Gerard glanced at her, and the remaining teasing light from their petit-four banter faded into something different. Something slightly more somber but just as genuine. “Would you like to dance?”
Her foot stilled. Dance. With Gerard?
She pressed her lips together, tasting the lingering remains of her cranberry gloss. “Sure.” Did he hear the hesitation in her voice? Did he have any idea what might happen if Mabel and Agnes saw them? Or Casey, for that matter.
Or what might happen if she allowed herself to wrap her arms around those broad shoulders?
They stood at the same time, and she breathed a prayer as she followed him onto the dance floor, her eyes trained safely on the back of his dress shirt.
But no, that wasn’t safe at all, was it?
He stopped toward one side of the floor, where they could participate but be somewhat more inconspicuous. Maybe he was thinking about Mabel and Agnes, after all.
He opened his hand to her, and she slowly placed hers in his, wishing she’d had time to touch up her nails in the frenzy of the weekend. Then she realized Gerard wouldn’t notice anyway, and why did she even care if he did?
Then they were swaying, the music competing with her own heartbeat pulsing in her ears. The scent of evergreen wafted over her, mixed with the slight tang of cinnamon on his breath. She willed her palms not to sweat, unable to help but notice how calm Gerard seemed. Like he wasn’t having any reaction to her at all.
Disappointment knocked, but she refused to answer. It was better that way. Just keep things nice and platonic. Simple. He’d almost kissed her twice yet hadn’t, which was more than enough evidence of where he stood—and where she should be standing. Love was an illusion anyway. Her parents were showing her that with each passing memory she revisited.
Her throat tightened. She had to change the subject, fast. Forget her dreams for the future, forget the feel of his hand lightly grazing her lower back. She should focus on Casey, a few couples away, laughing with Nathan. Focus on the squeal of children running for yet another petit four, on the upcoming garter toss, on Mr. Hansen pouring a glass of punch for Agnes, who fussed over the spilled drops on the white tablecloth.
Focus on anything except the dimple in this man’s jaw. “I heard how you saved the wedding.”
His lips tilted up in the corners. “That I did.”
She couldn’t let him get too prideful. “And how Nathan almost gave you a black eye.”
Gerard nodded again, slower this time. “That he did.”
She risked looking closer. Faint hints of purple lingered in the edges of his eye and in the corner by his nose. That could have been a lot worse. “He felt awful after, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, it just looked bad, him walking in on a hug with no context. We’ve shaken hands. It’s all fine.”
“Casey said it was pretty heroic.”
He smirked. “Who? Me or Nathan?”
“Both of you.” She tilted her head to the side, remembering Casey’s enthusiastic reenactment of the event, complete with accents and hand gestures. “In fact, she said you were sweet.”
He winced. “I’ll make sure to get my publicity manager on that right away.”
Bri laughed, another layer of tension sloughing off her back. “Don’t bother. No one would believe it for a minute.” But it had been sweet, him stepping in like that. Sweet—and totally out of character.
Which begged the question. “Why’d you do it?” She lowered her voice as the song switched to one of her favorites, a slow number about magnolias and near kisses and a man watching his true love get married to someone else. “I mean, that was your chance, right? To beef up the army on your side of the line?”
He continued to sway with her. “What line is that?”
“The ‘love is a sham’ line.”
He spun her out in a slow circle and drew her back. His hand settled comfortably on her hip, warm through the thin material of her dress. “I never said it was a sham.”
“Love is a lie?”
“Okay, I might have said that.”
“Well, you’d have been right.”
The pressure of his fingers intensified as he adjusted his touch. Chills cascaded up her spine. “Come on, now, Cupcake. You don’t mean that.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. Did she? She didn’t know what she felt anymore, except hurt. Confused. Betrayed. The lyrics pulsed around her, a heartbreaking poem of love never acquired. “I think I do.”
“What happened? Did someone ask for a refund on their love lock?”
She rolled her eyes, even as her fingers tightened involuntarily against his bicep. “No.”
He lightly spun her away from him, and her thoughts whirled in unison with her legs. He pulled her back in and she took a shaky breath. “It’s my parents.”
He spun her again, double this time. “Your parents?”
“I think my mom had an affair.” She collided back hard against his chest.
“What?” His eyes widened and his grip tightened around her. “When?”
She shook her head, emotion balling in her throat. Tears pricked and she clung to his shirt like a life preserver, staring at the button smushed between her fingers. No. She couldn’t break down here.
The scent of laundry detergent and evergreen drifted over her like a cologne. Gerard’s cologne. Dancing couples and tiki torches dimmed in her peripheral, and suddenly she was aware of only him. Of his heart thumping under her hand. Of his cinnamon breath and the dark scruff on his jawline and the thrill of his hands around her waist, holding her as if they belonged there.
As if she belonged with him.
A few painful heartbeats passed, then he lowered his head, his breath warm and his words low in her ear. “Come on, Cupcake. Don’t lose it.”
Lose what? Control? Dignity?
Her mind?
She looked up at him, questioning, their faces inches apart. She needed to breathe but forgot how. Their swaying all but stilled as the
