Page 23

Loud cheers and thundering applause erupt inside the rooftop lounge as Steven sweeps Grace into a low dip to end their first dance together as husband and wife. The clinking of silverware against plates soon follows, the crowd ravenous for a display of affection from the normally cold king of Wall Street.

Steven chuckles, the whites of his teeth blinding as he stares at a blushing Grace, who’s hiding half her face behind her hand. He leans down and murmurs something into her ear and I don’t think it’s possible for my sister to flush any redder, but apparently there’s no limit tonight.

Gently, he pries her hand off her face. The smile slips off his lips and the cold king is back—but this time, the smolder in his eyes is burning hot. Steven clasps the nape of Grace’s neck and kisses her like we’re not here.

He kisses her like it’s the end of the world and he can die a happy man with her in his arms.

What would it feel to have someone look at me like that?

Wolf whistles and laughter ring in the room, but it all sounds so far away—like I’m underwater. Even if I were to find out the truth about that night, I don’t think I’m capable of letting anyone in—my walls are so high, even I can’t scale them. Frankly, I have no desire to let anyone into my heart. Camden’s betrayal haunts me to this day—that someone who claimed to love me could abandon me at the lowest point of my life.

I’d never put myself in that position again.

I focus my attention on the glittering skyline of Manhattan, unrivaled in its beauty. The wedding is perfect—everything Grace deserves. The food is scrumptious, and Ainsley and Maddy did a phenomenal job leading the little dancers into a short, but lovely ballet inspired by The Nutcracker .

Even the skies are clear tonight. I swear I even see a shooting star or two. My lips twitch in a smile—Grace has an obsession with shooting stars. She believes they’re magical, that the gods will grant wishes.

If only it were that simple—wishing upon a star.

The crowd’s excited laughter and murmurs reach my ears and while I’m surrounded by a room full of people, I’ve never felt so alone before in my life.

I’m happy for Grace. Truly. She deserves Steven and all the love in the world. But in these moments, when their ardent love is in my face, it hurts like a sucker punch aimed at my broken heart.

It’s not their fault. It’s not my fault. I understand why I’m feeling this way.

But I hate it. This selfishness, jealousy, envy, and loneliness don’t belong in a beautiful night such as this.

The DJ switches the music to a faster song and couples join the newlyweds on the dance floor. Millie pulls a brooding Ryland into the crowd, but as soon as she curls her arms around his neck, a beautiful smile appears on his lips. In a darkened corner away from the commotion, I see Maxwell holding Belle tightly in his arms, clearly lost in the sensations of each other, oblivious to the world around them.

My breath hitches and my legs bounce under the table.

Screw this shit. It’s a beautiful evening and the Lochness Monster can’t come and screw it up. I’m going to request some fast songs and dance like nobody’s business.

Filled with renewed determination, I make my way over to the DJ before a familiar voice stops me.

“Tay!”

My eyes widen as I see Olivia waving at me from the back of the room. Tonight, I almost don’t recognize her, since she’s wearing contacts and a slinky black dress instead of her usual glasses and business suit.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, making my way over. “I didn’t know you know Grace.”

We usually hang out outside of The Orchid bingeing movies, browsing bookstores, or even visiting a bar or two. She’s easy to talk to and I’m thankful she doesn’t psychoanalyze me, because let’s not open that can of worms. I’ve been meaning to introduce her to Grace and the other girls, but haven’t had a chance yet. I think they’ll like her too.

“I wanted to say hi at the ceremony, but you were too busy.” She pulls me into a light hug. “Actually, I’m a guest of Steven’s and I also know Maxwell.”

She pauses but doesn’t say more and suddenly something clicks in my mind.

“ Hold on a second …you’re the same Dr. Lin that Maxwell is seeing?”

Olivia shrugs, a mischievous smile on her face. “Can’t confirm or deny that. You can ask your brother, though.”

Holy shit. She’s the expert who helped Maxwell with his severe social anxiety and panic attacks. I almost fan-girled at the idea of her when I heard how Maxwell’s doctor turned his life around with therapy and medication.

“I’m not a hugger, but I want to hug the fucking shit out of you,” I blurt out. “You saved Maxwell and because you helped him get his shit together, he and Belle are so, so happy now. And they deserve it. God, do they deserve it after everything they went through.” Those two went through life and death situations not long after they got married and came out on the other side.

Olivia chuckles and swats me away. “I love my job. So,” she eyes me quizzically, “we’re both not on the clock tonight and I presume…dateless. We should party it up. Us single girls need to stick together in this sea of nauseating love.”

I bark out a laugh. “Hear, hear. Are you sure you’re supposed to say this? Aren’t you supposed to be all hell-bent on healthy commitments and all that shit?”

“Well, Ms. Peyton-Anderson,” her voice drops into a soothing tone I know is her psychiatrist voice, “Dr. Lin would also tell you weddings may be hard on single people because folks often reflect on milestones then and it’s only natural for us to compare themselves with others. Society views getting married as a pinnacle and those who aren’t may feel lonely or somehow less than.”

The wave of doom sweeps in at her words, and I slowly deflate.

Olivia’s eyes darken and glimmer with an unidentified emotion before she blinks it away. “But, Olivia says, with all things in life, we only see the grass as greener on the other side. And, because you and I are single, we don’t have to answer to anyone. We get to live for ourselves and love the person who deserves it the most—ourselves. So, we’re partying it up.”

She leans in and whispers, “Think about it—we don’t have to deal with the toilet seat cover being up, dirty socks on the floor, or loud snoring at night.” She waggles her brows at me. “I mean, no brainer, right?”

I snort. “You’re a riot.”

Just then, I hear loud laughter nearby, and we turn our heads toward the commotion. Charles is standing next to the dance floor with not one or two, but three women practically draped over him. He’s saying something, that damn charming smile on his face again, and the women practically melt in his presence. A brunette steps up and presses her hand to his chest.

“Ugh,” I mutter. An uncomfortable pinch tugs at my gut. Nope, not going to think about what that means.

“What? You know him? Do we not like him?”

Charles is now gesturing in the air, each movement highlighting the muscles flexing under his tux. He twirls the brunette on the dance floor—one simple spin and dip.

My breath hitches. He carries himself with grace, his moves smooth and fluid—the man has had lessons before and he’s pretty damn good at it.

I frown—did I just give him an internal compliment? I shudder in horror.

His harem giggles and I fight the urge to throw up at grown ass women acting like they are starstruck teenagers. The redhead waves her hand in the air next and he tugs her to him before he demonstrates a decent box step—a classic ballroom dance move.

Come on, who the fuck lives to be eighteen and doesn’t know the box step? It’s literally moving in the shape of a damn box. It’s like saying you don’t know how to make a grilled cheese sandwich.

My inner voice titters. Someone is jealous, huh?

Ack! Lochness Monster, go away!

His commanding presence draws the attention of everyone in the ten foot radius and more people join his little ménage and I roll my eyes. Then Ainsley and one of the little ballerinas walk up to him, both with hearts in their eyes. The little girl, still dressed in her tutu, waves to Charles and he chuckles, his eyes lighting up before he squats down and drops his ear by her lips, giving her all of his attention. My heart spasms at the scene before me. He’d make a wonderful dad someday. Another thought that comes from nowhere.

It has to be the effects of a wedding. Strange things happen at weddings.

That has to be it.

The little girl whispers something to him and he looks at Ainsley, who points to someone in the crowd.

Apparently getting permission from whoever she’s pointing to, Charles sweeps the little girl up in his arms and twirls her around as she squeals in glee. I swear I can hear the ovaries of the women nearby exploding.

I tamp down the funny sensations in my gut and press my lips together in distaste. Fucking showoff.

“He’s someone I prefer not to be associated with, to put it mildly,” I answer Olivia. “What you see is not what you get with him. You should make him a case study. This,” I wave a finger in his direction, “is a show he’s putting on for the public. He’s arrogant, opinionated, condescending, faker than a knockoff bag they sell on street corners, horrible—”

“Hm.” A few long seconds of silence follow.

I frown and turn to her. “What?”

She arches her brow. “Oh—just that you’re quite worked up over someone you don’t like.”

“Well, you won’t like him if you know him too. And don’t they say hatred is a strong emotion?” I glare at the golden prince and his gaggle of women.

Olivia chuckles. “They also say there’s a fine line between—”

“Don’t you dare say it!” My mouth drops open in horror and I shudder. Absolutely no way would I entertain any emotion of that nature toward him.

The music changes from a hip-hop song to something sexy and sultry—a song more suited for the tango and couples walk back to the dance floor.

I groan and stare forlornly at ladies in their glittering dresses, accompanied by their sharply dressed partners—I missed my chance to work out my jitteriness on the dance floor.

Suddenly, the air shifts, and I smell the intoxicating scent of cedarwood and bergamot. The hairs on the back of my neck rise to attention, and I feel a column of heat behind me. I close my eyes and brace myself for his taunting, raspy voice.

“Can’t find a partner, minx?”