AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Pretending. When I asked you to come here with me, I wasn’t expecting you to play a part. I just wanted you to come.”
“Really?”
“Of course. You’re my best friend, Evelyn. Everything is better with you.”
“Fozzie,” I quietly utter.
He lifts his gaze to join my own, and I’m sucked into the details of him. Lifting my palm and cupping his cheek, I study every part of his face, memorizing and imprinting into my mind his perfect imperfections, the minute characteristics that make up who he is—the small dimple between his brows when he’s concentrating, the fine line at the corner of his mouth, and the two freckles at the crest of his cheekbone. His hand covers my own, and he slides it toward his mouth, pressing his lips deliberately into the sensitive area of where my lifeline is hidden.
“Foster?” a female voice interrupts at our side.
I quickly swipe my hand out from underneath his.
Sasha, whom I recognize from the ceremony, and a proper-looking man with dark wavy hair and of medium build tentatively wait for a reply.
“Sasha,” Foster deadpans, straightening next to me while smoothing down his tie.
I lean in closer to him. He takes my palm in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand.
“We saw you earlier and wanted to come over and say hello,” Sasha says, reluctant.
“Hello.”
She gestures to the man at her side. “You remember Elton, right?”
“Yes.”
Elton offers a hand in Foster’s direction, and with a prominent Welsh accent, he says, “It’s good to see you again.”
Foster regards his attempt at a formal greeting but doesn’t budge. Elton lowers his palm, retreating, and then slides it around Sasha’s waist.
“I’m Evelyn,” I boldly state, taking control of this stupidly uncomfortable situation.
Sasha hesitantly shakes my offered hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“I can’t say the same about you.”
Her face goes slack, like someone has just stabbed her in the back, and a white state of shock takes over her pallor. I release her hand and then offer it to Elton, who takes it without any pause.
“So, are you the prickwad who was boning Sasha while these two were together?” I ask, my voice dripping with saccharine innocence.
He quickly pulls his grip from mine, shoving it into his pants pocket. “Well now, aren’t you quite forward? And rude.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“That’s him,” Foster confirms. “Lord Elton Wellesley of Tool-ing-ham.”
“Foster,” Sasha pleads, “it was a long time ago. More than a year. Almost two. I was hoping that maybe we could move past all of that now.”
“We have, Sasha,” he states factually. “But no time in the world will make what you did ever be right.”
“I’m sorry for what happened and for what I did and how I handled things. I’ve said it a million times. Why can’t you just forgive me?”
“I do forgive you, but that doesn’t mean I like you.” He glances briefly at Elton. “Or what you’re about. You’re not the person I thought you were. Or maybe you’ve changed. Either way, you’re just a status seeker now. Maybe you always were.” Foster firmly grips my hand and begins to lead us onto the hardwood floor that makes up most of the room. “Enjoy the wedding. And the rest of your lives.”
My steps quicken, trailing Foster away from his ex and to the far end of the dance floor. Without any words, he whirls us around, places my hand at his waist, rests a palm at my lower back, and claps my other hand at shoulder height. Then, to the steady beat of the music playing in the background, he easily leads me across the dance floor with noted grace.
“You can dance?” I ask, dumbfounded.
