The song slows, and so does the room around us.
I can feel the heat of him through my dress. The strength in the hand at my waist. The weight of his gaze every time it leaves my eyes and comes back again. It would be terrifyingly easy to rest my head on his chest and stay there.
Instead, I blurt, “So. Exes. Or, in your case, maybe current relationships.”
One dark brow lifts.
“That’s abrupt.”
“It’s either that or I keep thinking about your hand on my waist, and I feel like maybe we should pace ourselves.”
His stare goes heated and entirely too knowing.
Then he surprises me by answering.
“There was someone. Long time ago.”
The honesty in his voice gentles something in me. “Serious?”
He nods once. “Was supposed to marry her.”
I blink. “Oh.”
His jaw shifts. “She wanted a different life.”
The words are simple. But there is enough beneath them for me to hear the old bruise.
“Bigger?” I ask softly.
“Richer. Louder. Not here.” He glances around the hall, then back at me. “I was never gonna be that man.”
My chest squeezes.
“She was stupid,” I say.
One side of his mouth lifts. “That so?”
“Yes. Very scientific opinion.”
A low sound rumbles out of him, not quite a laugh, but close.
“And you?” he asks.
I hesitate for only a second. “Mine was just pathetic.”
His eyes sharpen.
“He liked my paycheck more than he liked me,” I say, trying for light and not quite getting there. “Six months of my hard-earned money paying for his groceries, his bills, his rent, and then I lost my job and apparently I stopped being convenient. He used to act like being with me was some kind of favor, like I should be grateful he wanted a body like mine at all.”
The change in Weston is instant.
Subtle, if you aren’t paying attention. But I am.
His shoulders go harder. His jaw locks. His hand at my waist flexes once.
“What was his name?”
I blink up at him. “Why?”
