“So you did miss me,” he teases.
We step back, fighting smiles, and I shake my head. A passing caterer asks him if he’d like a drink, and he thanks him and takes a glass.
I haven’t seen Tristan in two months. He’s still tan and broad and his eyes glint with both amusement and sharp intelligence, but he looks more solid. More self-assured.
He’s still the mischievous young man I met at twenty-three, except now he’s in a tux with a bow tie hanging loose around his neck instead of a violently pink pair of bathing suit shorts. Same sharp jaw. Same rounded shoulders. Same devilish smile.
He sips, and my eyes catch on the way his lips wrap around his glass.
What the hell?
I shove away the weird feeling and raise my watch in the air. “I was three minutes and forty-seven seconds from coming after you.”
“Moi?” he asks innocently. “Bailey, I’m flattered.”
“Don’t Bailey me,” I hiss. “You were supposed to be here at eight. You’re the guest of honor. I assumed you’d been kidnapped.”
“Just as paranoid as when I left you.” He lounges idly against the wall. “So, anything interesting happening back here behind this plant?”
“Nothing yet.”
“But there’s still time,” he says, the laugh evident in his voice.
“You know, Tristan, maybe if you ever do get kidnapped, I won’t come after you.”
He grins, then sips the Old Kingdom he’s drinking out of a crystal glass. I know it’s Old Kingdom because every Prince sibling drinks that whiskey on their birthday. It’s the family’sprized vintage and the most expensive bourbon in the country.
“I’d do very poorly in a kidnapping situation. I have delicate skin.” He holds out his wrist. “See? I would chafe. Duct tape makes me break out.”
I follow the veins on his wrist as they disappear into the sleeve of his tux. “I don’t know. I’m sure repeated exposure would help. You want to test it out?”
He tips his head back against the wall and laughs, his throat working.
“Fuck, you’re funny.”
I allow myself a smile and lean back against the wall next to him.
“Were things terribly dull without me?”
I snort. “No one complained I was cheating during chess, and I did miss the sound of a man crying on my morning runs.”
He chuckles. “Ah, Bailey.” His voice is warm. “America’s sweetheart you are not. No dress tonight?”
I can feel him studying me. “You might have been gone for two months, but notthatmuch has changed. You know I’m not a dress girl. Bodyguard, remember?” I’m a practical shoes girl. An athleisure at all hours because it’s the one thing that fits my thighs and my waist girl. A ponytail and no makeup girl because I’d really love to learn how to apply it, but I haven’t cracked that code yet. The one time I wore lipstick, Tristan laughed me out of the gym.
“Why are you back here?” I gesture toward the ballroom. “Your followers await.”
A shadow passes over his face before he wipes his expression. “I thought this was a safe space.”
I give him an amused look.
“It’s our thing,” he says. “Don’t you remember? You hidebehind plants at parties and I seek you out to make sure you’re not bored.”
“I’m not hiding.” I scan the ballroom again.
“Ah, but you were bored.”
His words pull my mouth into a reluctant smile. “Believe it or not, I enjoy being in the background.”
