Page 24 of What's in a Kiss?

I step away. “Hands to yourself. Okay?”

“You seem tense,” he says, backing me up to the railing that overlooks downtown. “Anything I can do to help you relax?”

“Nope. Down boy.” I have my hands on his chest, warding him off, when I hear the desperate plea of a paparazzo below.

“JGlass! Over here!”

“Really, Werner?” I say, annoyed. “You had to tip offTMZ?”

“What’s the problem?” he says, his hands draped around my waist. “It’s good press!”

Cringing at how much this surprise photo shoot will feed Glasswell’s ego, I look down to the street and see him stepping from a black Chevy Suburban. His hair is coiffed and his gray suit gleams. He holds out his hand for someone behind him—

“Is that Aurora?” the lone paparazzo calls, and I feel a hitch in my chest.

But a second later, out steps Masha, laughing at the cameraman’s mistake. I let out my breath. She looks adorable in her flouncy white sundress, a tiny silk tiara in her curly hair. After her comes Eli, who grabs his fiancée by the waist and dips her so deeply the ends of her hair touch the sidewalk. When the lovers kiss, Glasswell Blue-Steels his lips and pretends he’s not posing for the cameras.

I’m trying to pry myself from Werner’s arms, but just before I do, Glasswell looks up at the roof. And locks eyes with me. Three stories separate us but I’m instantly back in his green-gaze-tunnel, feeling my blood pulse through my limbs. Then Glasswell’s eyes shift a millimeter. To Werner’s mouth at my neck. I bat Werner away and seek sanctuary behind a veil of Buddha’s-hands.

“I need Mel to decant more wine,” I tell Werner, shifting modes. “Amuse-bouche at 7:15, then let’s pour the spumante, explaining its terroir to the bride and groom before I toast.”

“Yes ma’am,” Werner says.

Footsteps sound on the stairs.

When Masha bursts onto the roof deck, her heels clack like castanets and a smile flares across her face. I beam back at her and feel grounded. That smile—that’s why I’m doing this.

“Liv!” She squeals, squeezing me and taking in the scene. The sky’s gone orange and gold. “You didn’t say it wasthisgood.”

I hug her. “Nothing but the best for you.”

“Your hair,” she exclaims. “It’s so... I’ve never seen it so—”

“I’ll wait.”

“You look beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” I say, and it’s true. Masha radiates peace from somewhere infinite within. She’s happy-beautiful. I’m overdrafted-bank-account-bewitching.

“Can I tell you this bullshit my cousin tried to pull this afternoon,” Masha says, tugging me aside.

“Tell me every little thing,” I say, clasping her hands and finding so much comfort in an ordinary conversation with my best friend. But even though I’m huddled up with Masha, I’m also acutely attuned to Glasswell behind me, smelling like eucalyptus and looking somehow naked in his suit.

I can’t stop my mind from wandering, wondering what he might have said to Eli and Masha on the ride over about our unfortunate encounter at LAX. I’m trying not to eavesdrop on what he and Eli are saying now, trying not to wince as T-shirt-wearing, garlic-wafting Werner sashays in. Whom Glasswell just observed nibbling on my neck like Mexican street corn.

I feel a tap on my shoulder.

I turn to face him. Eucalyptus scent, green gaze, and the slow smile ever-curving on his lips.

“Dusk,” he says and leans toward my cheek. Masha’s watching, so I give it to him.

“It is indeed.”

His kiss is soft, but there’s an edge in his voice. “Nice hair. Compared to earlier.”

I run my eyes over his broad shoulders, his trim waist... and snicker. “Barn door.”

He looks down at his open fly just as the cork of the spumante pops. Behind us, Werner’s placing flutes of bubbly in the hands of the bride and groom. He pours a third for me, a fourth for Glasswell. As Werner passes me my flute, he garnishes it with a smoochie face.