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Maybe it’s the way I still feel Toren’s fingers on my thighs from a week ago like lingering bruises and I’m desperate not to be touched by anyone but him, or purely because I want Carson to leave me alone, but instead of taking his hand, I stick my tongue out at him and lift my middle finger with a little smirk like I’ve seen Paloma do before.
He sighs heavily, and somehow his disdain for me makes me smile.
I roll the ring into my right hand and slip it onto my third finger, before flipping off both men in tuxes with their backs to me.
Sliding a little unceremoniously out of the back seat, I trip a little and reach for the side of the car, before another hand slips into mine.
“Hey, pretty girl.”
Holden is dressed in a navy tux, his bow tie a little loose. I’d fix it, if I knew how, but instead I give him a smile. He returns it, albeit restrained, as he helps me steady myself.
“Hey.” I should compliment him, tell him I’m happy to see him, say anything. But what comes out is, “Have you seen Toren?”
Holden grimaces but tries to hide it. “Um, yeah. He’s—”
“LaBlanc,” a voice calls. Coach Harris is approaching from the side, Sahara just behind him, arm in arm with Toren Kane.
The breadth of his shoulders blocks out the fading light of the early winter sunset as they get closer and closer, until it feels like he’s looming over me, but his eyes are puddles of gleaming gold, vibrant and beautiful. Chiseled, clean-shaven jaw, scattered scars over deep olive skin, the slight tipped peak of the tattoos that unfurl up his neck beneath the black-on-black suit he’s wearing.
My throat feels tight, eyes scanning him over and over like a mirage that will disappear if I even dare to blink.
“Tor.” Holden steps over to his side as Sahara steps a bit closer to me.
“Lily,” Sahara greets me first, stepping to hug me, which startles me a bit at first. Even more so as someone presses a warm hand to my bare back so that I stumble into her open embrace; Toren, I realize too late, the touch already gone. “So good to see you. And you look so beautiful.”
“Um, thank you,” I offer. “So do you.”
She grins brightly, before it turns to something softer as she looks up at her husband. “Should we go inside? I’m cold.”
Mr. Harris wraps his arm around his wife’s shoulders and steps toward the entrance.
For a moment I pretend that I can take Toren’s arm. That my dad and Carson aren’t even here, that they don’t exist in this timeline.
But the fantasy fades out into nothing. What good is my rebellion when Toren won’t even look at me?
“Carson,” my father calls. “Why don’t you take your fiancée inside?”
Like a good little errand boy, Carson steps forward and grabs my arm, walking us forward behind the Harrises. I flicker my eyes back over my shoulder a few times, Toren barely a hairbreadth away towering over us both.
Like some dark avenging angel.
We walk as a unit through the room, before Carson stops and releases me to grab a glass of something sparkly from a waiter walking by.
I reach as well, but my father grabs my wrist and pulls it sharply down, giving me a disapproving look.
Holden steps to my right side, lowering his voice to say, “I’ll get something for us all, hmm?”
Before I can respond, a small voice calls my name.
Liam steps back from where he’s pulled on my dress just slightly to get my attention, pushing his little shoulders back in the suit he’s wearing. I squat down, smiling brightly at him.
“Don’t you look handsome,” I say, opening my arms for him to squeeze me in his usual hug.
He blushes and nods. “You look very pretty, Miss Lily.”
His eyes meet Toren’s over my shoulder and somehow his too-wide smile only grows. Body bouncing like he can’t contain his excitement, he lets out a bright, loud shout.
“You look like Nightwing!” Liam’s cheeks flush and he drops his voice to add, “Or . . . like Dick Grayson.”
