Page 30 of Waiting for You

"There are worse places to be trapped," he murmured.

My pulse tripped, and I dropped my gaze to the floor.

He was charming and warm with everyone he met. This was how he operated in a room, and I was dangerously overreading the moment. I'd been reading too much into every interaction since we collided back into each other's orbit.

I lifted my eyes back to his face. The corners of his mouth held still. His dark eyes were anchored to mine, refusing to look away.

I slid my freezing arms into the oversized sleeves and pulled the lapels tight across my chest. I breathed in on reflex, and my lungs filled with his scent. It was clean, masculine, and agonizingly unchanged.

Then my frozen fingers brushed something deep inside the right pocket: a rigid cube, its velvet corners worn smooth from years of anxious handling.

My stomach dropped.

I reached inside and pulled the tiny box into the dim light. My thumb popped the worn clasp.

The ring sat in the dark silk. It was the same brilliant oval diamond, guarded by that halo of deep blue sapphires, elegant from a distance and dizzyingly complicated up close. I'd worn this piece on my left hand. I'd woken up every morning, stared at the stones, and thought that I got to keep this. I got to keep him forever. And then I'd shoved it into a cardboard shipping box and mailed it back with a letter I'd built to gut him.

The air went out of the room.

I hated the sight of it. It didn't matter that it was a breathtaking piece of art. I hated it because those sapphires mapped the shape of everything I'd chosen to slaughter. And here it was, sitting in his suit pocket at his sister's wedding, the velvet corners rubbed bald by a man who'd refused to give it away.

I lifted my gaze to his.

"You kept it," I whispered. My voice fractured, sounding like tearing paper.

He opened his mouth, his expression caught between panic and confession.

The wooden door swung open.

Violet stood in the doorway, a panicked venue staffer hovering behind her shoulder. The employee stepped in, apologizing in a rush, explaining that the old iron latch had been sticking all week and he should've warned the bridal party before sending anyone down. I ignored him. I snapped the velvet case shut, shoved it back into the deep pocket, shucked the jacket off my shoulders, and pushed the wool into Xavier's chest. He caught it without a word. Neither of us spoke.

Violet's sharp eyes locked onto my face. Her chin dipped, her brows pinching as she read the crackling tension between us.

I refused to look at her, fixing my stare on a scuff mark past her shoulder.

Violet steered me back onto the reception floor. The DJ was blaring something loud and joyful while Olivia and Simon owned the center of the dance floor. Violet hauled me to the quiet outer edge of the room. I practically tackled a passing waiter, snatched a fresh flute of champagne, and downed half of it before I tried to speak.

"What happened down there?" Violet demanded, crossing her arms. "You two were trapped in that cellar way too long. I know the lock jammed, but when I opened that door, you both looked like⁠—"

"I was freezing, so he gave me his jacket," I cut in, the words rushing out. "And when I put my hands in the pockets to warm up, my fingers hit something."

"What kind of something?" she pressed, her eyes narrowing.

"The ring," I gasped. "The same ring he proposed with."

Violet stared at me, paralyzed.

"Sloane, that can't be true," she whispered.

"It's true." I drained the rest of the champagne in one gulp. "The oval-cut diamond ringed by the sapphire halo. I'd recognize that custom setting in pitch blackness. I wore it on my own hand."

"Sloane." She lunged forward and grabbed my bare arm. "He had the engagement ring."

"He had the engagement ring!"

Violet's brows drew together and stayed there. Her jaw flexed once before she pressed her lips into a thin line.

"He brought it to my wedding," she said, her voice dropping. "He was carrying it in his jacket pocket."