Page 63 of This

“Couldn’t stay away?”

I smile at Dane’s voice. “You’re the one sneaking up on me.”

He steps behind me, and I spin around. He’s changed into a T-shirt, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, so a gap of skin shows. I run my hand over the trail of hair disappearing under the top, and he presses me against the stone wall I was leaning on. His hand creeps to the bottom of my dress, inching it up my thigh.

“We doing this?” he asks.

I tip my head in question, and he pushes the fabric higher, his eyes flashing to the lake behind me.

“No,” I say, but he steps back and drags his shirt over his head. “Dane.”

He pulls me to him, cupping my face when he kisses me. “I love it when you say my name like that. Now get in the water, and I’ll make you say it the other way I love.”

Leaving me shaking my head, he heads for the water’s edge and strips off his sweatpants and briefs. When he glances back to grin at me before walking into the water, I shiver—another one that belongs to him.

I am selfish. I run away and avoid. I’m a broken mess with little chance of anything sticky holding me together for long. But I am in love with Dane. I know I love him.

I do.

Dr. Faulk was my favoritetherapist. She listened and gave thought to every answer and recommendation. During one of our sessions, she asked me the last time I had told my mother I loved her. It took a minute to remember. The memory wanted to stay buried with the others. Avoid, avoid, avoid, and whatnot. Then she asked the last time she’d told me. The rest of the session passed in silence while I tried to come up with not just the final time, but also a single instance.

A week later, I randomly remembered while in a checkout line. I wanted to tell Dr. Faulk about it, about how much it’d hurt. She wasn’t in her office when I got there for my appointment, but the crime scene tape was still on the sidewalk out front. She’d taken an early lunch and walked off the roof. I cried on her overstuffed couch for an hour, wondering the last time someone had said those three words to her.

I still think of her now and then. Once, when I was having a particularly terrible day, I went to her grave, hoping she’d listen to me one more time. Hours later, I left. I felt lighter than I had in a long time.

I haven’t been to therapy since.

The morning flies by, fullof smiles and tears and pictures. I consider reactivating my Instagram. I don’t, but I really mull it over for a second.

Keaton turns in front of the mirror half a dozen times, the dress more perfect than any other time I’ve seen it on her. She wears her hair up with a few curls framing her face, a pearl necklace draped around her neck, and the smile of a woman as ridiculously in love as the man she’s marrying.

With her superstitions holding firm, we won’t have pictures until after the ceremony, and since her nerves are keyed up, she finishes getting ready an hour early. I set her up in a chair with her phone so that she can text me if she enters into a last-second spiral of panic. Then I slip out, in search of Dane.

Cousin Steph offered to track down Bentley and Ford to hide the results of last night’s after-hours activities. With enough concealer, we should be able to keep the family speculation train from picking up speed.

As I step off the elevator, I see Dane and Liam’s grandpa in the hall. Other than what Dane’s told me, I know little about the man. We met for a split second at the engagement dinner, exchanging a few words. Last night, he spent most of dinner in and out on his phone. Passing him, I smile, only for a scowl to cut through me—harsh and pointed. I don’t remember much from our interaction before, but I doubt I did anything worthy of him serving a look like that.

I’m almost to the double doors that lead to the veranda when a hand grabs my wrist from behind. Dane turns me, his mouth seeking mine.

“What if you ruin my lipstick?” I ask, not caring in the least.

“Then I’ll get to watch you put it on again.” He backs us in the direction I came from.

“Where are we going?”

Checking up and down the hallway, he pushes open the door to the ballroom. He keeps me close, both of us unsure of my footing in the dark room. We weave through tables to the far side, our destination one of the bathrooms.

“I thought we were doing this in your cabin.”

“Too many people in there,” he says on our way in. “I wanted you all to myself.”

I turn around at the sink and hold up my concealer. “Ready to become next-level hot?”

“Are you ready?” Dane sets me on the counter. He pushes my legs open to stand between them and leans down, so I can reach his cheek. He looks incredible, his dress shirt open at the neck where he’s missing his tie. His hair is in a sexy, tousled mess I can run my fingers through.

I work quickly to touch up his cheek, his palm gliding over the bare skin of my leg the entire time.

“As much as I like the red, I dig purple too.”

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