Page 19 of Waiting for You

But it wasn't Eliza's face that surfaced when Simon mentioned a family. It was Sloane's, and the realization hit hard enough that I needed a private minute I couldn't take in the middle of a cocktail hour.

I cleared my throat to shake the image loose. "I guess that depends on the woman I end up with."

Simon flashed an easy smile. "Right. If Violet wants a house full of kids, we'll have them. If she wants it to be just us, that's fine too." He swirled the champagne in his flute. "I want to marry her because I love her. Not to secure an heir. Not to hire a live-in nurse." His eyes crinkled. "And definitely not to clean my kitchen."

A startled laugh ripped out of me. "She really is a lucky woman."

"I'm the lucky one."

And he meant it. His gaze was rock-steady, his face free of any performance. Violet had found a man who understood what partnership meant.

I was happy for her, even if that happiness stood shoulder to shoulder with a heavier grief of my own.

The crowd was thinning. Across the floor, Violet was deep in a conversation, her fingers laced with Simon's, their chemistry visible from fifty feet away. Not long ago I wouldn't have RSVP'd to this dinner. I'd have mailed an extravagant blender and convinced myself the gesture covered it. The rift between Violet and me hadn't opened overnight. It was built from every holiday I missed, every call I sent to voicemail, the selfish years I let slip by while I put my career over my sister.

She never once demanded I fix it. That was the cruelest part of Violet's trauma: she never asked anyone for anything, which made it terrifyingly easy to go years without noticing the debt you owed her.

I'd finally woken up. I watched her fall in love with a man who was becoming her real family, and I understood, with a sick clarity, that I wanted in that inner circle, not as biological trivia but as a chosen protector.

So I started showing up. I put in the work. And the distance between us finally closed.

I worked my way through the lingering guests to tell her goodnight.

She spotted me coming and turned with her arms thrown wide.

"I'm so glad you made it," she mumbled into my jacket.

"There's nowhere else on earth I'd rather be." I wrapped her up and pressed a kiss into her styled hair.

She pulled back, her eyes shining, her chin high. "Go back to your room and get some actual sleep, doctor."

"You too, bride."

She gave my bicep one last squeeze and let go.

As I straightened my jacket, my eyes swept the venue on their own.

Sloane wasn't buried in her screen anymore.

She was deep in conversation with a man in a sharp grey suit. I didn't recognize him. He stood angled in close to her, and she was looking up into his face with an unguarded smile, the warm one she'd refused to give me. Her chin tilted up. She talked with her hands, and the man threw his head back laughing.

The rage spiked so hard I felt it in my teeth. I turned for the exit.

Out on the sidewalk, I dragged in the biting night air. It was clean and sobering. While I stood on the pavement waiting for my pulse to drop, my phone vibrated in my pocket.

Eliza.

I swiped to accept.

"You still trapped at the rehearsal dinner?"

"I'm walking out the door right now."

"Did it go well?"

"It did. How are things on your end?"

"Fine. Survived dinner with my parents. I'm putting out a few corporate fires, but my flight's booked for tomorrow." She paused. "I might have to slip into the reception a little late."