“Thank you,” I tell them both. “Noah and I were up at the crack of dawn to make sure it all got finished, but it was worth it.”
I turn my attention to my brother, who raises an eyebrow at me. “What, you need more compliments?”
“Shut up.” I roll my eyes. “I was just going to say hi, you doofus.”
“Ouch,” Aiden says, clutching his chest. He’s wearing the same dark gray suit I’ve seen him in a hundred times for his away soccer games. “You’d speak to me that way in front of your new boyfriend?” Hetskslike he’s disappointed in me, and my cheeks heat.
My parents, the saints that they are, ignore his use of the wordboyfriend, though it lingers between us like a physical presence, an extra person seated at the table, here to cause chaos and fray my nerves.
“Be nice to your sister,” my mom scolds. Her eyes briefly flit over to Declan, then back to me. I can see the questions in her gaze, but she doesn’t voice them. I’m sure I’ll be getting the third degree at Sunday dinner tomorrow.
“Hey, Elsie,” Declan finally says, and even after all this time, the sound of my name from his lips makes something low in my belly turn over. I’ve heard those two syllables moaned in my ear while he’s deep inside me, and whispered against my hair as he’s saying goodnight, and dancing on a laugh when I’ve said something he finds particularly funny. But even now, it still stirs something inside me.
“Hi, Declan.”
The ballroom goes quiet for a moment as the music switches over to a slow song. Declan surprises me when he stands from his seat and rounds the table, extending his hand out toward me. “I promised to save a dance for you,” he reminds me.
I look over to my parents, who exchange a knowing look. “Go,” my mom tells me. “We’ll chat more later.”
“We’re about due for a dance ourselves,” my dad adds.
I slip my hand into Declan’s and allow him to lead me out to the dance floor, where he immediately pulls me into his arms. I try to ignore the curious eyes I can feel lingering on our backs as we sway to the music, instead keeping my attention on the handsome man whose hand fits perfectly on my lower back. He clasps one of my hands in his and tucks them tight against his chest, looking down at me with that devastating, gentle smile I’ve come to think of asmine.
“I’ve been itching to get you in my arms since you first entered that chapel,” Declan murmurs, his voice low. He leans down as if to kiss me, and I can’t help it; my spine stiffens, panic clawing at my chest at the idea of such a public display of affection. I can tell by the way his hand flexes against my back that he notices. He looks away, but not before I catch the hurt that flares in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. It’s not the first time I’ve apologized for it, and it probably won’t be the last. He knows I’m uncomfortable with PDA, though he doesn’t know the extent of it. He doesn’t know about the deep-rooted anxiety that’s kept me from seriously dating anyone for the last six -++years. How could he? I haven’t exactly been honest with him about it.
Not for the first time, I realize Declan deserves so much better than what I’ve been giving him.
“Your first big event,” he says, interrupting my self-loathing. He nods to the nearest table, where a baby blue and orange floralarrangement with sprigs of eucalyptus sits at the center. “How does it feel?”
If I wasn’t such a coward, I’d give him a proper apology, maybe even an explanation for my behavior. Instead, I take the lifeline he’s throwing me and roll with his change in topic.
“Incredible,” I admit. “It really was a perfect wedding, wasn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know.” Declan strokes his thumb across the back of my hand while his eyes hold mine. “I was watching you.”
My breath catches at his confession, and I want to rise up onto my toes and kiss him so badly that it scares me.
It scares me so much that I take a step back, out of his arms. He immediately releases his hold on me, his hands falling at his sides as a mixture of confusion and hurt flashes across his handsome face.
“Elsie?”
“I’m sorry, I just…” I trail off, looking for an excuse, a reason to explain why I’m ruining what should be a perfect evening. “I’ll be right back. Bathroom,” I toss over my shoulder as I hurry from the dance floor. I really do head for the restroom, though I don’t need to go. Instead, I stand at the sink, desperately wanting to splash some cool water on my face but not wanting to ruin the makeup that Petra so carefully applied.
“I still can’t believe it,” a voice says from one of the stalls. Two of the six doors are shut, and whoever is behind them either didn’t hear me enter, or they don’t mind having an audience.
“I can’t either,” a second voice says. “I mean, she’s perfect, obviously.”
“Oh, totally. But a girl like her and a guy likethat? Who would have thought a tattoo artist would even be her type?”
I freeze where I stand, gripping the cool marble countertop. They’re talking aboutme?
“Absolutely wild.”
I try to place the voices but come up blank. I don’t recognize them, and with the number of people here tonight, it could be anybody.
A snicker from one of them makes my stomach clench. “She must have a freaky side underneath all those cardigans.”
