Suddenly she heard the opening strains of “Moon River.”
And the hits just keep on coming.
She felt the tears rising.
You will not let that asshole bring you to tears. “Moon River” or not.
Deep breaths, she kept telling herself. Deep breaths. But the breathing didn’t help. Nor did willing those tears down. She turned her back to the ballroom, shivering as she gazed at the black, starless sky. It was cold. But she’d have to wait. Wait until she could be sure she could walk back through that ballroom with dry eyes.
She heard the click of the door behind her.
“Ceci.”
Clarke. Not now.
She wouldn’t turn around. She couldn’t.
He came up behind her. Suddenly his head loomed over her shoulder. He placed his hand under her chin, lifted her face, and one tear ran down her cheek.
“Shit,” she said, pulling her chin free and dropping it to her chest.
And I don’t have any tissues with me.
He checked his pockets. “Damn it,” she heard him mutter. “I can’t believe I don’t have a handkerchief on me.”
Even though tears were flooding her cheeks, she couldn’t stop a weak grin.
Sir Stick without a handkerchief? I can’t believe it either.
Placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned her around, took her phone, and slipped it in his pocket. Then he pulled her toward him, wrapping his arms around her and placing one hand on her head, holding her cheek to his chest.
“Your shirt’s going to be ruined,” she mumbled, with her mouth flattened up against him. “I’m wearing mascara.”
“That’s okay. I’ve never cared for it. I was going to throw it out anyways.”
She made an effort to chuckle, but it came out like a choked sob. “No, you weren’t.”
“Well, it was either that or burn it. Go ahead, you can even rub snot on it if you want.”
Snot on Sir Stick Up His Ass’s shirt? Not possible. But then a lot of things that seemed not possible with this guy had turned out—to be possible.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
Did she? If someone had asked her before he’d come out onto the balcony, she would have said no. But now, she felt different. She waited a moment for her sobbing to subside and her breathing to steady.
“It’s my father,” she managed. “I thought he wanted me to drive for one of his teams.” She paused. “He acted like he wanted me to. But he only did it because of you.”
“Me?”
“He likes the idea of you and loves the idea of having you around. I guess you put on such a convincing performance when you went to his house for Timmy’s birthday, he thought this thing between us was real. And so, he figured if I was around, that meant you’d be around. But now he knows it’s a PR stunt that will end when the season ends.”
She pushed, freeing herself from his grasp, but still kept her head down. She rubbed her eyes and noticed the black streaks on her hands, not to mention his shirt.
“It’s stupid to cry. It’s just a stupid song. I don’t even know what the fuck it’s about.”
“‘Moon River’?”
“Yeah. Do you know?”
