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“Get your hands off me.”
“Annalise.”
I tug loose. “Don’t talk to me!”
“But—”
“Pictures, Marco. Pictures.” It’s still not too late to ruin Avery’s wedding photos with mascara trails down my cheeks.
I hear frustration in a sigh that’s more of a groan. The jerk. Three months of silence andnowhe wants to talk?
I endure the thirty-minute exercise in ignoring his closeness, err, photo session. Half the time his hands are on my shoulders, my waist, wrapped around mine. Darn the wedding photographer and her ideas for creative shots that capture the emotion of the night. I’ll show her emotion…
If the lady sayslean inone more time, I’ll scream. Or melt into a puddle since it’s typically Marco she’s telling me to snuggle up to. This is torture and someone should have to pay.
Finally, we’re released from our duties. I try to lose myself in the crowd moving toward the tiki torch-lit reception area, but Marco claims my hand.
I tug hard. I can’t do this now.
“Annalise.”
I snap my arm, but he holds fast. “I mean it. Let me go.”
Tossing his head back, he groans. “Allie…”
Now that’s not playing fair.
“Can we please talk…Allie Girl.” Those memorable green eyes twinkle in the twilight.
So he’s playing dirty, is he?
But his hand is warm, his eyes mesmerizing—and isn’t this what I’ve wanted for months?
He leads me away from the festivities, until the noises from the party are replaced by the cresting, washing waves. Doggonit, why am I letting him hold my hand? I break loose.
He sighs like it hurts. “Guess I deserve that.”
“Ya think?”
A dry chuckle. “Is there a chance of me earning your forgiveness, Allie, or am I forever doomed?”
I think I know what my answer should be, but then I’m reminded of all I’ve been forgiven. I also remember his patience, kindness, and open acceptance when I needed it more than air.
“Fine. I’m listening.” I sound snarky. I don’t mean it, though, a realization that catches me off guard. Marco had his own burdens last fall—so look at who’s the center of her own universe again. That isn’t who I want to be. Drat. I’ve not grown as much as I thought. “I’m sorry. I’m making it all about me again, aren’t I?” My hurt, my pain.
He nudges his elbow against mine. “I’m used to it, remember?”
I cover my face.
“Hey, now, none of that.” Like so often, he puts action to his words, scooting my hand away, replacing it with his, cradling my cheek, entrancing my eyes. My stomach dips, my heart soars. The weeks apart are ripped away, as if they never were.
Soaking him in, I raise my face. My lids fall.
“Uh-uh. That’s a good way to get kissed, you know?”
Tilting my chin, I peek with one eye. “You don’t say.”
For a moment I think he’s going to give me the kiss I’ve been dreaming of, but instead he puts more space between us. “We should talk.”
