11. Sienna #3
A few of the guests clapped in time with the music as I tried to keep up with him.
One of the groomsmen laughed and shouted encouragement at Zach from the sidelines.
Someone made a whoop sound when I dropped into a silly, low move, and Zach mirrored me with a fall-and-roll that looked more like he was under fire from snipers than dancing, but it was adorable .
Matt watched from his seat at a table back from the floor, one arm draped across the back of his chair and his mouth curled in a smile he didn’t even try to hide.
It was there again — the softness in his eyes he’d had last night, the look of almost-vulnerability he’d had when he’d said, “You were chaos in a yellow sundress.”
I had to force myself to look away.
Eventually, Zach stumbled back to the table, breathless and flushed, flopping against Matt’s chest when he pulled him into his lap like a tired puppy. He zonked out completely not long after, head tucked up against the lapel of Matt’s suit jacket, his fingers wrapped loosely around Matt’s tie.
Watching them like that — Matt’s hand resting protectively on his son’s back, his eyes flicking to me every so often between gentle kisses on top of Zach’s head or sipping his champagne — forced something open in my chest.
Not a wound. Something far more stupid than that.
It was a want .
“Thought he took a nap earlier,” I chuckled lightly, tapping the side of Matt’s shoe with my own.
He rolled his eyes, but there wasn’t any real irritation behind them. “So did I.”
Margot took him a few minutes later, lifting Zach with practiced ease and managing not to wake him fully. Matt murmured a quiet thank you to her, promising we’d come back to the villa soon.
But then it was just us. Well, us and two hundred odd people that either hated us or didn’t know we existed.
I didn’t let myself overthink it and stood up beside him, offering him my hand. “Your turn.”
He looked up at me, a single eyebrow raised, a little spot of damp where Zach’s head had rested against his chest. “Mine?”
I bit back my grin. “You’re supposed to be my charming boyfriend, right? It’s in the job description.”
“I don’t love dancing,” he said simply, but the corner of his mouth was already lifting.
“Neither do I.” I reached down, taking his hand, and he didn’t fight me in the slightest. “Come on. Let’s ruin this wedding with at least a little joy.”
He laughed, not fully but it was there, and let me pull him up and out of his seat, toward the dance floor. “This feels like a trap,” he smirked.
“Only if you dance badly,” I grinned back at him, crossing onto the mostly-empty dance floor and squeezing his hand. “So maybe fake that, too.”
His free hand landed at my waist, strong and steady, pulling me in until I was flush against him.
I curled my fingers behind his neck, letting them drift just barely into his hair, my pulse pounding a little too hard at the intimacy of it — but then he met my gaze as he started to move us, guiding me like this was easy, like we’d done this a hundred times.
“I’ll have you know,” he murmured, dipping his head slightly toward my ear so only I could hear, “I’m a decent dancer. I just avoid doing it.”
“Oh, so this isn’t your first time?” I teased, but it clearly wasn’t. He was far too confident with his steps for this to be the first time he’d moved to music with a crowd of people around. “I never would have guessed.”
He laughed, faking offense as he pulled back enough to meet my gaze. “I’ve been to enough corporate galas to fake some moves, thank you very much ,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I usually avoid weddings, though. Too much optimism in the air.”
I shook my head, barely holding in the giggle working up my throat. “Right. Got to have the ulterior motive of revenge.”
He shrugged. “And obligation.”
I tightened my grip on the back of his neck, watching the way his breath hitched a little. “You’re being a very good brother,” I said, the words feeling too weighty for how casually they slipped out. “Even if it is because of obligation.”
He hummed his response, his gaze scanning the room once before landing back on me. “Don’t look,” he said softly, his thumb brushing my waist where he held it as he moved us slightly across the dance floor, “but they’re staring.”
I stared up at him, not daring to look away. “Good,” I said. “Let them simmer in their anger.”
He huffed a chuckle. “You don’t want to give them a break on their wedding day?”
I grinned, then, wild, and bright and a little manic, and dropped his hand to wrap my arms around his neck.
He didn’t question it — just pulled me in tighter, his hand splaying out across my back, eyes glued on me as I beamed up at him unashamedly and far too sweetly for the words behind my teeth. “I’d rather give them food poisoning.”
He snorted, his forehead dropping against mine. “You are chaos ,” he said, but there wasn’t a hint of bite to it.
The music shifted into something slower, something far more romantic, and neither of us moved to leave. His free hand wrapped around me, resting right between my shoulder blades, not bothering to lift his head from mine.
It was too easy, being this close to him.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice going a little raspier as he lowered it. “I should have said that earlier.”
I blinked up at him, his face slightly too close to focus on. “For what?”
“For dancing with Zach,” he said gently. “And for being so good with him yesterday and this morning. He hasn’t really loosened up like that with anyone but Margot. You didn’t have to put so much effort in.”
My throat tightened. “He’s a great kid,” I murmured. “You don’t have to thank me. I liked it, like him. ”
Matt lifted his head enough to look down at me properly, his gaze weighty, flicking across my face like he was trying to memorize it. His thumb moved again, just gently, tracing a line across the back of my ribs. “Still,” he said. “Thank you.”
I swallowed down the part of me that was screaming that there was something here, forced it to understand that this conversation wouldn’t mean jack shit if we were two meters apart and not wrapped up in each other’s arms because of a part we were playing.
“You’re a lot softer than you pretend to be,” I said, smirking just a little, trying to lighten it enough so I could get a grip on myself.
“Yeah, well, don’t spread it around,” he chuckled. “I have a reputation to uphold.”
Apparently, my body didn’t want to listen to the words I was hammering into my brain, because I went up on tiptoes out of instinct, bringing my face just a little bit closer, my body swaying an inch when he tried to move us another step.
“I’ll keep your secret,” I grinned, dragging my teeth over my lower lip. “For a price.”
He huffed a breath, leaning down to meet me just short of halfway, his gaze shifting between my eyes and my lips.
“What, a hundred grand doesn’t cover secrets?
” he murmured, his hand coming up to cup the back of my neck, his grip firmer than I expected, his thumb pushing up against my jaw just enough to tilt my head back a little more.
My cheeks heated immediately, my throat working desperately on words that wouldn’t seem to come.
“Name your ridiculous price, then, Sienna,” he said. “Or are you too scared to, since I called you out for it last time?”
Kiss me.
Are you asking me because you want me to or because you want him to see it happen again?
I wanted to answer him, wanted to shoot something at him that was smart and deflecting and entirely unserious so he would stop looking at me like that, but I couldn’t. I was locked in place, my mouth not working, my brain skidding to a halt, my cheeks so warm they burned.
He leaned a little closer, his breath ghosting across my lips, and before I could do something reckless like close the distance or push away, his mouth brushed mine in the barest kiss anyone had ever given me, my brain short-circuiting and turning into TV static.
And then he pulled away again.
No. No ? —
“Too easy,” he rasped, his lips pulling up at the corners. “You’re too easy to rattle, sweetheart.”
I stared up at him, trying to process, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing , but he wasn’t moving, wasn’t coming back, wasn’t leaning down to kiss me again.
The thoughts hit me all at once — we were leaving tomorrow.
The charade would be over. Unless we were saying goodbye to them in the morning, which I highly doubted, right here on the dance floor before going back to our villa would be the last time Matt’s hands would be on me like this, the last time Matt would be this close .
And he wasn’t even kissing me properly.
My heart pounded against my ribs. I should have been okay with that. I should have been relieved that this was almost over.
But, fuck, I wasn’t .
I didn’t want to feel anything at all, but with his hands on my back and my neck and the lights of those stupid chandeliers hanging softly above us, I felt like the only people in the room were the two of us.
Not Ryan, not Lauren, not anyone who’d ever made me feel like I wasn’t enough, not the guests I didn’t care about or the resort staff.
Just Matt. Just me.
And the horrifying realization that this, whatever it was, felt too real and dangerously, stupidly, heartbreakingly easy.
Every part of me screamed to grab him by the tie and pull him back to me, but I couldn’t. My pride wouldn’t allow for it.
Shit.
Shit.
————
We left before I’d even had the chance to consider running my fingers through the uncut cake.
Matt made the call, leaning in while the DJ switched to something upbeat and exciting, his breath hot against my ear. “If we want this whole new and obsessed with each other thing to come across right, we should slip out a little early. Sell it.”