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“Why do you think something's going on?”
“Maybe because you stormed into my family’s vineyard, demanding I make good on a pact we made almost twenty years ago after a night of drinking boxed wine and gorging ourselves on potato chips.”
I smiled at the memory. He had scoffed at the idea of drinking boxed wine, but it was all I had. After promising to never tell his grandfather of the blasphemy he was about to take part in, we cheered our first glass and our second and our third until the box was empty. “It was good wine.”
“It was fucking terrible.”
“Such a wine snob.”
“Stop avoiding the question.”
I leaned in the chair and closed my eyes, gathering the strength to blurt out the bare minimum of details. “My half-sister is engaged, and I just got the invitation to the party.” I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze, and the comfort I always found there wrapped around me. “I can’t endure the million and one questions about why I never got married. If I regret putting my career first. Reminding me I am forty, perpetually single and utterly alone.”
“So you want me to marry you, so you don’t have to face your family?”
I pushed to my feet and shook my head. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
“Phoebe, wait.”
I skirted to the door, and just as I reached the doorway, his hand, causing a wave of familiarity, grabbed hold of my arm. Fire sparked along my skin, triggering an inferno that rushed through my veins.
A flurry of emotions settled in my throat, and tears pricked the back of my eyes, which only pissed me off. This wasn’t me. I was a strong, independent, highly respected professional.
But when it came to my half-sister, it was complicated.
“Is your dad still married to—”
“The homewrecker? Yes.” I hated the sharp edge to my tone, but Marion had that effect on me. After all, she was the reason I grew up a product of divorce. She was the reason my dad left.
Ridiculous that at forty years old, I still couldn’t forgive the woman. But how could I? She carried on an affair with my father for three years while he was married to my mother. And the real kicker. Got pregnant. In the end, Dad made his choice, and that choice wasn’t Mom.
Or me.
Laurent lifted his hand, tucking a stray hair behind my ear just like he did every time I needed comfort in college. He smiled, the boy he once was shining through. “I won’t marry you, Phoebs.”
A loud puff of air burst from my lips. “Of course not. Sorry to have wasted your time.” I would figure something else out. I would find a way to deal with my step monster and her constant reminder of my inadequacies and how perfect Parker was.
I went to walk away, but he shot his arm out, pressing his hand to the wall and effectively blocking my path. He turned into me, trapping me between his arms. He smelled expensive, like a citrus tree in the middle of a private forest surrounded by fresh cut wood. His eyes were just as blue as I remembered, but the skin around the edges held fine lines that only made him more attractive. Damn him.
“You’re not wasting my time.”
“If you won’t help me, then we’re wasting each other’s time.”
“Fuck. Even when I want to be mad at you, I can’t.” His thumb outlined the curve of my face, and it took all the strength I had not to nuzzle into his touch. Eighteen years had passed, but I still remembered exactly how his touch made me feel. It was the only thing that could calm my anxiety riddled brain.
“I’m not letting you run away from me again.”
I closed my eyes as the memories of that day crashed into me, flooding my mind with all the emotions I had fought to forget. “I couldn’t stay.”
He sighed, his forehead pressing against mine. His lips were mere inches from my own, and a part of me wanted so desperately to close the gap, and pick up where we left off, but the other part of me, the part that had run scared after we finally crossed the line from best friend to more, was frozen in place.
For a long time, I convinced myself I didn’t run away, and I did what needed to be done. But it was a weak, pathetic lie no one believed.
“I know,” he said.
Those pesky tears pricked the back of my eyes, but I refused to give into the weakness. I wasn’t that girl anymore. I was a woman. A woman who needed a husband, so she could get her step monster off her ass.
“If you won’t marry me—”
