Because of course he does.
He says something quick to the people around him, hands off his drink, and starts crossing the room toward me.
No hesitation. No visible caution. Just that long, loose, predatory grace he always had, like his body had never once considered a closed door a meaningful concept. People turn as he passes. A few recognize the energy if not the history. He smiles once at someone who says his name, then keeps coming.
I can feel nearby attention sharpening.
Wonderful.
He stops in front of me, close enough that I catch the scent of him under the polished room—soap, spice, clean skin, and a note of something darker that jerks loose old memories I did not invite. His eyes flick over my face like he’s checking for damage.
“Tilda,” he says.
Just my name.
Two syllables, and somehow it feels like a hand around my throat.
I lift one brow. “Bron.”
He lets out a disbelieving breath that almost turns into a laugh. “I genuinely thought I’d lost my mind for a second.”
“What a medical breakthrough that would be.”
That startles a grin out of him. A real one. Reflexive. Dangerous.
God, I hate that I remember exactly what that grin feels like against my neck.
He shakes his head slightly, still looking at me like I’ve just stepped out of a locked room in his past. “What are you doing here?”
I let the silence sit long enough to be rude.
Then I say, “Attending the mandatory reception. Same as everyone else.”
His grin widens a fraction, because apparently he’s already deciding this is banter instead of a warning. “Right. Fair. I just meant?—”
“I know what you meant.”
His gaze drops briefly to my dress, then back to my face. “You look…”
He trails off.
I hope he’s searching for a word and swallowing it.
Instead he says, softly, “You look like you.”
That annoys me far more than a compliment would have. Because it’s not slick. Not easy. Too close to real.
I fold my arms. “Did you need something?”
That lands. His expression shifts by a degree.
“Well,” he says, with that infuriating warmth still threaded through his voice, “I was hoping to say hello without getting stabbed.”
“You’re very optimistic.”
“I’m thrilled to see you, Til.”
The nickname lands like a slap.
