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“Really,” I confirm.
“Why didn’t we have fireworks at our reception then?”
“I told her no.”
“You weren’t celebrating.” It’s not a question, but a statement.
“They’re bad for the environment.”
He chuckles against my hair, and I feel the vibrations everywhere. “So is flying private.”
“Nobody’s perfect.”
He’s still laughing. There’s a strange gooey sensation in my chest, like something is melting inside of me.
Rapid bursts of color pepper the heavens, signaling the start of the finale. We’re both silent through the end of it, staying still as the final flashes fade.
When the display ends, the magic disappears with it. I feel awkward, standing here with him holding me, not comfortable the way I was moments ago. I clear my throat. “I should head back up.”
Crew doesn’t move or react for a few seconds. When his hands do drop, I experience disappointment, not relief. “I’ll walk you back up.”
He’s expecting ayou don’t have to do that. I bite it back and turn so I’m facing him. “Okay.”
There’s no triumph on his face, only excitement. “Let me grab my shoes from the gazebo.”
“You changed,” I state. Like an idiot who blurts out the obvious.
“Yeah. Some of the guys wanted to swim earlier.”
“Just the guys?” The clarification is out before I can stop it.
“Just the guys,” he confirms.
I manage a small, jerky nod.Thistime, there’s relief.
“Be right back.”
I watch him spin and walk away, admiring how his shoulders shift as he strides. The way his swim trunks hug his thighs and butt.
It’s one night. People have one-night stands all the time. I’ve had one-night stands. It doesn’t have to mean anything. I have another trip to Paris next week. That will force some distance between us. I can do this. I cannotcare.
Commotion distracts me from the internal pep talk. I squint in the direction of the Kingsleys’ gazebo, trying to make out the two figures standing near it. One of them throws a punch and the shape on the receiving end goes down like a parachuting stone.
I react without thinking, running in that direction along with everyone else in the vicinity. The upper class prefers back-stabbing to brawls. If you have a problem with someone, you say it to their face in a sweet tone. You don’t rearrange it.
And the last thing I’m expecting when I reach the huddle that’s formed around the fight is for Crew to be the one standing, sporting red knuckles and a murderous expression. I rush forward, my path unencumbered as soon as everyone realizes who I am. People are scrambling to get out of my way.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I shout once I reach him, looking between Crew’s furious face and Camden Crane, who’s sitting in the sand sporting a split lip.
Blood dribbles from Camden’s mouth as he begins laughing. “I would have said it to your face, Kensington. She must have a—”
Crew lunges forward and hits him again. Camden will have a black eye tomorrow to match his swollen mouth. I make the stupid decision not to walk away and ignore whatever is happening. Anyone else, I would. Instead, I shove Crew’s chest, feeling the adrenaline and animosity radiating off him. He’s breathing heavily.
“Crew. What is going on? What are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer either question. Just keeps glaring at the guy on the ground. I look around at the assembled onlookers, trying to read the situation. Obviously Camden said something that pissed Crew off. Badly enough to convince Crew to disfigure his face.
Penelope and Rachel both have hands over their mouths, looking shocked. But it’s the men that I linger on. They all look cowed—nervous. Even Andrew Spencer, who I thought considered Crew a friend. None of them will make eye contact with me.
