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And she’s gone, and I know people are looking at us, but it’s honestly in the top three things I couldn’t care less about right now. Tilting my head and sliding a hand around her waist, I deepen the kiss, feeling her body flush with mine, every inch of me so alive I’m ready to cry.
Is she really here? How…? What…?
“You said you loved me,” she whispers.
I smile, kissing her mouth again and again, over and over. “I was wondering…” More kisses. “If you’d noticed that.”
“I didn’t say it back.”
I stop, now reminded myself. I search her eyes, hoping she says it but almost wishing she doesn’t speak at all. I just want a few more minutes with her if she’s about to walk away.
“I didn’t want you to know that you could break my heart.” Her brown eyes, behind beautiful smoky eye makeup, glisten. “I didn’t want Clay Collins to ever know that…”
She pauses, the eyes and whispers around us, my family in the audience, and Wentworth’s booming voice on stage not nearly as loud as my heart.
“That she has always broken my heart,” she tells me. “I love you.”
My chest swells.
“I’ve only ever loved you.” Her breath warms me from head to toe, and I’ve never felt happier. “My heart is yours,” she says. “Shred it, burn it, I don’t care. I want every minute I can get.”
Yes.
I laugh, smile, and dive in, lost in her mouth for I don’t know how long until we’ve lost control, and I’ve fallen into the wall, her body pressed to mine.
“Lipsticks!” Krisjen chides, coming over.
I pull away, cleaning her mouth as she cleans mine, and I’m dizzy. She takes the lipstick from Krisjen and tries to reapply mine, but I can’t stand it. I take her face in my hands, needing another dose.
“I’m never letting you go,” I whisper in her ear.
But she meets my eyes, something wicked in hers. “I kind of hope you try.”
What?
“You spent years torturing me,” she points out, pushing me into the wall and jerking her body into mine. “I might like returning the favor if you ever try to keep this from me again.”
I groan as she grips my body and her warmth seeps through my clothes.
Please, God, take me to a car now. Jesus.
She hands everything back to Krisjen and looks at me. “So, you ready for this?”
To be with her wherever and whenever I want? “Hell yes.”
She nods. “Then let’s make a scene.”
My father steps up behind us and Krisjen takes Liv’s hand, pulling her away to get in position, and I watch her go, the dress on her unlike anything here tonight. She’s the most beautiful.
“Ready?” My dad takes my hand, hooking it over his arm.
“For anything.”
The music starts playing, the line forms behind the stage, and I’m tempted to push myself and my father back a few spaces, so we’re not front and center and dominating attention like my outfit no doubt will, but what’s worth doing once is worth doing big. I’m not hiding another second.
“Please welcome the Daughters of St. Carmen in the Ninety-Ninth Annual Debutante Ball!” Mrs. Wentworth announces on the stage.
Three-two-one…
We walk, stepping out from behind the curtain together and keeping in time, slow and steady, as I come into view and the applause suddenly falters. My skin warms as everyone watches us, my dad and I both in suits, me in a top hat, and then the clapping turns to whispers, because I’m the only one in nearly a hundred years who’s broken protocol. I snort, nearly failing at holding in my laughter, and I look up to Dad, seeing him look down at me with a wink. What are they going to do? This isn’t even the fun part.
We descend the stage and stop in the middle of the dance floor, bowing to the crowd. A full curtsy is customary next, and I oblige, dropping to the floor and lowering my head.
The orchestra plays, and I rise, hoping Krisjen took care of the next part.
Finally, I hear it. “Uh…” Mrs. Wentworth clears her throat, composing herself. “Miss…um, Miss Clay Collins, escorted by…” I hear a heavy exhale. “Escorted by Olivia Jaeger.”
A few claps, but I don’t expect more and don’t wait for it as I watch Liv walk around the dance floor and stop at my side, slipping her fingers between mine.
I gaze at her, the way the string of little flowers drape off her shoulders and down her arm. The way the dress hugs her body and only complements, doesn’t hide. How she looks fantastic in a little pink, and I know, in this moment, that I have no intention of looking into any other pair of eyes for the rest of my life.
I ignore the heat of my grandmother’s anger I can feel somewhere in the room. The camera phone here or there that’s probably documenting this. And anyone who might be whispering or laughing, because my mom’s right.
