Page 47

Oh, God.
Ezra.
How many times in the past ten years has my heart been torn apart when I’ve allowed myself to think of him?
There’s just something about him that makes my pulse pound a little faster. That makes my knees that much weaker. That drags me into his powerful orbit until my shadow caresses him like the planets around the sun.
In many ways, he’s the spark that lit my fire, the first touch of warmth. The oxygen that ignites the blaze inside me until I burn as brightly as him.
Although, you wouldn’t know the fire that exists inside him now.
Not by looking at him, at least.
Among the glittering chandeliers and polished marble floors, among the sequined gowns and silver services trays, and among the glamour and elegance that surrounds us now, he stands like an inkblot stain.
Temperamental.
Fierce.
Predatory.
Feral.
The dark color of his suit matches the dark color of his hair, the absolute lack of light apparent where he stands staring down at me with his hands clasped behind his back.
He’s so still in place, but I know it means nothing.
That’s the thing with Ezra:
Even when you think he’s lazy and subdued, this man is always riding a violent edge.
It weakens me now as my fingers grip the skirt of my gown to lift it up so I won’t trip up the stairs. My legs are shaky, and I’m slightly off balance, but I slowly ascend regardless, my eyes locked to the way his eyes hold me captive and the corner of his mouth tugs up.
As usual, thoughts whisper inside my head, warnings about what he does to me and reminders of the problems that plagued our past.
I worry about the people who are standing around, know they’ll see me and wonder why the futureMrs. Mason Stromis walking off with one of the twins.
It’s enough to make me pause when I’m only halfway up the stairs, Ezra’s brow arching in question, his mouth curling more.
He knows what I’m thinking.
That I’ll run.
That I’ll talk myself out of having anything to do with him.
And he’s not wrong.
This is stupid.
So freaking wrong that I change my mind before reaching him and turn to run back down.
That’s when my gaze collides with Damon’s where he stands at the foot of the stairs.
My boys have caged me in, it seems.
Just like they used to do in high school.
Damon’s eyes glimmer with humor when I scowl. He knows I don’twantto run away. I’m just doing it out of obligation.