Page 51 of On the Edge

Even with her thick French accent, the doubt in her voice is clear.Mayday.

I roll my eyes and smile to give myself a second to prepare my response. “I know,” I say, making my voice sickly sweet. “Isn’t it so sad that two guys who have been lifelong best friends can’t just be best friends without people speculating that it’s more than friendship? I mean, that’s never happened to my best friend Sierra and me. Has it happened to you two?”

Andrea and Camille share a look, and Camille is a little sheepish when she says, “No.”

“See,” I say, reaching out and giving her forearm a friendly squeeze. “There aren’t that many advantages to being a woman in this world. But aren’t we lucky that at least our friendships can just be friendships without being questioned?”

They both nod, looking like they would rather be anywhere than here talking to me about this. Good. I hope she’s sorry she had the nerve to bring that up to my face. Let his family speculate in private, no need to gossip outside the family.

“Well, I’d better go find Christian and tell him it’s almost time for us to toast the newlyweds,” Andrea says. “I’ll meet you back at the dance floor?” she asks Camille.

Camille nods, and they both say goodbye to me and head in different directions—Camille toward the main reception area in the lobby of the museum, and Andrea toward the bar area set up in one of the wings. I act as though I’m headed to the bathroom, and briefly wonder if I’m going to pee myself in public when I veer off toward a door to the courtyard in the center of the museum.

I weave through the topiaries and stone benches to the garden at the center. I know this is where I’ll find Marco and Christian because Marco told me this is where they were headed before I left for the bathroom.

In the dim light from the building, the shadows of the hedges seem ominous, which is a good match for my mood. If Andrea finds them before I do, there could be serious problems. I’ll never understand the risks Marco takes with Christian. Sometimes it seems like he wants to get caught. Maybe now that he’s planning his retirement he’s wanting to go public about their relationship, but this family wedding is certainlynotthe occasion to come out.

I round a hedge near the center of the garden and find Marco and Christian inches away from each other in the shadow of a rose bush. They jump apart in alarm, but I hold my finger to my mouth to indicate the need for silence, because I hear footsteps behind me and they are the telltale tap of high heels. I have a sinking suspicion Andrea followed me.

“Hide,” I whisper to Christian as I push him away, and he steps behind a manicured topiary as the clicking heels are nearly upon us.

Marco pulls me to him and I wrap my arms around his shoulders, sinking my face into his neck as he brings his lips to my ears and whispers, “Gratzi, Bella.”

The quick staccato of the clicking heels is almost upon us when I look up and meet his eyes and mouthkiss me.His lips sink to mine in the necessary display of affection, the one we’ve rehearsed in public many times. Like always, I feel ... nothing. Not the rapid increase of my heartbeat or the tightening between my legs that I felt when Nate appeared behind me at the party a few nights ago. Not the excitement or anticipation I felt when we raced up the stairs toward my hotel room.

Good, I tell myself, you won’t feel the disappointment you felt when he let you down, either.Marco is safe. This “relationship” is the protection I need.

A throat clears behind us, and we pull away from each other. I plaster a guilty look on my face because I know that’s the expected response, and Marco just smiles that devilish smile of his.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Andrea says. “I was looking for Christian and someone said they saw him head out to the garden.”

“Last I saw him,” Marco says, “he was headed to the restroom.”

“Okay, well he’s needed on the dance floor because it’s time for us to give our toasts to the bride and groom,” Andrea says.

“I’ll go check and see if I can find him,” he tells her, then gives me a kiss on my temple and tells me he’ll meet me at our table inside.

“Weren’t you headed to the bathroom?” Andrea says as we turn and walk back along the stone path toward the doors. Once we’re out of the garden, light spills through the glass walls that surround the courtyard, and inside people are dancing and mingling. From this perspective, I feel like quite the outsider.

“I was,” I tell Andrea, “but I saw Marco walking out here and I couldn’t resist sneaking away with him for a few minutes. We’ve spent this whole weekend with his parents.” I sigh, hoping I sound like a sexually frustrated girlfriend who’s been cockblocked by her potential in-laws.

“Sorry I interrupted, then. I did hear that Christian was out there.” She sounds unnecessarily defensive, which makes me question her real motives.

“Hmm,” I say, hoping that he found a different entrance back into the museum. “I guess Marco and I must have just missed him then.”

I look down at her stilettos as we take the stairs up to the museum doors, immensely thankful for her footwear choice. If I hadn’t heard her coming, that could have ended very differently, and it was too close of a call as it was.

* * *

I slide into window seat 4A, and sigh with immeasurable relief as the big leather seat wraps me in its embrace. Despite the ridiculous number of air miles I’ve racked up in my years on the World Cup circuit, I didn’t think a first class upgrade would be a possibility on this flight. With Thanksgiving only days away, every flight from Paris to Boston is oversold so I was holding out for an emergency exit seat at best. But when I checked in, the kiosk had spit out a boarding pass for a first class seat.

“Can I get you a glass of champagne before takeoff?” the flight attendant asks as she stands over the empty seat next to me.

“That would be great.” I can’t hide the huge grin. This has to be good luck—a first class seat on my first trip back home in months, a few days to spend with my family, and best of all, no Nate trying to worm his way into my life.

I slip my buzzing phone out of the pocket of the knit dress I have on.

Dad:Looks like your flight is on time. I’ll meet you at baggage claim.

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