Who the fuck do you think you are?
I was not going to stand in the corner of a wedding reception with a glass in my hand, pretending the sight of another man beside her did not make me want to ruin something. I set the champagne aside and started toward their table before reason could make the mistake of catching up.
By the time I reached them, the conversation had already moved on without me. Whitmore was in the middle of somestory about the ceremony, Giselle was laughing, and Edwina sat between them with champagne in her hand, the red of her dress catching the chandelier light every time she shifted. My gaze stayed on her longer than it should have, then moved to the empty chair beside Daniel.
I stopped there. “May I?”
The question was polite for the room, though the effect was immediate. Everyone at the table looked up at once. Giselle blinked before recovering.
“Oh, Dean Stone. Of course.”
Whitmore shifted to give me space, and I pulled out the chair slowly before sitting beside him. Glasses clinked around us. Conversations continued. Nothing about the room changed. Except now I was exactly where I intended to be.
For a few moments, the table returned to the familiar rhythm of conversation. Someone mentioned the music, another commented on the ceremony at the church, and I answered when I had to, though even I knew my attention was somewhere else entirely. It stayed on the woman across from me.
Edwina.
Her name moved through my mind with the kind of familiarity I had spent years trying to bury. Titles failed her there, Professor Rhodes, Mrs. Rhodes, every formal address meant to create distance only made her feel more like the woman who had once ruined every part of me she touched. The name I wanted to use sat heavier on my tongue.
My little Flare.
The memory of it cut through me with the force of something unfinished, and for one reckless second, I wanted to reach across the table, pull her out of that chair, and kiss her in front of every person sitting there, especially in front of that smug little shit Whitmore, who looked far too comfortable at her side for a man who had no idea what he was standing near.
The thought was a bad one.It was also tempting as hell.
I leaned back in my chair and let the calm return to my face before speaking, keeping my tone light for the table and sharp for her alone. “So, how have you been, Edwina?”
My use of her name did exactly what I wanted it to do. She lifted her champagne glass, ready to take a sip, and the sound of it in my mouth caught her badly that she choked on the drink. Daniel turned toward her at once. “Hey, are you okay?”
Giselle looked between us with the sharp awareness of someone beginning to understand there was more beneath the surface, while Edwina set the glass down and cleared her throat, fighting to pull herself back together.
“Yes,” she said, though the tightness in her voice betrayed the effort. “I’m fine.”
Whitmore glanced between us, curiosity beginning to show on his face. “Wait,” he said slowly, leaning back slightly in his chair, “do you two know each other from somewhere besides the department?”
The question stayed there for a moment, waiting for one of us to lie. Edwina opened her mouth first. “Well…”
“Yes,” I answered before she could finish, meeting Whitmore’s gaze easily. “Very well, actually.” Edwina’s eyes snapped toward me, sharp with warning, and I ignored the hell out of it.
“She was my student,” I continued calmly, folding my hands together on the table as if the truth were harmless, as if saying it did not drag every forbidden thing between us back into the room. “Back in Washington.”
Daniel’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Really?”
“Yes.” My gaze moved to Edwina for a moment before returning to the table. “She was one of the most brilliant students in the department, sharp mind, disciplined, a student every professor hopes to have at least once in their career.”
It was all true. It was also nowhere near enough. Brilliant did not cover the way she had consumed my thoughts, the way she had sat across from me with those dark eyes and made every rule I had ever followed feel like a fucking inconvenience.
Whitmore nodded slowly. “So you worked together?”
“For a short time,” I replied evenly. “She assisted me with research and helped with one of the greatest symposiums we held in Washington.”
The wordassistedstayed between us until her jaw tightened, and fuck, I liked that more than I should have.
“But only briefly,” I continued, my tone calm. “Unfortunately, her time at the university ended rather abruptly. One day she was there, and the next… puff. Gone.”
Daniel frowned slightly. “What happened?”
I leaned back in my chair as if recalling an old professional detail. “That’s something I never fully understood,” I said. “One day she simply left the university without much explanation.”
