Page 49 of Chasing Clouds

“Yes, it was, princess, but don’t worry about it. In the end, I still got the girl.”

Somewhere in the crowd, someone clinks their glass. One by one, the clinking gets louder, and a blush creeps up into her cheeks. Feeling the need to put on a show, I swing her into my arms, dip her backward, and kiss her—really kiss her. To me, this kiss is long overdue.

I HAD THE best night tonight. The last time I even came close to this feeling was with Ali, Drew, Nate, and friends in New York City, but even then, the pressure of getting married to Patrick was always there. Tonight, all of that is gone.

The thing about growing up the way I did—old money, socialite, upper class—is that I wasn’t given the opportunity to ever mingle with people who were different. Friendships were fake, and yes, even though I lived in New York City, I didn’t really have a lot of friends, nor did I mingle with very many people. My circle was kept small, and I focused on dancing.

Several times tonight, I’ve thought back to when Reid confronted me about ‘playing the part.’ I understand what he’s saying, but that’s the only part I’ve ever played. In fact, as little girls, we were forced to go to etiquette classes, and it was drilled into us how to present ourselves as ladies. Him again mentioning he doesn’t like the proper version of me reassures me that maybe it’s okay to not be that girl. I don’t want to be that girl; I just need to find out how to be me and where the balance is—me at home, me with my family, and me out with friends.

For so long, I’ve been trying to protect my rose-colored glasses. I know my view of the world has been tinted, but over the last week, I’ve been trying really hard to shake it off. Tonight I feel like that started to happen. There’s nothing wrong with relaxing and being me, and I shouldn’t have been worried that I was being fed to the wolves. These are Reid’s friends, not my father’s, and not Patrick’s. They respect him and love him, so of course they were going to give that to me, too.

Reid is from New York. Billy and Missy are from Utah, and they are quite possibly the most down-to-earth couple I’ve ever met. Jack is an army brat, so he’s lived all over, and Bryan is from a middle-of-nowhere farm town in Florida. The diversity in this group of people doesn’t make any of them feel uncomfortable or out of place. It’s like Reid said: character. They’re all unique, they’re all wonderful, and they all have the same goal—to live their best life. I feel more welcome here than I ever did at home.

The sound of the sliding glass door opening has me turning around, and I watch as Reid walks out onto the balcony. The party ended around midnight and we’re back at his place, but neither of us were ready to call it a night.

“You really like it out here, don’t you?” he asks as he heads straight toward me. Our eyes connect, and the weight of his stare has me stepping back against the railing. Tonight he wore a black suit with a pale green shirt; he’s dropped the jacket somewhere inside and rolled up his sleeves. The man knows how to wear his clothes better than anyone I’ve ever seen. It’s like he should come with a warning label: Be prepared to stare.

“I do.” I turn around and look out into the night sky. “What I miss about New York is the city life, and what I miss about Savannah is the proximity to water. Here I feel like I’m getting the best of both worlds: city but small town, Southern, there’s the water, and up here there’s a breeze. I like being able to see so much. It makes me feel free, like anything is possible.”

“Anything is possible.”

“Now it is.” And it’s because of him I can feel this way.

Stepping up behind me, he wraps his arms around my waist. My hair blows in the breeze and I tuck it down to keep it out of his face.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” he asks, resting his chin on top of my head.

“I did. Your friends are really nice.”

“Thank you. I think so, too. They’re your friends now, too, for as long as you want them,” he says softly.

John Mayer filters out from the speakers, and I lean back into Reid, resting my head on his shoulder as we listen to the lyrics of the music. Off in the distance, lights from the boats moving into the port are twinkling at us. Below us, cars seem to be racing to get to their next destination, but here, next to him, everything seems to be standing still. It’s like time has stopped and the world is giving us this tiny moment to just be together, to just breathe.

“Did you feel like we were lying to them tonight? I was worried about you.”

He seemed fine for the most part, but every now and then I would catch him looking at me, his expression clouded with what looked like wariness, uncertainty.

His hands shift so they can run up and down my arms.

“No, I didn’t feel like I was lying. We are married, and no matter how short or indefinite this is, it’s like you said: this is our story, and we’re just giving it a chance.”

Is he saying he wants to give this a chance—to give me a chance? My palms start sweating and I grip the railing. I don’t ask him. I can’t. It would ruin the moment, and I think back to all the times he’s made it clear how he feels about relationships. Plus, whatever I end up deciding to do next, I need to do it for me without influence from someone else. In the meantime, I think about what Clare said. He is hot, and he’s been so sincere to me, it is kind of hard to not get wrapped up in his spell, at least while I still have him.

“Camille . . .”

“Yeah?”

“Turn around, princess.” His voice is stern, almost insistent as he lets go of me and takes a few steps back.

Slowly, I twist so I’m facing him and leaning back against the railing. His eyes flare at how close I am to the edge, my dress and my hair whipping out into open space. I arch back a little farther, tilting my head, taunting him, feeling brave, and his hands curl into fists. All the emotions of the past two weeks have caught up to him and are evident on his face. His body is tense; there’s a strain in his muscles pulling his shirt across his chest, a tightness in his jaw as he swallows, and an intensity burning in his eyes.

“Come here,” he says, enjoying the spark between us.

As I close the small gap, the wind blows, picking up my short skirt and swirling it around the tops of my legs. His eyes drop to the new flash of skin, and a shiver runs through me in anticipation of what’s to come.

Gently, his fingers reach for my elbow, and I willingly allow him to pull me flush against his hard, solid body. His scent flows over me.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are tonight?” His face is half covered with shadows, the other half illuminated by the light of the moon. Longing is radiating off him, the green in his eyes so bright it’s rolling like hot lava.