twine tightly in his hair when she came. Unbearable to have her so close after all this time and not be able to touch her.
She timed, perfectly, the return of her attention to when there was a lull in the conversation between Felicity and Phillip, casting a sweeping glance around the marquee and saying, “Everyone’s moving in.” She made a graceful hand gesture. “See? The doors are open.” She turned to Phillip. “Shall we, Sir Galahad?”
“We shall indeed, milady,” Phillip responded promptly, and gallantly held out his arm for her to take.
She flashed her Stepford Wives smile somewhere between Rafael and Felicity. “Maybe we’ll run into each other on the dance floor later.”
And that was it. She was gone.
“Run into each other on the dance floor?” Felicity said. “That’ll be interesting!”
“Don’t worry, it won’t happen. She’s already made her point.”
“Which was?”
“That she’s over me.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Prove that she’s not.”
THE FOOD WAS FABULOUS. The wine excellent. Teague’s best-man speech was a triumph of gentle wit. Romy and Matt’s jointly delivered response weaving superheroes, damsels in distress and mere-mortal babies into a love story was flat-out adorable. And Veronica prayed for the night to be over so she could go to bed with a bottle of gin.
She’d been feeling so proud of herself out in the marquee. Parading Phillip under his nose, exuding fan-girl charm all over Felicity, resisting the urge to smash a champagne flute and stab Rafael through the heart when Felicity dropped that bombshell about playing Julie—playing her—in Catch, Tag, Release and called him “Rafa” like she owned him.
She’d entered the hall and taken her seat and told herself that elusive thing called closure was almost within her grasp.
And then Rafael had strolled in, arm-in-arm with Felicity, and sent her a look of such smugness she was all the way back to fury again.
Which had obviously made her a diabolically bad companion for Phillip, who kept disappearing whenever he wasn’t required to sit at the table to eat.
Rafael couldn’t have been much of a companion for Felicity, either, because when he wasn’t sitting at his table to eat, he spent his time gloating at Veronica from various vantage points. Yes, gloating! There was no other way to describe his secretive, self-satisfied smile.
If she hadn’t been giving zero fucks, she would have been tempted to go up to him and smack it off his face. As it was, all she could do was not look at him. Which was easier said than done because it required her to keep him in her peripheral vision to make sure she didn’t do it by accident while simultaneously directing her eyes elsewhere wearing an I-am-fascinated expression. And maintaining her eyebrows in a perpetual go-fuck-yourself arch while performing those ocular gymnastics had given her a crick in her neck and a headache.
Worst of all, the joy she felt for Romy and Matt had been tainted by a bone-deep envy she hadn’t been expecting and they didn’t deserve.
It was just that she’d somehow assumed Romy and Matt would be the way they’d been in the old days—together but not especially together; tactile but more like the way you physically interacted with your best friend; joking around but inviting the rest of the gang in for a laugh. She’d been so certain their marriage would be predicated on a position of Hey, why not do it? since they were both single and were going to have the kid Romy needed anyway. That would have meant today was more college reunion than wedding, with Veronica and Rafael tag-teaming the group hugs to avoid any partisanship.
But the reality was vastly different from her expectations. The way Matt and Romy had looked at each other in the chapel was the first indication. Then Matt’s at-the-altar kiss. And the jolts had been coming thick and fast ever since, making it abundantly clear the Romy and Matt partnership was nothing like the way it used to be. Oh, there was a glimmer of their old friendship in there, but it was embedded deep in something much more visceral.
Matt looked at Romy like he was hungry for her. He touched her like he was dying for want of her. His fingers had lingered at her lips after he’d fed her the obligatory piece of wedding cake as though they had their own taste buds and she was some kind of divine nectar. Even the smallest kiss was imbued with a sense of sexual urgency that made Veronica feel like a voyeur.
And the bridal waltz they were currently performing? It was like nothing Veronica had ever seen. Certainly nothing like either of her own, which had been carefully choreographed and perfectly executed but completely devoid of the barely tethered lust that pulsed between Romy and Matt as they glided across the floor.
They finished the dance with a bedroom kiss. The way she imagined Rafael ending their bridal waltz, and the envy inside her morphed into a boa constrictor, wrapping itself around her internal organs and squeezing tighter and tighter until she thought one of them might burst through her skin in some Alien-like horror moment.
She watched as Romy’s parents joined Romy and Matt on the dance floor—Romy going into her father’s arms, Matt dancing with Romy’s mother. A few minutes later Teague—doing duty as MC as well as everything else—invited all the guests to join in. But Veronica couldn’t bear the thought of it. Even if Phillip miraculously reappeared to ask her, she’d say no. Maybe she would have roused herself for Teague, but he was standing on the other side of the dance floor looking as though the idea of dancing after that sensual display was as nauseating to him as it was to her.
Well, that was something she could do: try to cheer Teague up.
But when Veronica’s impetuous steps took her to the edge of the dance floor, she saw that Rafael had beaten her there. God! He was turning into her nemesis!
As she watched, Rafael slung a casual arm around Teague’s shoulders and said something that made Teague throw back his head and laugh. It was the first time she’d seen Teague laugh all night and her heart softened, her hostility automatically depressurizing.
But it was a bittersweet moment.
In the old days she would have thought nothing of joining Rafael and Teague. The fact that now she couldn’t brought the truth home to her: her old life was in pieces that could never be put back together.
It didn’t make any difference to tell herself it was normal for some groups to splinter and others to form, for individuals to unexpectedly pair up and couples to split up, that that was what was supposed to happen when college students moved into the big, wide world and got jobs and changed lifestyles. Because despite knowing that intellectually, in her heart it was different. In her heart, in her soul, she’d been waiting in limbo for this moment to come...and then go. The moment when she’d accept that Rafael would never again be hers. Only now it was here, it suddenly seemed wrong for the world to keep spinning as though nothing had changed.
A spinning world invalidated the baffled suffering she’d endured since Rafael had left her. It made a mockery of her attempts to protect herself by burying her memories of him,
