No one else mentions Ezra’s continued absence. No one acknowledges that both the bride’s sister and the groom have vanished. We just keep cycling through dinner courses andpretending everything is normal, only mostly in silence because my father still talks. A lot. About members of the board and rumors about their families and affairs. And Noah King listens. Intently. His eyes are focused on my father every time he comes up with a new piece of information, but he remains silent.
When the torturous dinner finally ends and we all rise from the table, my parents lean toward each other, discussing where I’ve come short, I’m sure. They usually confer, and then on the way home, they announce a list of things I’ve done wrong.
Turning away from my parents, I catch Noah’s eyes on me. He tilts his head toward the French doors. “Suffocating in here.”
I follow him without a word. Outside, the night air hits my bare shoulders, carrying salt and the distant rhythm of waves against the shore as a wind begins to howl.
3
Bea
The balcony railingdigs into my palms as I press my weight into it. Five feet away, Noah leans against the stone wall and stares at the shore.
I can’t look directly at him because it evokes feelings I’m not allowed to feel toward my future brother-in-law. The wind carries salt and a whiff of his cologne across the space between us, making me swallow saliva pooling in my mouth.
“Why did you do that in there?”
“Do what?” His voice is low, almost lost in the crash of the waves below and the wind whipping toward us.
“Defend me. To my parents.” The question tastes sour on my tongue. I’ve been standing alone against the world for so long that having someone step onto my side feels odd. “Nobody does that.”
He shifts his attention to study me. Under his eyes, my dress suddenly feels too tight in the humid air. So I stare at the ocean, trying to avoid catching sight of him.
“Your parents are assholes. No one should be treated that way,” he says simply. His voice is quieter out here, rougher. Gone is the asshole I met in the lobby; instead, I’m talking to a regular human. Well, maybe not regular, but a very attractive one. “Your father reminds me of my father.”
I laugh, and the sound comes out sharp and unexpected. “That’s your reason? Shared daddy issues?”
When I finally look up, his eyes are darker than before, and I take a step back, nearly stumbling, because in them, I see the same interest I feel.
The rain that teased the roof earlier is returning with more resolve.
“We should go inside,” I say, but neither of us move, letting the drops cool our skin against the warm, thick air.
He pushes off the wall and rises to his full height, six-foot-something of shadow against the dark sky. The top of my head barely reaches his shoulder, and I suddenly feel tiny.
The muscle in his jaw twitches once. Twice.
“We should,” he agrees simply. “But to answer your previous question, I just didn’t like you getting hurt.” His voice scrapes lower with each word, rough as the waves breaking against the cliffs below.
“I wasn’t getting hurt.”
“Weren’t you?” He finds my gaze and holds it.
The wind turns the rain into swirling mist around us. One remaining patch of stars overhead, encircled by angry clouds, focuses in on us in this tiny space on this balcony. The railing digs into my lower back as I lean away, but for every inch I retreat, the heat from his body advances.
His words hit too close to home, and the embarrassment of him noticing something so intimate chases all common sense away.
“You like playing knight in shining armor?” I attack because I can’t afford feeling sorry for myself. Or worse—letting him feel sorry for me. “Maybe I like being cornered and didn’t need your help. You don’t know me.”
His eyes flick down, lingering on my mouth for three heartbeats. Four. The collar of his shirt has come undone, revealing the hollow at the base of his throat. Cedar and whiskey cling to him, mingling with the sea air.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip while my fingers itch to grab his collar. To push him away or pull him closer—I can’t decide yet. But the thick neck behind it has become the bane of my existence.
“Maybe I want to know you,” he murmurs, the words barely audible above the sound of the ocean and the approaching storm. His warm exhale is suddenly close to my cheek.
He leans in. His palm lands on the railing beside my hip, not touching me but blocking any escape. The balcony shrinks to nothing but his shoulders eclipsing the torchlight.
My lungs actually forget how to work because I start sipping breaths. I tilt my chin up, and the distance between our mouths narrows to inches. Then less. His breath warms my lips, smelling of whiskey and mint. A pulse throbs in his neck, rapid and unsteady. Like mine.
