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She nods. “And my parents.”

“How cozy,” I say bitterly.

“Brad, I…” She goes to speak, but I’m not in a place to hear it. I don’t want her apologies or to hear how happy Patrick makes her. I hold up a hand to silence her.

“Gabby, it’s fine.” She flinches as if I’ve struck her, and I realize my error. I called her Gabby, like everyone else, and I feel like a dick.

“I better get back to them. They’ll wonder where I am,” she says, flicking her hair over her shoulder, exposing her collarbone, and all I want to do is pull her into me, sink my teeth into her skin, leave my mark and make her mine. But she doesn’t want me. She chose him.

Her amber eyes, which once reminded me of a lioness, now look hollow and lost. I brush the back of my knuckles against her cheek, and she surprises me by leaning into my touch.

“Gabriella,” a stern voice calls from behind me. She jumps and steps aside as her face falls in shock.

“Dad.”

Oh fuck.

“Patrick has been looking for you. What are you doing?”

She pastes a smile on her face and points to the painting of The Ballet class by Edgar Degas mounted in pride of place on the wall.

“I just came to look at the painting. You remember, you got me a print when we came here that one time.”

“Yes, I remember.” His eyes bounce between me and Gabriella as if he were trying to make sense of what was going on.

“Well, I was in here and I bumped into my friend. This is Brad Russo.” She gestures to me. “He’s in business with Ria’s husband, Jack. Remember me telling you about him?”

“Ah, yes, Brad. I’ve heard a lot about you.” He reaches out his hand for me to shake, and I do so, his touch firmer than needed.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Monroe. Your daughter speaks highly of you.”

“I’m sure she does.” His tone is clipped, and yeah, this guy fucking hates me.

“Gabriella, come on, your mother will worry, and we need to find our seats.”

Mr. Monroe gives me a terse nod, and Gabriella dutifully follows him, leaving me standing alone with an unsettled feeling in my stomach. Something is wrong, but I just can’t work out what.

Dinner was good; palatable and full of business talk. Each table had a representative from a local charity and ours was from a local support group for teens to get them off the streets and into sports. It's something I can get behind and want to support. I wish there had been something like that when I was growingup, maybe it would have saved me sooner. Maybe it would have saved my brother.

I took the guy's card and said I would chat with Jack and Harry and be in touch about a donation. In an evil twist of fate, my table was not far from Gabriella’s, and so I had a front row seat to her and Patrick. I watched every time she pulled away when he touched her, the moments in between conversations where she would stare blankly into her wine glass, and the fake smile she painted on every time she was spoken to. I need to get her alone again and talk to her. Above anything, she’s my friend, and I need to make sure she’s okay.

I watch on as she gets up from the table alone, and I see that as my window. I’m about ten steps behind. I’m certain she will head for the ladies’ bathroom, but when she darts down a corridor away from the event, I follow. I speed up, taking her by the arm and pulling her into a corner. She squeals in surprise as I press her to the wall and cover her body with mine, trapping her so she can’t flee.

“Tell me what’s going on,” I demand.

I watch her throat bob as she swallows. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Patrick. Something is off. What is going on? Why are you with him?”

“B… because I like him and—”

“Bullshit,” I hiss. “I know you’re lying.”

“How?” Her body softens a little under my firm grip.

“Because when you were with me, you never flinched when I touched you.” I smooth my hands over the natural curve of her body as if proving my point. “You didn’t recoil when my lips brushed yours.” I rub my thumb along her bottom lip, pulling a whimper from her throat that awakens something in me that’s been dead since she walked out on me. “Because, when you werewith me, you had a light in your eyes that’s now gone out. That’s how I know something is wrong, Gabriella.”

She closes her eyes, and a single tear rolls down her cheek, and I brush it away with the pad of my thumb.