Page 14 of Say You Will

The crowds press closer, and I search the venue for somewhere a little quieter. When I spot a large floral arrangement that will provide partial cover in a corner, I head straight for it. Ten minutes. That’s all I need. The corner beckons, the lighting even dimmer than the rest of the room and promising a moment where I can, at least, kick off these shoes and wiggle my toes.

The gorgeous Jimmy Choo’s are not only too small, but the design doesn’t accommodate the lift I wear to compensate for my left leg being a couple inches shorter than the right. An entire day of balancing on the toes on my left foot has become tiring. My joints aren’t happy with me either. I could stop the balancing act and lean into it. It’s slight enough that no one would notice if I did, but I don’t want to end up with my sacroiliac joint popping out of place as a result.

When I get to my rose bower of potential bliss, I reach down to slide off the icepick heels, transferring them into my left hand, and nearly groan in pleasure as the cool marble floor soothes my abused feet. Straightening, I take as deep of a breath as I can manage and press my palm flat to my stomach.

When I told my aunt I could fit into this dress without trying it on, I’d taken my size change into account, but not that the shape of my body is different. The steroids I’m currently on for my RA go straight to my middle. The corset worked to suck me in and give me an hourglass figure so the dress would zip, but it’s a cage I’d like to claw my way out of.

Straightening my shoulders, I start my mental list designed to recenter myself into a positive mindset:1) The bride and groom appear to be wildly in love, which is, ultimately, the only thing that actually matters on any wedding day. 2) Dinner will probably be delicious.

I shift my weight and wiggle my toes as I think. I can conjure up at least three positives for any situation I find myself in. This should be a cakewalk.Ha!Cake.

3) I will be eating a delectable dessert.

“Who are we hiding from?” A masculine voice stage-whispers to my left.

Wincing at the realization that some random guy found me in a dark corner, I turn in his direction, determined to make a polite excuse and rejoin the crowd. As soon as I take in the sight of the man who’s snuck up on me, however, warm recognition floods through me, and I beam in welcome instead. Gabriel McRae stands beside me with a hand in his pocket and another holding a tumbler of amber alcohol.

I heard he showed up in Paris two summers ago when Bronwyn, Janessa, Clarissa, and I were on vacation, but I was already on my way back to Los Angeles when he arrived.

“Hey, you,” I say.

His gaze runs from the top of my head all the way down to my toes and back up again as a small smile plays at the corners of his lips and eyes. “Tell me what brings a stunning woman like yourself to a corner like this.”

I groan at his cheesiness, but end on a smile. “Family obligations. The groom is my cousin. Why are you here?”

“Same. Bride’s side. Did you bring anyone special with you tonight?”

“Definitely not. You?”

His eyebrows lift, and he chuckles. When he lifts his tumbler to his mouth, he lists slightly to the left before correcting his posture and swallowing a surprisingly large mouthful of what I assume is bourbon. “Definitely not.”

I peer at the throng. “I don’t really know anyone here beyond my aunt and cousin. My father is in Paris at the moment. It makes for a long day.”

“I’d be happy to provide some entertainment. I’d love a little company.”

I laugh. A ballroom full of people teems around us, and we’re talking about needing company. I know what he means, though. It’s nice to see a friendly face that isn’tworkto talk to.

Seeing Gabriel is like running headlong into nostalgia.

Gabriel’s smile widens at my laughter. “Can I give you a lift anywhere when this little party is over? I’m happy to share a ride.”

“That’s so sweet of you. I have a room here for the night, though. So, no traveling necessary.”

His expression alters subtly, his gaze moving to my mouth. I blink, then tense when he places his hand on my lower back. This dress is thedevil.

“I’m Gabriel McRae, by the way. What’s your name?”

I stop breathing.

Gabriel doesn’t know who I am. He was flirting. He thinks I was flirting back.Oh my God, he thinks I was inviting him up to my room.

If I keep holding my breath, can I pass the heck out and sleep for the next five years?

I suck in a pathetically shallow breath of rose-scented air and press my palm against my heart. I spent most of my holiday breaks in the McRae mansion from the age of eight to eighteen. How could he forget me?

My mother wasn’t wrong, then. I was the weird little girl they let hang around out of pity.

“Uh-oh. What’s that face for?” He cringes and takes his hand off my back. “I misread your cues? I apologize.”

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