I sure as hell didn’t plan to end up sleeping with him again.
I keep thinking about Tessa’s words and how this is a huge mistake. But I’m also trying not to beat myself up over it. She did also say to be kind to myself. I’m set on not thinking about what’s going to happen after tonight. Or tomorrow, when Carson and I go home. To separate homes. I’m terrified to even consider the possibilities of what could happen, terrified to hope that this could mean something important for us because I’ll be shattered—again—if that doesn’t happen. So I don’t consider the possibilities.
Luckily, the party mostly consumes my attention, but it’s hard not to be aware of Carson, looking so handsome in his tuxedo, at my side with gentle touches on my back, smiling at me with what appears to be adoration even though I know it’s an act. He doesn’t adore me any more.
But it felt a lot like that last night, with his dirty words and erotic touches. The way he worshiped my body and praised me and made me come…
I get all warm and molten inside just thinking about the things we did.Whew.
Before dinner, the photographer I hired gets us all arranged against one wall of balloons for the family photo. This is a challenge, mostly due to the children, but also due to Emilio being too drunk to stand up straight. I’m getting a little worried about him.
“Do you want me in the photo?” Carson asks in a low voice. “I mean…”
I purse my lips. I know what he means. But how can we leave him out? “Of course. Come on.”
I manage to converse with everyone during dinner. The food is good: bruschetta, orecchiette with broccoli rabe, and a main course of roast beef. The wine is flowing, the kids are running around screaming long before the adults have finished eating,and there’s a hum of chatter in the room punctuated with bursts of laughter.
We’re going to play the slide show I made of all the family photos after the birthday cake has been served, which will be later. Right now, we’re getting the dancing music going.
The first few songs are up tempo, and my cousins pile onto the dance floor. The little kids do, too, with wild moves that make us laugh. Carson isn’t much of a dancer but he’s coordinated and athletic and he can move a little. He joins me on the dance floor, amused at the kids, smiling at me.
Then the music changes to a slower song, a country song. My eyes meet Carson’s and we move together in a movement so familiar, hands clasping, his other hand on my lower back, mine on his shoulder.
I try to keep some space between us, but he pulls my hand to his chest and presses me closer with his hand on my back. His big thigh is between my legs as we sway to the music.
“You’re dancing too close,” I murmur.
“No, I’m not.” He holds my gaze.
Okay, then.
The lyrics to the song catch my attention: the man singing, “I’ll love you better.” I pay more attention, and my heart starts to swell and ache at the story he’s telling: how he misses her, how he’ll love her better if he gets a chance.
Oh God. I want Carson to say those things. That he misses me. That he loves me. That he’ll love me better.
My eyes sting and pressure builds behind my cheekbones.
“What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “Nothing.” I blink back the tears, determined not to get all emotional in front of him.
This is why you shouldn’t sleep with your ex. Feelings get all stirred up. Feelings I shouldn’t be having.
He holds out his left hand and I do the walk under his hand and around, and then I’m pressed against him again and we sway. We know the moves without even thinking about them.
When the song ends, I say, “I need a drink.”
We move off the dance floor as Sabrina Carpenter starts singing.
“Yeah. Good idea. What was in that purple cocktail?”
“Vodka, blue curaçao, and cranberry juice.”
“Ah. Another one of those?”
“If there’s any left. I ordered enough for one each, but maybe not everyone had one.”
The bartender does mix up one of those for me and I take one more for Nonna. We head over to her table.
