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Her eyes narrow, but the blue is still intense and consuming. Overwhelming. And shifting. They remind me of the sky, where there’s always something different to see. A cloud or a storm or a rainbow.
The car stops moving. I glance out at the stone lion that guards the entrance to the library. Thousands of candles have been placed on the steps leading from the sidewalk to the doors, flickering in the fading light. Once it’s completely dark out, it will be a dazzling sight.
I open the limo door and step out, taking a deep breath as I adjust my cufflinks one final time. From here on out, I won’t display any nervous habits. I can already feel attention turning this way, my shoulders tensing as I paste a fake smile on my face.
I walk around to the other door, shaking my head at the driver as he reaches for the handle. He steps back instantly, bowing his head a little.
Hannah wasn’t expecting me to be the one opening her door. I watch the delicate column of her throat bob before she steels herself and grabs my hand, the silk of her dress exposing a flash of calf before it falls in a loose waterfall.
“Thank you,” she says.
“You’re welcome.”
Hannah takes my elbow as we climb the stairs, her balance shaky on the uneven stone.
I can’t help myself. “Maybe you should have worn flats.”
“Maybe you should stop criticizing my outfit,” she shoots back.
I bite the inside of my cheek to hide my smile.
Hundreds of people are milling about the massive lobby.
The first couple I see are my brother and sister-in-law.
And since we’re Kensingtons, everyone is staring.
The muscles of my shoulders bunch beneath the tailored seams of my tuxedo.
“You good?” I murmur to Hannah.
“Fine.”
“Oliver!”
I turn to see Chase Anderson approaching, a broad grin on his face as he shakes my hand and then claps me on the shoulder. His exuberance is contagious, relaxing a little of my stiff posture.
“How the hell are you, man?”
“Not bad,” I reply. “I saw you clinched playoffs, congrats.”
“Thanks. Gotta grab a flight back to Detroit tonight, but I couldn’t miss Garrett’s wedding.” He glances at Hannah. “Hello, gorgeous. I don’t think we’ve ever been introduced.”
I glare at him, my hand automatically finding the small of Hannah’s back. The heat of her skin burns my fingers, separated by only the thin layer of lace I buttoned up earlier.
“We haven’t. But I helped negotiate Conor Hart’s trade, so since he was the one who scored the overtime goal against Chicago, you’re welcome for a chance to chase the Cup.”
Chase blinks at Hannah, uncharacteristically speechless. “You’re an agent?” he finally asks.
“Not exactly. I just work at a sports agency.”
“Which one?”
“Garner Sports Agency.”
“Damn.” Chase whistles, looking impressed.
“Chase!” A middle-aged woman I recognize as Mrs. Anderson appears, her bracelets jangling as she waves her hands around. “You’re supposed to be helping your brother get ready.”
