Marston’s jaw tightens. “I thought it might be more comfortable for us to talk privately about that engagement.” The word seems to detonate when it hits the air, and his eyes flash, exposing his first real sign of emotion since he approached us.
Okaaaaay. So he’s pissed about the wedding. On the one hand, this is unreasonable. He and I haven’t been a couple for eleven years. I can marry whomever I want. On the other hand, I was wearing Marston’s ring just six months ago, and if you don’t consider the fact that we were drunk off our asses and only engaged for a matter of hours, it’s understandable that he might take offense to me getting married so soon after.
He looks around the room. “This isn’t the place.”
I stiffen when I realize how right he is. There are already eyes on us, and I’m sure the gossip mill is going nuts with news of Marston Rowe being back in town and talking to me. Any second, someone could walk up and ask about my daughter. Or Julian could drop by Smithy’s for an after-work beer. If Marston saw us together, would he immediately know my relationship is a sham? Marston knows what I’m like when I’m in love, and I can’t begin to fake that level of connection with Julian.
So talking here is a bad idea, but I can’t leave with him without causing a stir, either.
Why did I send him that invitation? What was I thinking?
Nausea washes over me, and my skin feels too hot. “Excuse me. I need to use the restroom.” I sway a little as I push to my feet.
Marston steadies me with a hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”
“Want me to go with you?” Abbi asks.
I shake my head. “No. I just need a minute.”
I feel like every person in Smithy’s bar has their eyes locked on me as I walk to the restroom. Keeping my steps slow and measured, I don’t let my face fall until the door closes behind me.
I run the water cold and brace myself on the sink.
Everything is okay. This is just one moment. Inhale and exhale, and move your way through it.
Once my breathing evens out, I splash cold water on my face and blot it dry with a paper towel. I’m definitely overreacting. There are a thousand reasons he could be in town and want to talk to me alone. Thousands of reasons that don’t begin with the words “You’re the love of my life. Please don’t marry anyone else.”
Because I’m almost positive I don’t want to hear those words. Mostly.
When I step out of the bathroom, Marston is waiting there, leaning against the wall across from the ladies’ room, arms folded, jaw twitching with aggravation. The picture of tall, dark, and pissed off.
When Marston sets his mind to something, he gets it, and tonight, apparently that something is talking to me alone.
“Sorry.” I smooth down my pencil skirt. “That vodka didn’t sit right.” I turn toward the main room.
He catches me around the waist and spins me so fast that I’m trapped between the wall and him before I can blink. “Give me one minute.” He braces his hands above my head and leans forward.
I swallow hard. Not because I’m scared. Marston’s never scared me. But looking up at him when he’s this close is stirring up all kinds of memories. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at him without part of me wishing for the future I longed for at sixteen. I place a firm hand on his chest. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Was Vegas a joke to you?”
Of all the questions I expected him to ask, that wasn’t anywhere on the list. “What? Of course not. Vegas was . . .” Hot. Impulsive. Crazy. Amazing. Wild . . . everything.
He dips his head until his lips hover right above mine. “Don’t you dare call it a mistake,” he growls, his warm breath tickling my skin.
I ache to close the distance between our mouths, ache to feel his kiss again. I’d never call Vegas a mistake. Maybe I should, but I can’t.
“Fuck, you smell so good. I couldn’t get the smell of you out of my mind for weeks after you left me that damn note. Do you know how crazy that made me?”
My hand is still against his chest. If I pushed, he’d back off. He’d give me the space to clear my head. But when he shifts his mouth from above mine to my ear, I don’t want to push him away. I want to pull him back. “Marston—”
“Is this why you sent me that invitation? Did you want me to come here and remind you what it’s like between us? How it feels when we’re close?” He takes a full step back, and my hand falls to my side. His cold gaze settles on my ring finger and the diamond winking in the low light. It’s a family heirloom, given to Julian by my mother and father when he asked them for their blessing. My grandmother wore this ring until the day she died.