Page 53

I suck in a breath. Right. Okay. Guess we’re not dancing around the elephant in the room—we’re beating the thing with a stick.

“That’s the word, then?” I call back to that conversation that feels so long ago, where he sneered at the word pretty like it was a synonym for dogshit . “The one you’ve been looking for?”

“Disappointed?”

“It is a little boring.”

That chuckle sounds again. That mouth dips a little closer. That voice lowers, thickens, murmurs, “Got a lot of words, princess. None you wanna hear though.”

Try me , I almost dare. With any other person, I would. But Finn’s got that glint in his eye, the same resolute one from the other night, and I’ve already warded against it once. I don’t think I could do it again.

I drop my gaze, finding the gleaming gemstones decorating his collar. Running the pad of my thumb over the light blue face of one, I follow the thin connecting chain to the other, my knuckles grazing a smooth neck.

Fingers encircling my wrist stop me halfway.

Again, Finn asks, “What’re we doing, Lottie?”

Something tells me dancing is not the answer he wants. “I’m trying to make sure your little broken heart doesn’t mess with my brother’s wedding day.”

The body almost flush with my own stiffens.

I close my eyes for a breath, for long enough to metaphorically smack myself in the mouth for letting it run so freely. Braced for anger or hurt or both, I look up only to find neither.

To find something soft and bemused and mildly self-deprecating. “You say something like that and it makes me wanna kiss you, yet you really don’t believe that I like you?”

I stumble a step, saved from the embarrassment of falling on my ass by a hand returning to my lower back. “Still on that, huh?”

“Been on it, baby.”

“Finn.”

“Sorry.” He doesn’t sound it. He doesn’t look it either.

He looks… determined. He looks himself again.

Not the wary, skittish version of himself I’ve become accustomed to lately.

Not the one I can tell is holding his tongue half the time—he certainly doesn’t hold it now.

Doesn’t keep his hands at bay either as the fingertips of one get dangerously close to discovering just how impossible it is for me to wear underwear with this dress while the others tangle themselves up in my hair, and Finn sighs like he missed the sensation.

Like he really, really means it when he murmurs, “I miss you.”

“You’re the one avoiding me.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’ve got a real twisted perception of reality?”

“You barely talk to me,” I protest because I’m not imagining it all, I can’t be.

“This is the first time you’ve touched me in, like, a month.

” If we’re excluding that night, the night.

“You don’t even come watch Carmen train Ruin anymore and I know it’s not because of her, I know you guys are fine, I saw you talking. ”

“I never came to watch Carmen ,” he huffs and he’s doing that thing again, that inflection, talking in a way that makes it sound like he thinks he’s stating the obvious. “I come for you.”

Naturally, my mind takes that a way it isn’t supposed to.

Tracking the hot flush that creeps up my neck, Finn sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. “Didn’t mean it like that.”

Oh, hell. I can’t resist. “Like what, cowboy?”

Finn doesn’t indulge my crooned question. Not verbally, at least.

That prologued lip biting, though, says a whole fucking lot. He doesn’t answer, but he answers , he stares , and now I’m squirming, I’m bothered, I’m grappling to steer the conversation back on track. “So it’s all me, then? Everything’s my fault.”

“Shit comprehension skills too.”

“Oh, keep going. I’m really starting to believe you.”

“You do believe me. You just don’t want to.”

Frustration scratches the back of my throat—or maybe that’s just panic. “Can we not talk about this?”

“You’re the one who brought up my little broken heart.”

“I was joking. Your heart is not broken.”

“Only a little bruised.”

“ Finn ,” I huff again, I fucking plead with him to stop.

This time, he obliges. With a soft sigh, the hand on my back travels up the length of my spine, cupping the back of my head to guide my face to the crook of his neck before it retreats.

As he holds me close, he doesn’t say anything else. The song ends, and he doesn’t let me go. Another starts and finishes and still, his grip remains steadfast.

And I let it. I let him keep me tucked against him. I let him guide me around the dance floor.

For longer than I should, I let myself be liked by Finn Akello.

It’s only after we part ways, when I can’t take anymore and I slip from his grasp, that I start to wonder if really, I was letting myself like him.

I don’t intend on making a speech.

Like, the thought literally never crossed my mind.

I assume the thought never occurred to the happy couple either; I would wager a big, fat bet that no one thought that I, the Jackson black sheep, ruiner of all things good, would haul my ass up in front of a crowd and croon about the brother I ran away from and the sister-in-law I called a bitch the first time we met.

But as the night drags on and the liquor shows no signs of running dry and one drunken groomsmen after the other step up to the plate, and the mother of the bride’s teary, wine-addled speech is comforted by her daughter’s sister—God, and I thought my family was complicated—and Pen’s nostalgic words gather the rest of the bridesmaids, I get this pit in my stomach.

I realize everyone, everyone , in the wedding party is making a speech.

And it would be really fucking weird if I didn’t.

And Eliza, bright-faced and wobbly-footed, hands me the fucking microphone and pulls me onto that slightly raised stage anyway, so I don’t exactly have a choice.

“Uh,” I start awkwardly and tinny feedback screeches, everyone winces, I want to disappear just a little bit more than usual. “Hi.” I shift the mic to my other hand—to the one not lifting in a dumbass wave. “I’m Lottie. Jackson’s least favorite sister.”

The crowd laughs at a joke I didn’t make.

Jackson doesn’t. He frowns softly, and though I’m talking to him, I fix my gaze on the forget-me-not boutonniere pinned to his lapel as I spill the first words that come to mind.

“I don’t have much to say that everyone else hasn’t already said, but, uh, there are a lot of reasons why I shouldn’t be here today and I just want you to know that I’m really glad I am.

And I’m really glad you’re happy, that you have someone who’s always gonna make you happy.

Someone who’ll take care of you after a lifetime of you taking care of us. ”

There. I did it. I’m done.

Except I’m not.

I shift to look at the blushing bride and I continue, “The first time I met Luna, she caught me sneaking a boy into the house. And I was really mad and rude—shocking, I know,” I quip and earn a couple more laughs.

“But I still overheard her telling my brother to go easy on me. Defending me, this little asshole she didn’t even know.

And I, uh, I think that was the first time I felt like someone other than my siblings gave a shit about me.

So. Yeah. I’m really glad it’s you. And really hope you never realize how completely out of his league you are. ”

More laughter follows me off the makeshift stage, a round of applause providing a more joyous soundtrack than I think is appropriate for my walk of shame back to the head table.

I try to scuttle past Jackson and his new wife, too flustered and embarrassed to face either of them, but Jackson catches me. I swallow nervously as he slowly stands, waiting for him to be embarrassed too or maybe even mad or—

He hugs me. Yanks me into his arms, wraps them around me tightly, and he hugs me. He waits until I hug him back, my own arms hesitantly looping around his waist, before pecking my temple affectionately. “I’m really glad you’re here too, kid.”

Beside us, Luna snags my wrist. Tugging until my brother relinquishes his grip, she drags me down until she can smack a kiss on my cheek. “For the record, chaos girl,” she mumbles quietly and she doesn’t slur, the words are clear, I can actually believe them. “You’re my favorite sister.”