Why had she ever agreed to this spectacle with Mason? He’d made a fool out of her.
No one would believe the truth. No one would arrange a marriage in this day and age. No one believed love was only a myth.
They’d never understand why she craved safety and security, and they didn’t know how Mason had promised her she would never be alone. He had the celebrity clout to stand between her and chaos. Marrying Mason meant stability.
Except it didn’t. That safety net had slipped through her fingers like Santa Monica beach sand spilling into the Pacific Ocean, churning and turning under the crush of pounding waves. And now she was going to cry in front of Rhys. He’dseen her cry only once before and used that to destroy the very foundation of personal trust, and now he’d believe she was brokenhearted over Mason.
Don’t cry. Don’t do it. Not a single, solitary tear.
Rhys shifted away, almost as if he could sense the sob welling in her, ready to crush her to the carpet. He had saved her from an abductor, shielded her from stalkers, and led her silk-swaddled escape from her wedding, but he couldn’t handle tears. How entirely on brand for the male species.
His large hand rested on her shoulder, and whatever had been rising in her chest went completely still. Not soothed just—stopped. “Take a breath.”
Her eyes locked on his, and for a moment, she thought he might be the only reason she could breathe.
Her sister and girlfriends surrounded Jules, pushing him out of the way. They coddled her and cooed Mason’s death threats, making bowls of ice cream and chattering nonsense—happy thoughts and greeting card punch lines. When did society teach women that artificial sweetness was a balm for emotion?
Jules backed from the fray. The women told her to sit and relax, that everything would be okay. She didn’t have the mental energy to convince them otherwise.
Her eyes found Rhys’s again. They were tight at the corners and full of… of what? Anger? Resentment? She didn’t know.
His jaw ticked as he listened to the chatter. His frown deepened. They weren’t convincing him that the situation would be okay either.
Jules laughed, quietly and only for him to hear.
He surveyed the ridiculousness again. The corners of his lips tipped up. They’d known each other longer than she’d known Yasmin, Aaliyah, and Olivia. She trusted them. Him? Yes and no, and it didn’t matter as he pushed away like a man who had foundhimself in the middle of too much estrogen and not enough breathing room.
Jules stopped him as he beelined from the fray, his face shrouded with that bodyguard glare that caused people to take a step back. “Rhys,” she said, catching his arm as he powered toward the hotel room door. “Thank you.”
“He’s not worth your tears.” His voice was low, not a whisper but not for anyone else to hear. “No one is. I promise you.”
Her heart fluttered, and her mind went back to that day so many years ago when he’d rescued her from the first man she’d thought she loved. That had been a mistake, loving that man and crying in front of Rhys.
Rhys squeezed her shoulder again. Again, it reminded her of that reassuring touch he’d offered so many years ago when he’d saved her from two weeks of hell.
It was ironic, somehow, that she’d thought she’d been in love with the man who’d abducted her, tormented her, basically ruining her for anyone else, and now Mason had betrayed her while pretending to be in love. Rhys had saved her from both instances of love.
Fucking love. Love caused more problems than it was worth.
“Do you want toffee chips?” Aaliyah called.
Jules shrugged. “Why not?”
“Cherries?” Bowls and jars and scoops clinked and clanked like building her an ice cream monstrosity could erase her wedding day.
She shrugged again, not above a little wishful thinking. “Go for it.”
The ice cream sundae gave her friends something to do. Rhys glanced over, eyebrow arching. “Hope you’re hungry.”
Jules moved to his side and nudged his hulking body. He stiffened, of course. Rhys didn’t ever relax. Probably one of the many reasons he was good at his job.
“You should make a bowl.”
“Nah. Abigail looks like she might throw a punch if anyone gets too close to the ice cream cart.”
“Don’t make me laugh. I’m supposed to be sobbing.” Emotion cracked through her bravado. No one noticed except Rhys. Perhaps he had the registers of her voice memorized, as he had memorized everything else.
He draped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing with a side hug that packed a stronger sense of security than any her fiancé—ex-fiancé—had offered. And it only served as a reminder that she was less safe than she’d ever been.
