Page 36 of Last Chorus

Her breath waterfalls against my chest, warming the skin over my heart. She says tartly, “It’s really weirding me out how mature and wise you suddenly are.”

I shake with a soundless laugh. “I have my moments, I guess. Catch me on a different day, and I’ll be the same immature freak you’ve always known.”

“Somehow I doubt that.”

I hum a low, soothing note, gratified when she relaxes even more. “There’s one thing my younger and current self agree on, though. A truth I accepted in childhood that has never been challenged.”

“What?” she whispers.

“You,” I say just as softly. “The truth of Evangeline Marie Sullivan. From birth, you’ve been a force to be reckoned with. I know you feel lost right now. That’s okay. Feel what you feel. But someday soon you’re going to remember how powerful you truly are.”

She trembles, and I pretend I don’t notice as her tears soak through my T-shirt.

“Damn you,” she croaks.

I can’t help grinning. “I know,” I say, my voice thick. “I’m still the worst.”

Her answering laugh is strangled.

Movement across the room brings my gaze to the hallway connecting to the front of the house. Rye and Lily take us in, their expressions a mix of pain and relief.

When Rye’s gaze moves to my face, I widen my eyes, hoping to communicate that I desperately need his help. My arms don’t want to let go of Evangeline, and I’m seconds from ruining the moment with an inappropriate confession of my feelings.

He leans down to whisper in Lily’s ear. She nods and backs up until she’s out of sight.

I hold my breath.

“Hey, Lily!” Rye throws the jovial words over his shoulder. “You’re not gonna believe this, but it looks like grandma and grandpa are friends again.”

I groan.

Evangeline giggles and rubs her snotty nose on my chest.

Thank fucking God for Rye.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

evangeline

Rye’s obnoxious comment comes at the perfect time, interrupting the equally unbearable and euphoric experience of being in Wilder’s arms again.

I’m likewise grateful when not five minutes later, Anita, Sandra, and the team of stylists arrive. Despite coming straight from the airport, our publicist and PA barely stop to greet us. Anita herds everyone to the master suite while Sandra runs through our timeline for the day, including where we’ll change after the event and the afterparties we’re expected to attend.

My last glimpse of Wilder is of him talking quietly to Rye near the windows. I shouldn’t be surprised when he turns his head, but I am. Our eyes meet, his crinkling in a subtle smile. Then Sandra’s arm steers me around a corner.

As chaos cyclones around Lily and me, I don’t miss the disgruntled looks she throws me. But there are too many strangers in the room for her to grill me about Wilder—a gift I’m glad to accept. I’m not sure I’d have the fortitude to deflect her questions or downplay the gravity of what happened.

Wilder holding me.

Me, voluntarily being held.

Soon enough, the mayhem settles into a well-oiled machine. Anita and Sandra come and go, phones glued to either their hands or ears. Lily takes pity on me, drawing me into a familiar rhythm of lighthearted banter as the stylists have their ways with us.

As we chat and laugh, more walls fall inside me, and I remember what having a best friend feels like. What havingLilyfeels like. And I don’t know how I survived the last six months without her.

There’s only one serious moment between us. We’re sitting on a couch with curlers in our hair and sheet masks on our faces. During a lull in conversation, she catches my eye and whispers, “I’ve missed you.”

Emotion floods me and I’m forced to blink rapidly at the ceiling to keep tears from spilling over. The facialist rushes over in a tizzy, worried that product has dripped in my eye. It takes me a while to convince her I’m fine,which Lily finds hysterical. She then laughs so hard shesomehow gets product inhereye.

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