Page 44 of The Sculptor

His lips brush the shell of my ear. “Let’s see.”

Without warning, Duke hauls me off the bar stool, his forearms on full display as he leads us to the center of the bar, where a group of people are already dancing in their cowboy boots.

“I never thought you’d look out of place here,” I muse as Duke tips his imaginary cowboy hat in my direction.

“Oh, yeah?” He grins, his feet moving in sequence with the other dancers without error. “You saying I’m not southern enough for you anymore?”

Oh, he’s southern enough. He might not say y’all anymore or wear those flannel shirts, but here, under the chic barn lights, that southern charm shines brighter than I remember.

He grabs my hand, and I squeal as he dips me—dangling me over his arm like I weigh nothing. “Promise me something, Ray,” he dares.

“What?”

I’m not that stupid. This isn’t my first rodeo with Duke Potter. Never trust that smile.

“Promise you’ll forgive me.”

Oh.

I reach up, cupping the back of his neck. “I already told you. I’ve forgiven you.”

His smile widens as he jerks me up, flush against his body. “Good. Now let’s celebrate, Ms. Ford. Tomorrow, you’ll be a married woman.”

I should have known better.

I sprint to the only open door I can find in the strange hotel room and drop in front of the toilet, heaving violently.

I don’t know how many drinks Duke and I had, but apparently, it was enough to be classified as one of those blackout nights, which isn’t all that upsetting. I wanted to forget I was marrying Langston and leaving the love of my life for an unknown amount of time—again.

But I wanted to remember what it was like to dance in Duke’s arms and have him tease me mercilessly about stepping on his shoes. More than that, though, I wanted to enjoy just being with him after all these years of longing.

If I was ever unsure about the void Duke left in my heart, last night answered that question.

I was fulfilled—more whole than I’ve been since that winter when I lost them both.

“I have a feeling I made some really poor decisions last night,” I mutter to the toilet, resting my head on the edge.

“Depends on how you look at it.”

A familiar hand appears at my side, clutching a towel, and I don’t even question why he’s here. Because all I can think is…oh,fuck.

“What is that?” I point at Duke’s hand as it offends me.

“Well,” he says with a smirk, “it’s been a while since I’ve seen one, so I can’t be positive, but I think it’s a wedding band.”

Fear settles in my stomach, churning up more acid—but that might be the brandy from last night’s sangrias. “And why is a wedding band onyourfinger?”

Duke holds up his hand as if enjoying this exchange, carefully inspecting the titanium band like it’s a prized treasure. “I think it’s probably the same reason why there’s one on yours. We got hitched, Ray. And I must say, you sure know how to woo a man.”

Nausea forgotten, I whip my hand between us and… sob.

“Oh, my gosh,” I cry at the sight of the ring on my finger.

It’s not just any ring.

It’sthering.

The one he proposed with all those years ago. “You found it,” I say softly.

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