Page 18 of Lost Summer
“I’ve got to go,” he whispered regretfully, his hands reaching for mine with a confidence that held history in it. His rough fingers laced between mine as if no time had passed. “What’s your last name? How—how do I find you?”
I blinked, struggling not to come undone as his warm breath fanned across my knuckles. This felt like something out of a dream, dizzying and cruel in its timing. “Pickering,” I forced out, my voice barely a thread of air. “Adele Pickering.”
His eyes flickered with something raw, something drowned in regret and longing.
“And you ruined music for me.” I choked out a breath, my chest tight, the weight of old emotions flooding through the cracks of my carefully constructed walls. My heart felt like it had soaked up all the lost days between us, a sponge now saturated in unwelcome memories.
His face twisted with emotion, his brows knotting together as he whispered, “I didn’t know how to find you. I—I’ve thought about you every single?—”
“Edward!” The bald man’s urgency cut the moment clean.
Ted turned, pulling away reluctantly. “I’ll find you this time,” he promised quietly, his voice dipping low enough to make my skin tingle. “Don’t go home with him.”
Then, like a phantom, he disappeared. I was left on the balcony with nothing but the taste of tears that threatened to spill over.
The city rumbled with life below, but mine had just collapsed.
I collected myself and made my way back to the ballroom, only to be found by Marco.
“I’ve spotted Elena and Edward up close. Ready to dance?” Marco asked.
I barely registered what he was saying as he pulled me back into the stifling ballroom. Then, we were on the dance floor that now felt like an arena I wasn’t equipped for. But I followed wordlessly, my mind spinning as wildly as the music.
The ballroom dancing was a surprise. Marco’s touch was confident, his arm firm against my lower back.
“My mother was obsessed. I started lessons at six.” He grinned, the sweep of his hand taking us into the next turn. “Thought I’d be the next Julio Iglesias.”
I tried to smile, anything to hide the emotional tornado raging beneath the surface of my skin.
“There they are, darling,” Marco whispered into my ear. “Look at her. Even more stunning in the flesh.”
I followed his gaze, and there she was—a gleaming sculpture of perfection, Elena Dalton, every inch of her exuding wealth and beauty. But the man beside her...
Ted.
It felt like the ground had opened underneath me, and I would’ve probably collapsed if Marco wasn’t holding me upright. How was it possible to relive your greatest heartache—and for it to get worse?
Engaged.
He was engaged—to her.
Ted—Edward—Mr Elena Dalton. The son of a billionaire.
9
TED
Adele Pickering.
I stared at her Facebook profile, then her Instagram. Her Twitter gave away the most—quick wit, sharp with words, but no trace of the spark I remembered in her laugh. She was everywhere now. A journalist who had shucked her small-town anonymity with the kind of effortlessness that comes only with years of grit—and yet, she’d kept that warmth glowing inside her eyes. I got lost in that same warmth, frozen in her smile.
I’d found her. Finally.
A hand squeezed my chest, tight and familiar. I should have let it fade years ago, but there it was again, with a fierceness that nothing—not time, glitz, or the cold sheen of London skylines—had been able to touch.
Then, like a crash of thunder, Elena’s voice broke the spell.
“I’ve got a million views in just under an hour!” Her excitement flung itself into the room, slapdash and overpowering, the scent of too-strong perfume lingering long after she spoke. “Remember those candles that smell like, you know, body parts? That’s the one!” She waltzed in, her heelsclicking on the marble floor, her curves wrapped in a yellow summer dress.
