Not that I recognized any of that as I stood in the run-down bar, coming to grips with the realization that he wasn’t Cuddle Carl. Feeling my plans, feeling myself, unravel. It was blind panic and a sense of desperation that made me latch on to him. Despite my earlier bravado, I would’ve chosen just about anyone. He might’ve been eighteen or eighty, as bald as a billiard ball, or possessing the kind of face that only his mother could love. It didn’t matter in that moment. I needed a man, and he was it.
I needed a man, and I was somehow blessed with a whole lot of one. A man whose job is kind of a mind fuck. And an actual fuck. A man who is a purveyor of pleasure, I suppose. At the thought, my stomach flips.Not at all unpleasantly.
I wonder what kind of money a night with him costs. No, I don’t, not really. What I wonder about is what a night with him entails.I bet he’s worth every penny.
I give myself an internal shake because it’s not like he’s doling out freebies. Besides, that’s not why he’s here. We have other fish to fry.
I turn to the table plan embedded in another ridiculously sized floral display.You can find your seat here,it reads,but your place is on the dance floor.
There’s nothing quite like a cliché. And I should know.
So much for being bold, because I feel physically ill at the prospect of going in there. Not becausehe’sthere. The man whose gaslighting made me question my own sanity, the human facsimile whose ultimate betrayal left me in pieces. This apprehension is not about him, because no one gets to hurt me twice. It’s more about the occasion. This wedding. The direction I thought, I imagined, our relationship was heading.
But I wasn’t lying when I said I had to be here—that all employees of Dreyland Capital are expected to attend. I’m sure I could’ve feigned illness, gone on vacation, or claimed a clash of events. Maybe faked a broken leg. Except, Ihadto be here. I needed to see this for myself. As penance, if nothing else. Punishment for being taken in by a man.
Something I won’t let happen again.
I also wasn’t kidding or laying it on thick about my feelings toward my ex. I do see red every time I look at him. Like I could punch him in the face until it turns to Bolognese.
“Found us yet?”
I resist a tiny shiver as the puff of Matt’s words brushes my neck. I realize I’m staring unseeing at the table plan. “Can’t seem to find which circle of hell we’ve been put in.”
“The wrathful one. That’d be circle nine.”
I chuckle and add smart to the list of Matt’s charms. Well read. Urbane. And I am so into the rhythmic rise and fall of his accent. Even if it isn’t Spanish. And his voice? Yum. It’s so deep and rumbling, it seems to hit a girl right where it counts.
Then I spot us—spot where we’ve been seated.A table named Paris.
That fucker.
“Found us!” I whip around with a second wind of determination. Paris was our first vacation. It was there he first declared his love.
Well, my place is wherever the hell I want it to be. And while I might notwantto be here, some evils are just plain necessary. This is just another hurdle to jump. Something else I won’t ever look back on. An experience that won’t even get a second glance in the rearview mirror of my life. “Shall we?” I add brightly.
“Can’t wait.” His voice is low, and his tone is flat. But his eyes, they’re dancing.
Boy, did I luck out when Cuddle Carl—a pox onhislineage—was a no-show.
“I think you’re trying too hard.” I poke him playfully in his chest. His broad, solid chest. “Tell the truth—you’re a closet wedding fan.” And don’t get me started on the rest of him. Those long, elegant fingers on such capable hands. The kind of hands that might stop a girl from falling.Maybe the side effect of Irish whiskey is becoming fanciful.
“You got me.” His chest moves with an amused-sounding huff. “That’s exactly what I’m doing here.”
“Knew it,” I singsong.
“You’ve had me worked out all along.”
His low tone causes a wash of goose bumps along my arms. And now I’m looking at his mouth, wondering what it would feel like to have those lips on mine. How it would move, the shapes it would make. How he’d taste. Whiskey laced, I’d bet, to match that dreamy (if unauthentic for tonight’s purposes) accent.
“I guess we’d better get this shit show on the road.” I turn to the oversize ballroom doors, and Matt follows.
“Ryan?”
In the doorway, I half pivot, my eyes flying wide as his hands slide around my waist. My body offers him no resistance as he pullsme close, the scent of his woody cologne hitting me so viscerally. My breath hitches as I find our lips are just a breath apart, and for one crazy moment, I think he might kiss me like we’re in some classic movie.
“What are you doing?” My voice sounds kind of breathy, and I don’t have the wits to be annoyed by that.
“Setting the tone. Strangers might walk in together, but lovers love.”
