Hannah won’t look at me.
And I can’t stop staring at her.
I twist the cufflink in its hole above my wrist for the twentieth time, needing some outlet for all the nervous energy pinballing inside of me.
This was supposed to be a special evening. The wedding of one of the few people I consider a true friend, spent with the woman I can’t seem to get enough of.
But ever since Hannah returned from her shopping trip, she’s acted like my presence is an inconvenience, and I’m not sure how to handle it. What it means. All I know is I hate her sudden indifference. I feel like a toddler, sulking because I’m receiving less attention.
I’ve always felt like Hannah was either an instigator or a willing participant in this thing between us, which has no easy label. We’re married, but we’ve never been a couple. We’re in the midst of a divorce, but currently living together.
My thumb rubs against the rough surface of my cufflink. These are my favorite pair, one of few gifts from my father I actually like. Constructed from an ancient Rome inset, the center is a depiction of Julius Caesar, with veni, vidi, vici sketched around the rim.
I came, I saw, I conquered.
Doesn’t seem fitting. I’m more defeated than victorious at the moment.
I steal another glance at Hannah. She’s staring out the window, entirely motionless, with her hands folded neatly in her lap.
From this angle, the neckline of her dress gapes a little. I can see the curve of her left breast. My dick twitches in my tight pants, remembering how she looked standing in the hallway with one breast bared. The flush of scarlet that stole across her skin when she realized I was looking.
I stood outside the guest room for way too long earlier, listening to water rush through the pipes and staring at the shut door. Feeling like an interloper in my own home. Torn between honoring Hannah’s obvious wish to be left alone and pounding on the door, demanding she tell me what changed in the few hours she was gone.
I ended up staring, trying to will away the coil of dread that appeared as soon as I realize she’d chosen to get ready in one of the guest rooms instead of my room. It’s still there, sitting like a lead weight in my stomach.
If she sleeps in there tonight…
This shouldn’t bother me. It grates that it does. There are a million other things I should be focused on and thinking about. But all I can see is her, wearing a blue-green dress that manages to cover everything but also be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Is something wrong?” It’s a relief to finally speak the words, after thinking them on a nonstop loop.
“No.” Still, she won’t look at me. And it hurts, aches like a punch to an existing bruise. I’d rather she yell and scream than ignore me. At least I would have some idea what she’s thinking.
“One.”
Finally, she faces me. I’m caught off guard by the eye contact.
My favorite look on Hannah is when she’s barefaced with tangled waves, naked in my bed. But she looks devastatingly, heart-breakingly beautiful tonight, and I should have told her so earlier.
“What?” she asks.
“I’m counting the number of lies you’ve told me.”
If she’s told me others, they haven’t been so obvious.
Her eyes narrow, but the blue is still intense and consuming. Overwhelming. And shifting. They remind me of the sky, where there’s always something different to see. A cloud or a storm or a rainbow.
The car stops moving. I glance out at the stone lion that guards the entrance to the library. Thousands of candles have been placed on the steps leading from the sidewalk to the doors, flickering in the fading light. Once it’s completely dark out, it will be a dazzling sight.
I open the limo door and step out, taking a deep breath as I adjust my cufflinks one final time. From here on out, I won’t display any nervous habits. I can already feel attention turning this way, my shoulders tensing as I paste a fake smile on my face.
I walk around to the other door, shaking my head at the driver as he reaches for the handle. He steps back instantly, bowing his head a little.
Hannah wasn’t expecting me to be the one opening her door. I watch the delicate column of her throat bob before she steels herself and grabs my hand, the silk of her dress exposing a flash of calf before it falls in a loose waterfall.
“Thank you,” she says.
“You’re welcome.”
Hannah takes my elbow as we climb the stairs, her balance shaky on the uneven stone.
I can’t help myself. “Maybe you should have worn flats.”
“Maybe you should stop criticizing my outfit,” she shoots back.
I bite the inside of my cheek to hide my smile.
Hundreds of people are milling about the massive lobby.
The first couple I see are my brother and sister-in-law.
And since we’re Kensingtons, everyone is staring.
The muscles of my shoulders bunch beneath the tailored seams of my tuxedo.
“You good?” I murmur to Hannah.
“Fine.”
“Oliver!”
I turn to see Chase Anderson approaching, a broad grin on his face as he shakes my hand and then claps me on the shoulder. His exuberance is contagious, relaxing a little of my stiff posture.
“How the hell are you, man?”
“Not bad,” I reply. “I saw you clinched playoffs, congrats.”
“Thanks. Gotta grab a flight back to Detroit tonight, but I couldn’t miss Garrett’s wedding.” He glances at Hannah. “Hello, gorgeous. I don’t think we’ve ever been introduced.”
I glare at him, my hand automatically finding the small of Hannah’s back. The heat of her skin burns my fingers, separated by only the thin layer of lace I buttoned up earlier.
“We haven’t. But I helped negotiate Conor Hart’s trade, so since he was the one who scored the overtime goal against Chicago, you’re welcome for a chance to chase the Cup.”
Chase blinks at Hannah, uncharacteristically speechless. “You’re an agent?” he finally asks.
“Not exactly. I just work at a sports agency.”
“Which one?”
“Garner Sports Agency.”
“Damn.” Chase whistles, looking impressed.
“Chase!” A middle-aged woman I recognize as Mrs. Anderson appears, her bracelets jangling as she waves her hands around. “You’re supposed to be helping your brother get ready.”
“He’s a grown man, Mom. What am I supposed to do?”
She shakes her head. “Not be out here drinking and socializing. Go!”
Chase downs the glass of what I assumed was water but am now guessing is vodka, then holds it up in a cheers motion. “Good seeing you, Oliver. Lovely to meet you, Blondie.”
Garrett’s mother squeezes my arm, smiles at Hannah, and then follows her wayward son.
I glance to where Crew and Scarlett were standing before. They’re still in the same spot, talking intently. Arguing, knowing them.
In the crowded lobby they’re given a wide berth, everyone shooting them awed, surreptitious looks but not daring to approach the couple considered to be New York’s king and queen.
Crew looks up and meets my gaze, giving me a nod of acknowledgment before his eyes slide to the woman standing next to me. Scarlett follows his attention, and then we’re all staring at each other.
“We should say hi.”
“We should,” Hannah agrees.
My hand remains on Hannah’s lower back as we navigate our way through the crowd toward my brother and sister-in-law.
Crew is wearing a tuxedo, same as me. Scarlett is wearing a bold red dress that hugs her torso and then flares out dramatically at the waist.
I open my mouth. But unexpectedly, Scarlett is the one who speaks first, addressing me. “You clean up nicely, Oliver.”
“So do you.” I drop my hand from Hannah’s back so I can lean forward and kiss her cheek, then shake Crew’s hand.
“Nice to see you, Hannah,” he says, kissing her cheek the same way I greeted Scarlett.
There’s a swell of relief and affection, watching their interaction. I don’t know how I’d react if Crew had shown up to an event with a woman I had history with. It’s an uncomfortable situation for everyone, and I appreciate my brother acting like it’s not.
“Nice to see you too,” Hannah replies. I watch her take a deep breath, then look at Scarlett. “Hello, Scarlett.”
Scarlett inclines her head, her eyes flicking between Hannah and me like we’re a puzzle she’s trying to decode or a map she’s trying to follow. “Hello, Hannah.”
I rarely bring a date to events like this. Usually, I see them as a networking opportunity, which most women grow bored by or resentful of. So there’s a different dynamic tonight that has nothing to do with Hannah. Crew and Scarlett have never interacted with a woman I was dating.
The lobby is beginning to clear, other guests filtering past into the central room where the ceremony is set to take place.
I grab Hannah’s hand, squeezing it in a silent show of support. “We should go grab our seats. See you guys at the reception?”
I catch Crew’s nod before we turn away, following the flow of traffic into a round room that’s been decorated with hundreds of flowers. The altar is set up in the very center, with rows of seats surrounding it. It’s not nearly as extravagant as Crew and Scarlett’s wedding was. But their nuptials were intentionally planned out so they’d be impossible to top. No one does regency like royalty.
Lots of people greet me by name as we pass by, shooting Hannah curious looks. She’s poised as we walk down a middle row, chatting with Jennifer Robinson when she takes the seat on her other side.
I scan the program that was left on my seat. Since neither Sienna nor Garrett have bridal parties, it’s just a description of the ceremony. Short, since it’s a civil one.
All the surrounding chatter dies down when the familiar strains of Pachelbel’s Cannon fill the huge space. Garrett steps onto the altar, staring down the constructed aisle.
Almost everyone turns to watch Sienna walk toward him. But I focus on Garrett, a close friend who’s about to make a commitment that, technically, I’ve already made.
Whatever alcohol or drugs I consumed in Vegas wiped my memory of getting married completely clean. Or maybe I just don’t want to remember. Maybe it’s easier to pretend that someone else made that decision, totally separate from me.
But I glance at Hannah, and I can picture it perfectly. Can imagine her walking toward me wearing white, so clearly that I wonder if it’s memory or something less substantive. Some hazy, dreamy state.
Sienna is beaming when she reaches Garrett. I don’t register any details about her dress or veil, but I scrutinize her expression closely. Witness the happiness that appears genuine. Wonder what regrets she has. If she has any.
I have a long list, but Hannah isn’t on it. I can’t say I wouldn’t change anything. All the stress and uncertainty of the past few weeks since I woke up married to a stranger has been unwelcome. But they also landed me sitting here, which doesn’t feel like too high a price to pay.
Once the ceremony ends and the newlyweds have walked down the aisle together, everyone stands to head into the reception room. This space is long and rectangular, with multiple tables stretching from end to end, with a dance floor and stage set up in the very front.
Uniformed servers move silently through the space with appetizers, and bars have been set up in all four corners.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask Hannah, the first words we’ve exchanged since the end of the ceremony.
“Sure,” she answers, looking around the cavernous space. The ceilings are tall, patterns of stained glass worked into them.
She’s not looking at the flowers or other decorations, I realize. She’s studying the architecture.
It’s an unwelcome but necessary reminder. Hannah has a lot waiting for her. A whole new future spread out ahead. While my life will remain the same, working in a building that I love but am also realizing I hold a lot of resentment toward.
I’m dreading telling my father I’m not accepting his offer. Once I do, I have no clue how he’ll react. It will be taken as a personal affront, no doubt. I’ll be rejecting what he probably sees as a generous concession from my father and my boss.
For the first time, I seriously consider leaving Kensington Consolidated. It’s a thought that’s passed my mind now and again. It was more persistent after everything came out about Candace. But there’s always been something stopping me, and it’s still there now. It’s a part of me. A piece that would hurt to lose. It’s more than a paycheck to me, same as it is for my father.
But there are other paychecks. Other CEO positions.
And I think, glancing at Hannah as she orders a cocktail from the bartender, some of them are located in California.
“Finally left Kensington Consolidated, Oliver?”
I turn around to face Camden Crane.
He’s an entitled prick I make a point to avoid as much as possible. But my disdain is nothing compared to Crew’s, who supposedly punched him a couple of years ago. I only heard about the aftermath, since it was back when my father confided in me. He was furious Crew jeopardized a business relationship, and even angrier it was because of Scarlett. Crew wouldn’t admit it was, but nothing else would have made him fly off the handle like he did.
“Do you even know where Crane Enterprise’s offices are, Camden?”
He laughs like it was a joke. It wasn’t. Sebastian Crane took a very different approach to his son’s involvement in the family business than my own father did. Camden happily takes a portion of the profits, so he can party and drink his way around the world.
“Life’s too short to spend it in a cubicle.”
“I’m sure your stockholders would agree,” I reply.
Camden chuckles again. He’s always attempted to act buddy buddy with me, probably in an effort to annoy Crew. And I’ve usually tolerated it, because Crane Enterprises is a competitor of Kensington Consolidated and there’s something to be said for the keep your enemies close adage.
But I’m not so accommodating now, partly because Crew deserves my loyalty more than the company does, and partly because Camden has noticed Hannah. His expression is lecherous as he watches her pick up a martini glass, and I completely understand Crew’s compulsion to rearrange his face.
“I’ll take a whiskey, neat,” I tell the bartender when he turns to me next.
“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of being introduced,” Camden says, holding a hand out to her. “I’m Camden Crane.”
“Hannah Garner.” She shakes his hand with her free one.
“Are you two…”
“Yes.” My tone is short and clipped.
Camden isn’t deterred. “Do you live in New York, Hannah?”
She toys with the olives in her martini as she shakes her head. “Los Angeles.”
“Great city. If you need a tour guide while you’re visiting, I could probably make myself available. Oliver has a reputation for being a very busy man.”
“I prefer to date men with a work ethic, Camden. Now, if you’ll excuse us…” Hannah walks away before Camden has a chance to respond.
I smile at Camden’s stunned expression. “Nice to see you.”
Then I follow Hannah toward our assigned table.
