Page 111 of Crazy In Love

I lick my lips, swallowing the spit that tastes an awful lot likegonna puke, then coming up on Fox’s right, I tap Franky’s shoulder and wait for his eyes. “Hey, kiddo. I was wondering if I could dance with Fox?”

I see her in my peripherals. Her brows shooting high, and her cheeks warming with a sweet blush.

“Your mom’s right here,” I murmur, tilting my head toward a furious Alana. “So maybe you could dance with her for a bit while I dance with Fox?”

He tugs his hands from Fox’s and spins to escape. But Alana is fast, pulling him in and forcing him to sway.

He drops his head back and groans, loud and unapologetic.

“I didn’t think you liked to dance in public?” Fox steps closer, wrapping her arms over my shoulders in an entirelynon-platonic way. Pressing her belly to mine, she creates this magic where the music gets a little quieter, and my staring crowd becomes a little less obvious.

Her smile, though… fuck, her smile fills my vision from corner to corner.

“People can see you, Christian.” Her eyes glitter with menace, though her fingers trail through the hair at the back of my head, which makes everything else tolerable. “People might be judging you.”

“It’s so odd you’d say that when you’re literally the only person I see right now.” I don’t kiss her, though I kinda want to. And I don’t lay my forehead on hers, though I want that, too. “You look really fuckin’ pretty today. Did I tell you?”

“In the last hour?” She tilts her head. “No.”

“I’d say you look prettier than the bride, but the bride can hear me right now, and it’s not polite to say so on such important days.”

“Uh…” No longer playful, her body tenses, and her eyes grow harder, frantic, as she leans closer. “The bride can, in fact, hear you. Shush.”

“Because you don’t want her to know about us?”Set it on fire, Chris. Do it. Be brave.“I know we agreed not to tell her. We had our reasons, and I’m not sorry for them. But things have changed now. Alothas changed. Because I’ve fallen?—”

“Fox?”

Like ice water on a sleeping kid, she jerks away with a viciousness that leaves my heart aching, turning on her heels and clapping her hands to her mouth. Then she gasps, locking eyes with a dude I don’t know. Broad shoulders, dark hair, and a stare that looks her up and down like he fucking wants her.

“Booker?” She screams, throwing herself into his arms and wrapping him in a hug that makes me want to puke.

He catches her, lifting her half an inch off the floor, only to chuckle when she slams a noisy kiss to his cheek.

Fuck me… I’ll just watch. I guess.

“Holy cow, Booker!” Jittery and excited, she stands on her own two feet. But she doesn’t let him go. Even when he tries, she holds on to his suit sleeves with the kind of desperation I feel in my heart. “You’re supposed to be in Rome! What are you doing here?”

Alana’s eyes swing to mine. Probing. Glaring. She widens them, then flicks her wrist like, ‘Get in there, stupid. Do something!’

Frustrated, she slides into their hug and interrupts the reunion from hell.Because I’m a pussy.“Booker! Hi.”

“Alana.” He holds on and crushes her against his chest. “Happy wedding day. I received an invitation, and then I couldn’t make it. Now I’m here, and I feel awful for not communicating that in advance.”

“You’re always welcome.” She inches back, and because Tommy’s fast on his feet—faster than me—she grabs his hands and drags him into our gathering. “Booker Hemingway, this is my husband. Thomas Watkins.”

“Tommy.” Tommy shakes his hand and squeezes a little longer, a little harder than necessary. “I’ve heard about you, Booker. Glad you could make it.”

“So sorry for dropping in unannounced.”

“It’s not a problem.” He releases him, then hooks a thumb my way. Because I’m a fucking pussy. Passive. Silent. Completely and utterly cucked by this man who interrupts the single most important sentence of my life.

“My brother, Chris. Chris,” he grits out, “this is Booker Hemingway. Fox’s boss.”

“Fox’s friend, first and foremost.” Fox practically vibrates, giddy and grinning while I shake the man’s hand. “Holy shit, Booker! It’s like seeing sunshine for the first time in five weeks. What happened to Rome? You said you couldn’t be here.”

“Did you leave a gift at the front door?” Franky pushes his way into our group and slides his glasses up his nose. “It’s customary to leave a gift when you attend a wedding.”

“Franklin!” Alana claps her hand over his mouth. “Ignore him.”