Page 51

He leans closer, showing her something on his phone, and she laughs. Really laughs.

Then her hand settles lightly around his arm, comfortable, familiar.

Something twists viciously inside my chest.

“With all that said, let’s begin the evening with a dance,” the announcer concludes.

Couples make their way to the dance floor.

Her date rises and extends his hand. She doesn’t hesitate. Smiling, she places her hand in his.

I stand rooted to the spot.

The first dance passes. Then the second.

My hope vibrates inside my pocket. But I ignore it.

The only thing I can see is her. How alive she looks. How naturally she lets herself into his embrace, as though that’s exactly where she’s meant to be.

My fingers tighten around the whiskey glass.

A sharp crack splinters through the crystal just as he brushes a kiss across her forehead, and she looks up at him with warmth.

With unmistakable affection.

Fury claws through my chest.

Hot.

Possessive.

Completely irrational.

Every instinct screams at me to cross the room, to pull her away from him, to wipe that smile off his face.

But I stay exactly where I am.

Barely.

The effort of remaining still is almost physical, every muscle drawn painfully taut.

One wrong move.

One word.

That’s all it would take.

And I have no idea what I’d do.

But I can’t make a scene here. Not in front of half the city’s elite.

Drawing a slow breath through my nose, I force myself to turn to the bar until my back faces the dance floor.

I should have done that the moment I saw her. There was never any reason to stand here watching.

No reason at all.

“Need some company?” a woman’s voice asks from far too close.