Page 8 of Payback
Roan approaches us with drinks in hand, and Vi lifts her brows appreciatively. “Nice to see you again, Roan.”
“Nice to see you, too, Vi. Do you need a drink? Water?”
“No, thank you. Tanner is getting me some.” She rubs her hand down my arm and waggles her brows. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”
She strolls over to the table where the rest of the Harris family is seated, and I can’t help but notice them all shooting daggers in our direction. One might have thought that Vi would have found me a date who wouldn’t get her brothers so bent out of shape, but I’m not complaining one bit after that kiss we shared in the kitchen.
Roan hands me a glass of champagne and smiles pleasantly at our audience. He leans in and whispers in my ear, “Don’t let me forget, I want to show you something when we’re done here.”
I’m intrigued, but his comment is completely forgotten when we get pulled into about ten different extended family circles. The Harris family isn’t large or close, so there’s a lot of catching up to do whenever we do see each other.
The bride of the night, Aunt Fiona, makes her way over to us in all her grandiose glory. She’s tall like my father and uncle, and her lace dress is understated elegance, which I suppose is fitting for her second marriage.
My father never had much to say about his younger sister. Only that she followed her much older and wealthy husband at the time to Japan when she was only nineteen years old. The family didn’t approve of the match and grew apart as a result. Husband number two is also a good decade older, so my father said he didn’t care to watch history repeat itself.
She sets her wide brown eyes on me and gasps. “Is that little Alice Harris all grown up?”
“In the flesh,” I reply through a forced smile.
“When Vi told me you were coming, I nearly fainted!” She scoops me up into a hug before turning me in a circle. “It’s been years since you’ve been back, and I cannot believe my brother had the nerve to not come with you!”
I tilt my head regretfully as I come to face her again. “It was a last minute decision for me to be here.”
“I should say!” She turns her assessing eyes to Roan. “And who is this dashing young escort beside you?”
“Roan DeWalt,” he replies, holding his hand out to hers. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
She smiles playfully and yanks him into her arms for a hug. “Another footballer, I presume?”
He pulls back with a smirk. “You presume correctly.”
“I can spot them from a mile away.” She gently coifs her updo. “Footballers have an air of confidence that is unmistakable. It can also be perceived as over-confidence if you’re my brother Vaughn, who, shockingly-enough, also could not bother to attend his own sister’s wedding.”
“Second wedding,”I want to mumble, but I don’t.
Roan’s eyes narrow. “I think the manager of a football club has a lot on their plate.”
She scoffs and flicks her hand in the air, dismissing Roan’s comment as she gazes at me again. “My God, Alice, when I met you as a toddler, I never would have expected you to turn out like this.” She turns to Roan and adds, “She was such a chubby child and had the most horrible teeth. Truly an ugly duckling.”
My mouth opens to reply with something snotty, but Roan’s hand reaches around my waist and rubs my side reassuringly. The affection is so surprising, it stops my knee jerk reaction.
He smiles a slow smile and says, “In my experience, ugly ducklings are swans in disguise, trying to give the other birds a chance at feeling special.” He turns his head and eyes me curiously. “Because they haven’t figured out that they’re the most special of all.” He tips his head and pulls me away. “Excuse us, please.”
When my back is turned, my body instantly relaxes. “Holy shit, that was smooth!”
His shoulders shake with silent laughter. “I’m good at defusing female conflict.”
My brows lift in appreciation. “That’s a strange skill to possess, but it came in handy tonight. I was about to chop her head off so I could watch her flail around like a dead chicken.”
His face twists in amusement. “Somehow I’m not surprised. You don’t seem like the type of woman to go down without a fight.”
“You can say that again,” I reply and my brows furrow as I realise he’s pulling me toward the dance floor. “I’m a horrible dancer,” I state, pulling out of his embrace and freezing on the edge.
“Nonsense,” he replies, wrapping his firm arms around me and hitting me with a smouldering look. “You just haven’t had the right partner.”
Before I know it, I’m in his arms and we’re gliding across the dance floor. And we look good. Better than good, maybe even awesome. Roan’s hand is firm on my upper back as his other hand holds mine level with our shoulders. We are legitimately dancing.
When I’ve recovered from the shock of my first twirl, I press into his body and ask, “Roan DeWalt, you can dance?”
