Page 9

“Over there,” I bark, pointing to a wide-limbed tree.

She blinks for a moment, as if not wanting to jump when I tell her to, then thinks better of it, whirling around and sprinting surprisingly fast in those spiky heels.

“That one,” I call, pointing to a thickly leafed limb.

I wait until she’s concealed before turning to my brother.

Eli’s in the midst of the newly erupted chaos, his arm around Reese. Her team is running toward them, but they’re not close enough to shield her from the wide-angle lens held by the person leaning out of the chopper. Eli’s got his wife under his arm, looking livid as his eyes meet mine. I point my chin toward the catering tent, which is his closest form of visual protection, and he nods, running both of them inside.

Someone rushing by them knocks a table over, sending a bottle of champagne crashing onto the dance floor, exploding like a bomb. Someone screams. I watch as half the crowd scatters, while half of them stay where they are. Some of them lookhappy. One guy raises his drink in the air in a salute.

“Fucking showboaters,” I curse, striding over to the tree Sasha’s standing under, clutching the limb like it’s a big arm holding on to her.

I have to fight the urge to try to trade places with the tree.

“You okay?” My voice is gruff.

“No.”

I inspect her face. It’s set hard, her jaw tight. “This was supposed to be a media-free event,” she says. “What happened?”

“Someone wanted the media here.”

Her eyes go wide. That’s fear.

Heat burns in my chest. Her piece-of-shit brother’s making her think irrationally. “Look at the crowd.”

She scans the people still standing in the clearing, taking in the ones raising their glasses and laughing.

“Someone leaked the location of a celebrity wedding. Nothing more.”

She meets my eye. “How can you be sure?”

On the one hand, it’s annoying that she’s challenging me. On the other, I like that she asks the right questions.

“It’s the most logical explanation, and the logical explanation is usually the right one.”

She breaks eye contact, looking up at the bird. But I don’t miss the tiny softening of the muscle at her jaw, the slight drop of her shoulders. I’ve made her feel better. I don’t know why this feels as good as knowing she’s safe.

A loud voice blares from the center of the crowd, keeping me from questioning this strange thought. The woman in the blazer from earlier is yelling through a bullhorn at the people in the helicopter, her face pinched in anger.

“This is a private event! You’ll be hearing from our lawyers!”

They can’t hear her, but they must have either gotten what they came for or decided there aren’t any more photos worth taking, because the person with the camera pulls back into the chopper. It angles around, and a moment later, it’s gone.

Around us, people buzz with shocked conversation, several people shouting for their friends.

After a careful listen tells me the helicopter’s not circling back, I turn to Sasha. “You have a ride out of here?”

Sasha nods. “I’m good.”

“You don’t look good.”

She gapes and actually looks down at her dress like I was criticizing her outfit choice.

“You’re wobbly,” I clarify.

She huffs and lifts her chin as she steps out from behind the tree. “I’mfine. Seriously.”