Page 4 of The Surrender (Arlington Hall #2)

After cleaning myself up in the bathroom, I arrive at the ballroom, and I have to stop on the threshold and take a moment to listen, wondering if I’m hearing what I think I’m hearing. It takes only a few seconds—and beats of the track—to confirm it.

The band is performing “Hey Jude,” and everyone is on the dance floor.

I do an about-turn, planning to get straight back out of there.

“Amelia!”

Clark intercepts me, his bow tie now unravelled, the top few buttons of his shirt undone.

“Hey,” I say, clocking Nick across the room at the bar nursing a drink. He looks a bit worse for wear.

“Where have you been?” Clark asks. “And where are you going?”

“I had to freshen up.” I squirm, patting down my hair and wishing I’d reapplied my lipstick.

Nick spots me, and his whole stance changes, his body standing taller.

“And I was just going to use the ladies’.

” Lie. I was going to find a bar and beat myself up about what I’ve just done over a glass of really expensive wine.

“Oh, come dance,” Clark says, taking my hands and backing up, encouraging me into the room. “Please, I’ve hardly seen you today.” He performs a perfectly executed adorable pout.

And that effectively makes it impossible to refuse my little brother. Even with my ex across the room ready to move in.

“Let your hair down, Amelia.”

“It is down.” It went against all my instincts.

How tragic. But as I stand here in front of my brother on his wedding day, his face wearing a familiar expression of boyish charm that he’s depended on since he was a kid, I realise that the only tragedy is me.

Because I’m making myself one. Over a man.

A man who doesn’t deserve my emotions. A man I definitely should not have gotten in the car with.

A man who will be a distant memory very soon.

I wince, praying that’s true.

“Fine,” I relent, letting him lead me to the floor, where everyone is forming a huge circle, arms around each other as they sing at the tops of their voices with the lead singer.

I work hard to block the music out and focus on the faces of my friends and family.

All except Nick, who, unbelievably, is dead opposite me again.

I can feel him staring at me. Willing me to look at him, give him a chance, let him win me back.

For a split second, perhaps because of my turmoil, I forget why I left Nick.

He was stable. I knew where I stood with him. I could depend on—

I pull up, rewinding. I thought I knew where I stood with him.

Until he announced he wanted to move to the next step.

My next step was career driven, moving up the ladder.

His involved knocking me down it. Our conversation about kids happened mere weeks after I finally told Nick I was shooting for partner.

A coincidence?

I blink and look across the circle of people to him. Mistake. Our eyes meet briefly, and I flinch on the inside, quickly breaking our eye contact, grateful when Rachel puts a glass in my hand and nods. “Your dad keeps getting me wine. I can’t tell him I’m not drinking, or he might cotton on.”

“Congratulations,” I say, accepting.

“You’re not yourself, Amelia,” she replies. “Clark’s worried.”

“I’m okay.”

“I’m sorry about Nick. I tried to push that situation along.”

“Hey, please, don’t apologise. You had enough to deal with. I’m coping.”

“And the other guy?”

“He’s history,” I say, feeling my thighs brush, my insides still throbbing in the aftermath of a reckless encounter.

Rachel gives me a look I’m not sure I like, letting Clark pull her away from me.

They both get on the stage, and the lead singer hands them each a microphone.

The Killers’ “Mr. Brightside” kicks in, and they start belting out the lyrics together, as everyone cheers them on.

I peek at the glass of wine in my hand and knock it back.

It’s not like I could be any more stupid.

I just fucked Jude in the back of his car.

My eyes closed, I let the happy, drunken vibes take me off to a place far nicer than where Jude Harrison resides. I don’t need to be in his world. Don’t want to be.

“Amelia Gracie Lazenby, move aside.” Grandpa breaks out of the circle and shimmies his way into the middle, arms up high, beckoning Grandma to him.

“Oh God, I think I’m gonna cry,” I choke out, watching as he serenades her in the middle, both their old faces alive with joy.

“They’re the cutest,” Mum says, as I dig into my purse and find my phone, snapping a picture of them.

“And lucky for you, I get my moves from him,” Dad declares, sweeping Mum off to join them, twirling her all the way. I look at Clark and Rachel on the stage. Grandpa and Grandma cheering them on. Mum and Dad on the floor laughing.

This is what matters.

Their presence. Everyone’s presence.

Especially mine.

My feet are throbbing by one a.m., my voice hoarse from singing with everyone. I certainly let my hair down. Speaking of which ...

I feel for the jewelled clip in my blond waves, frowning when I don’t find it. I wouldn’t be surprised if it shot across the room with the force of me jumping to “Mr. Brightside.”

Abbie, Charley, and I all sway out of the ballroom after saying our slurry goodbyes, our heels dangling from our fingers. “God, I’m going to pay for this in about”—Charley squints down at her watch—“five hours.” Her head drops back, her wild curls skimming her arse. “Ohhhhhh Gooooddddd.”

“Come stay in my room,” Abbie suggests. “Lloyd can’t make you get up if you’re not there.”

Charley gasps. “That’s the best idea you’ve ever had.” Her arms go up over her head, a half-stretched yawn and a half-celebratory cheer. “I’ll tell him I didn’t want to wake the kids, so I stayed with you.” She starts skipping towards the elevator. “I’m taking the right side.”

“You’ll take whatever side I give you,” Abbie retorts.

“I’d sleep in the fucking bathtub if it means I don’t have to get up at six.”

I laugh and herd them into the cart, pressing the button for floor three. “What a lovely day,” I muse, falling back against the wall. Aside from my interlude with Jude, it turned out better than I expected. Thank you, Chablis, and some good old party tracks.

“It was!” Abbie sings.

“So who’s next?” Charley asks, looking between us. Abbie and I snort. Not happening. Maybe ever.

“Depends if I ever find the hot bastard that took me to bed in France.”

“You’d marry him?” I ask. “You don’t even know his name.”

“I’d do anything that man demanded.” She frowns at Charley. “Except put my finger up his bum.”

I laugh hard as Charley gasps her indignance, and when the doors open, I stumble out, still chuckling. “Sleep tight, you two,” I say, letting myself into my room. I can hear Abbie still winding Charley up as they zigzag down the corridor.

I drop my heels and purse and fall to my back on the bed with a sigh.

“Water,” I blurt out, immediately pulling myself up again.

I glug back an entire bottle, hoping to hydrate my brain so it doesn’t shrivel to the size of a nut, then grab my phone and prop myself against the headboard.

I flick through the pictures I captured on the dance floor, smiling from ear to ear, particularly at the one of Grandpa and Grandma headbanging.

So precious.

But my smile drops when a text invades the screen. I breathe in.

I fucking dare, Amelia.

I jump when someone starts banging on my door, my heart going from zero to a hundred in one beat.

“Shit,” I whisper, scooting to the edge of the bed and creeping across the room.

I hold my breath, shaking like a leaf, and peek through the tiny peephole.

I don’t know whether to be relieved when I see Nick on the other side.

“Fuck.” I move back, just as he starts banging again.

“Come on, Amelia, just answer the door. I know you’re in there.” A few more thuds sound as I lower to the mattress, still and quiet, praying he goes away. “Please.”

My eyes move to the clock under the TV, and I watch as the minutes tick by, Nick constantly calling and knocking, me unmoving and mute.

Twelve minutes pass before I hear another voice.

Security? They exchange a few heated words, loud at first, and then the voices start to drift away.

I get up slowly and carefully, padding to the door and peeking through.

My exhale is loud and long when I see Nick and a suited man disappear from view.

Rolling onto my back, I lean against the door, my face in my hands.

I fucking dare, Amelia.

The phone by the bed starts ringing, and I move my hands from my face, staring at it for an age, scared to answer. It takes everything in me and more to find the courage, my breath held when I eventually pick up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Miss Lazenby, forgive the late-night interruption; it’s security here.”

“Yes, I’m sorry about the disturbance.”

“Indeed. We have another gentleman trying to get up to your room.”

My stomach churns so much, I fear I might throw up all over the carpet. “Who?”

“Mr. Harrison.”

Jesus Christ. “I don’t know a Mr. Harrison.

” It falls out unexpectedly and quickly.

Instinct. I hang up and move away from the phone, startling again when my mobile starts ringing.

“Shit,” I hiss, rejecting the call from Jude.

I toss it across the bed before stripping and getting in the shower, washing the day away.

Just standing there, ignoring the muffled sound of my mobile ringing persistently past the noise of the water pouring down on me.