Page 212
Charm takes a breath, holds my eyes, then nods. “Okay.”
I catch her waist and pull her closer before opening the door. “One more thing.”
“What?”
“No apologizing to anyone downstairs.”
“I screamed at my friends and attempted to abandon the wedding.”
“You didn’t abandon anything. The rest can wait until everyone has enough sleep to stop making shitty decisions.”
“That sounds suspiciously healthy.”
“Don’t spread it around.”
The ballroom has grown louder during our absence. The formal portion of the evening has dissolved into a party spreading between the ballroom and terrace, with music strong enough to pull guests toward the dance floor. Cade and Bliss stand near the center greeting people while Easton and Aura occupy one end of the bar. Briggs appears to be explaining something with both hands while Temple laughs hard enough to hold Rider’s arm for balance.
Every familiar face turns toward us and Charm’s fingers tighten around mine.
I lift my free hand before Bliss can move. “Don’t.”
She stops immediately. Aura’s concern deepens, but she remains beside Easton. Cade studies Charm, looks at me, and nods once.
Briggs opens his mouth.
I point at him.
He shuts it again and turns toward Lyric as though whatever he planned to say was always intended for her.
I guide Charm to the bar with my hand against her lower back. The bartender sets down two glasses before I finish ordering. Mezcal, soda, and lime. Charm accepts hers and takes a longer drink than usual.
“Commitment,” I say.
“I’ve had a day.”
“So has that suitcase.”
Her mouth twitches against the rim.
We don’t discuss Lance. Charm doesn’t ask about the investigation, the Inferno, or how close I came to losing Milwaukee. I don’t tell her about fluorescent conference rooms, strangers passing photographs of her body across polished tables, or the nights I stared at my phone and refused to ask Cade for more than confirmation that she remained safe.
For a few hours, none of it gets to belong near us.
We drink and move through the ballroom together. I introduce Charm to people from Detroit who came for Cade, keeping my palm at her waist while she speaks without shrinking beneath their attention. Coach Little tells her I turned film review into an inappropriate setting for unsolicited literary criticism.
“He considers every room an appropriate setting for that,” she tells him.
“Context matters.”
“You tried to explain Tennyson during sex.”
The coach chokes on his drink.
I look at Charm. “That was one time.”
“It was enough.”
I kiss the side of her head in front of him.
