Page 79 of The Art of Scandal

She gave him a long look, a little too intense for comfort. “So, you two are friends now.” It wasn’t a question, but an irritated accusation. “I should have known. A woman like that—”

“A woman like what?” He sounded possessive and it made him feel pathetic. “Whatever. If you don’t like her, why’d you ask her to host?”

“Because of her husband,” Sofia said quickly. “But marrying into that family has gone to her head. This secret bidding gambit feels cheap and amateurish.” She gestured at his paintings. “Rachel Abbott makes grandiose promises, but it’s just a sad little performance. I pray she doesn’t drag you down as well.”

He scanned the room, searching for a distraction. The crowd had swelled, making it harder to tell one tuxedoed man from another. “Is Beto here?”

“He had to finish up something for work,” Sofia said. “But he’ll arrive before the program starts.”

He wanted to believe her. That last conversation with his father had given him hope. There was no reason to doubt that Beto would walk in at any moment, and his whole family would be there when someone pulled that sheet away fromAbuelita. But with every minute that ticked by, more of the old skepticism crept in. Beto had never chosen any of them over work before.

Nathan had emptied two more champagne glasses while he spoke to his mother. Now his mind was racing, while the alcohol caused a slow-limbed, frantic feeling that made him stumble as he moved to the bar. He’d nearly reached it when Joe grabbed his arm. “Have you seen Beto yet? Mom said he got a work call, and they took separate cars.”

“I think she left to call him.” Nathan shook off his hand and took a step toward the bar. Joe grabbed him again.

“What’s up with you?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” Nathan ordered bourbon while Joe hovered. The bartender passed him a drink, and Nathan tossed a twenty into his tip jar. The man nodded his appreciation. “See. This guy thinks I’m fine.” He drained the glass in one swallow.

“Oh yeah, man. And doing shots in black tie isn’t a huge red flag.” Joe grabbed Nathan’s glass and pointed to the entrance. “She’s here.”

Nathan’s plan had been to fake cool ambivalence when he saw her, but his body didn’t listen, flashing hot as his lungs abandoned any attempt to breathe. He saw a bit of gold fabric quickly obscured by the crowd. A second glimpse confirmed it was Rachel. Her dress was a literal work of art. It was made of small pieces of gold leather that looked like someone had poured tiny, molten scales over her body to form a low-cut evening gown. She’d styled her hair in a waist-length goddess braid, threaded with matching gold highlights. Her eyes were rimmed with smoky metallics, and her lips painted a soft nude that made them look plush and erotically bare.

Nathan caught the bartender’s eye and was about to order another drink when Joe handed the man a hundred-dollar bill and said, “Stop serving him.”

Nathan glared. “Seriously?”

“I’m not watching you get wasted tonight.” Joe waved his hand at the crowd. “Everyone in this room is rooting for you. Including her.”

Nathan’s eyes were drawn to Rachel again. “How do you do it?” he asked Joe.

“Do what?”

“How can you stand to be so close to someone you love, and not tell her.” He looked at Joe. “You don’t even mention Mia, and she lives ten minutes away.”

The champagne had slowed his brain, and the reality of what he’d implied hit him too late. Joe was too practical and honest to pine after one woman while married to someone else. Nathan was the piece of shit who always did the wrong thing.

“God.” Nathan rubbed hard at his eyes, trying to will himself sober. “I’m sorry. Please forget I said that.”

Joe blocked his view of the crowd and stared him down. “I know you love this woman, and it probably feels like you discovered that feeling—no one else could possibly have loved the way you do because if they had, nothing else would matter. But, Nate, being in love is selfish. It’s all about how good you feel, and what you want. Giving love is selfless. So no one cares if you want to say the words or not. What matters is whether that person needs to hear them.”

Nathan thought about his reaction to Rachel’s deal with Matt. He’d dismissed her reasons like a kid screaming, “So what,” over and over because he thought his love was more important. And now Joe was telling him the exact same thing she did: he may have heard her reasons, but he didn’t bother to listen.

“I wanted to take care of her.” It sounded so naive when he said it out loud. “I thought it was what she needed.” Nathan scanned the crowd, searching for a glimpse of gold. “But maybe it was what I needed. Sometimes I feel so goddamn useless.”

Joe grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. “You don’t have to prove yourself to the people who love you, Nate. Just let us do it.”

Nathan had been clinging to the hope of asomedaythat deep down he’d never believed would come. Someday he’d make Beto proud. Someday his mother would choose him over his father. Someday he and Joe could be just brothers instead of burdens to each other. But the man he imagined in all those somedays wasn’t really him. That’s what Joe had been trying to say. That the man he was,thisman, the weird afterthought with blurry non-dragons and too many feelings, this was the man they were all supporting tonight. Because they loved him, and because he was enough.

Joe’s gaze drifted past his shoulder, and Nathan turned to see Rachel standing a few feet away. She extended a tentative hand.

“Will you dance with me?”

Nathan didn’t move. He looked at the dance floor, which was dotted with older couples, swaying to the last notes of the saxophonist’s solo. Rachel had to know they would attract attention. Her fingers curled back slightly, like she was losing her nerve. But then she met his eyes and whispered, “Please.”

The word cut through him, even after everything.

The band started playing again. He ignored her hand and reached for her waist instead, pulling her into his arms. A dozen eyes swung their way, but he wouldn’t allow himself to care. What if this was his last chance to hold her like this? After tonight there were no more excuses—no galas to force them into each other’s lives.

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