him, “Did you mean what you said?”
Brookes swallows hard, I see the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. His gaze dips to my lips as he licks his own, rolling them together before meeting my eyes once more, and finally, shaking his head. “No. I was just—” He glances up toward the sky then, as if searching for the words he needs before looking at me again and clearing his throat. “I was… caught up in the moment.”
I stare at him for a long pause, nodding slowly as I process his words. I’m not an idiot. He’s lying. I just… don’t want to knowwhyhe’s lying.
“Good,” I finally say, lifting my chin a little higher in a show of confidence I feel wavering the longer those blue eyes bore into me like he too can see the truth hiding behind my false bravado. Leaning in, I lower my voice as I offer him a stark but much-needed reminder. “Because this is fake, remember? You’re paying me.”
When I pull back, I see the moment my words hit him. And in that moment, I hate myself. But I know this is a necessary evil. This is fake. It has to be. No matter how real it feels. And if it means I need to be the bad guy, then I will be—because I’d much rather Brookes hate me now than when he’s in too deep to find his way back out.
Thankfully, the music begins and we’re all invited to stand as Happy walks down the aisle holding his young daughter’s hand.
Happy and Hannah share their first dance as husband and wife to “Iris” by Goo Goo Dolls, inviting everyone out onto the dancefloor to join them.
I’d hoped to sit this one out or excuse myself to the bathroom where I could hide until it’s over. But when Brookes stands, holding out his hand, I glance up and meet his eyes, momentarily taken aback by the look of despondency deep within them. I hate that. I hate that I’m the one responsible for filling him with such hopelessness. So, with a resigned sigh, I stand, smooth down my dress, and accept his proffered hand, allowing him to lead me to a spot in the middle of the throng.
Still holding my hand, Brookes wraps his other arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him, his big hand splayed across my lower back, holding me where I am. Our eyes meet briefly, something passing between us in a flash, before I turn my head and rest my cheek against his broad chest as we sway to the music. I’ve never felt so safe.
After a few moments, I feel Brookes’ lips brush against my temple. “I lied.”
Closing my eyes at his whispered confession, I exhale a shaky breath. I knew it. But to hear him say it causes a rush of relief to flood through me. Tentatively, I lift my chin, peering up at him and meeting his eyes.
“I know,” I say, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “I lied, too.”
I feel the breath Brookes releases, feel it in the way the tension melts from his muscles, his arm around me tightening just a little.
His brows knit together, eyes narrowing slightly as he studies my face, looking for what I don’t know. “What do you want, baby?” he finally asks me, his voice a low, rasped whisper. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you. I’ll give you everything.Anything. Just tell me. Please, Poppy?”
Tears prick my eyes, burning the longer I stare up at him. Rubbing my lips together, my mind reels with everything I knowI need to tell him, everything I know he deserves to know, but I can’t. The pain in my chest is almost crippling. I can’t tell him; I can barely breathe.
“Hey?” Brookes releases my hand, cups my cheek, and steadies me with a penetrative look I can feel through to my bones. “Please don’t cry, baby.”
I blink away my tears, so angry when I feel one hit my cheek. I duck my head, hiding it, and step away from Brookes. “I’m sorry, I-I just…” I glance at him quickly. “I need a moment.”
Thankfully, with one curt nod, he lets me go, and I spin around, only to run almost directly into Happy and Hannah, mid-first dance. They both look at me, Hannah’s beautiful smile faltering as her eyes flit from me to Brookes over my shoulder and back again. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I duck my head and turn away, quickly snaking my way through the crowded dance floor and directly out of the white tent, before I cause even more of an unnecessary scene.
CHAPTER 44
BROOKES
Me: Are you okay?
Me: Did you go back to the villa?
Me: I just went back to the villa and you’re not there.
Me: Where are you?
Me: Baby, please let me know you’re okay.
As I stare down at my phone, at the string of unacknowledged text messages, my heart thunders in my chest. I feel sick. We’re on an island, in a private resort surrounded by dense rainforest. I’m sure she couldn’t have gone far, but I hate that she’s alone right now. I want to be with her. And if she doesn’t want me with her, then I just need to know she’s okay, goddammit.
Looking up, my gaze automatically lands on the half-empty lowball of amber liquor across the table, and suddenly it’s as if everything around me—the music, the voices,the people—it all fades away until it’s just me and my one vice staring right back at me, taunting me, goading me. My palms sweat. My skin pricks. It’s suddenly hard to breathe.
