Chapter Eight
Hayden
Watching Daniel Whitmore stand beside her with that easy confidence, touching her as though the right had been given to him, made something ugly move through me.
He looked comfortable there, settled into a place in her life I had never truly surrendered, believing he could stand beside Edwina Rhodes all night while I did nothing about it. Fuck that.
Who the fuck do you think you are?
I was not going to stand in the corner of a wedding reception with a glass in my hand, pretending the sight of another man beside her did not make me want to ruin something. I set the champagne aside and started toward their table before reason could make the mistake of catching up.
By the time I reached them, the conversation had already moved on without me.
Whitmore was in the middle of some story about the ceremony, Giselle was laughing, and Edwina sat between them with champagne in her hand, the red of her dress catching the chandelier light every time she shifted.
My gaze stayed on her longer than it should have, then moved to the empty chair beside Daniel.
I stopped there. “May I?”
The question was polite for the room, though the effect was immediate. Everyone at the table looked up at once. Giselle blinked before recovering.
“Oh, Dean Stone. Of course.”
Whitmore shifted to give me space, and I pulled out the chair slowly before sitting beside him. Glasses clinked around us. Conversations continued. Nothing about the room changed. Except now I was exactly where I intended to be.
For a few moments, the table returned to the familiar rhythm of conversation. Someone mentioned the music, another commented on the ceremony at the church, and I answered when I had to, though even I knew my attention was somewhere else entirely. It stayed on the woman across from me.
Edwina.
Her name moved through my mind with the kind of familiarity I had spent years trying to bury.
Titles failed her there, Professor Rhodes, Mrs. Rhodes, every formal address meant to create distance only made her feel more like the woman who had once ruined every part of me she touched.
The name I wanted to use sat heavier on my tongue.
My little Flare.
The memory of it cut through me with the force of something unfinished, and for one reckless second, I wanted to reach across the table, pull her out of that chair, and kiss her in front of every person sitting there, especially in front of that smug little shit Whitmore, who looked far too comfortable at her side for a man who had no idea what he was standing near.
The thought was a bad one.It was also tempting as hell.
I leaned back in my chair and let the calm return to my face before speaking, keeping my tone light for the table and sharp for her alone. “So, how have you been, Edwina?”
My use of her name did exactly what I wanted it to do. She lifted her champagne glass, ready to take a sip, and the sound of it in my mouth caught her badly that she choked on the drink. Daniel turned toward her at once. “Hey, are you okay?”
Giselle looked between us with the sharp awareness of someone beginning to understand there was more beneath the surface, while Edwina set the glass down and cleared her throat, fighting to pull herself back together.
“Yes,” she said, though the tightness in her voice betrayed the effort. “I’m fine.”
Whitmore glanced between us, curiosity beginning to show on his face. “Wait,” he said slowly, leaning back slightly in his chair, “do you two know each other from somewhere besides the department?”
The question stayed there for a moment, waiting for one of us to lie. Edwina opened her mouth first. “Well…”
“Yes,” I answered before she could finish, meeting Whitmore’s gaze easily. “Very well, actually.” Edwina’s eyes snapped toward me, sharp with warning, and I ignored the hell out of it.
“She was my student,” I continued calmly, folding my hands together on the table as if the truth were harmless, as if saying it did not drag every forbidden thing between us back into the room. “Back in Washington.”
Daniel’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Really?”
“Yes.” My gaze moved to Edwina for a moment before returning to the table. “She was one of the most brilliant students in the department, sharp mind, disciplined, a student every professor hopes to have at least once in their career.”
It was all true. It was also nowhere near enough. Brilliant did not cover the way she had consumed my thoughts, the way she had sat across from me with those dark eyes and made every rule I had ever followed feel like a fucking inconvenience.
Whitmore nodded slowly. “So you worked together?”
“For a short time,” I replied evenly. “She assisted me with research and helped with one of the greatest symposiums we held in Washington.”
The word assisted stayed between us until her jaw tightened, and fuck, I liked that more than I should have.
“But only briefly,” I continued, my tone calm. “Unfortunately, her time at the university ended rather abruptly. One day she was there, and the next… puff. Gone.”
Daniel frowned slightly. “What happened?”
I leaned back in my chair as if recalling an old professional detail. “That’s something I never fully understood,” I said. “One day she simply left the university without much explanation.”
Across the table, Edwina kept her gaze on me, composed for everyone else, but the warning in it was meant for me.
She was drawing a line in silence, telling me exactly where to stop, and some fucked-up part of me wanted to step over it just to see what she would do.
A faint smile touched the corner of my mouth anyway.
“Which is why seeing her here in London was quite a surprise.”
The table went quiet in a way that had nothing to do with politeness. Whitmore shifted in his seat before speaking again. “Well,” he said cautiously, glancing at Edwina, “life takes people in different directions sometimes.”
“Yes,” I replied calmly, my gaze returning to her. “It certainly does.”
For a few seconds, no one seemed to know what to do with that. Conversation carried on around us, glasses clinked, laughter rose from other tables, and everyone else kept enjoying the evening as if there wasn’t a blade sitting between us, ready to cut through the linen.
I did not look away from Edwina. I was waiting for her reaction, watching for the crack beneath all that careful control, and when it came, it hit harder than I expected.
She was blushing. Actually blushing.
Color rose along her cheeks, and for one brief moment, the sight dragged me back to another version of her, the girl who used to lose herself whenever our conversations slipped too close to the forbidden.
She had spent the entire week pretending I did not affect her, pretending my presence meant nothing, yet there she was, sitting across from me with heat in her face while everyone waited for her answer.
Fuck, I missed that reaction.
She cleared her throat before finally speaking.
“Well,” she said, her voice even despite the warmth still visible in her cheeks, “some personal… and family reasons came up at the time. That’s why I had to leave.”
Her explanation gave me nothing. It was careful and restrained for the table, safe in all the ways that kept everyone from asking too much, and so fucking empty that it only made me want to press harder.
I held her gaze for a moment longer, searching for whatever she had buried behind those chosen words, but she gave me nothing else.
Instead, she reached for her champagne glass, took a small sip, and set it down with a finality that told me she was done being watched.
“Excuse me for a moment,” she said quietly.
Her chair shifted as she stood, and Giselle looked up at once. “Do you want me to come with you?”
Edwina shook her head, already gathering herself back into that untouchable version of calm she wore too damn well. “No, I’m fine. I’ll be right back.”
Daniel nodded as though her answer made sense, as though there was nothing beneath it worth questioning, and that alone made something ugly twist in my chest. Edwina walked away with her chin lifted and her steps controlled, yet I noticed the pace, the need to put distance between us before I could drag another truth out of her.
I watched her cross the room until the red of her dress disappeared into the hallway leading toward the restrooms. Then I stood.
Whitmore looked up at me. “Everything alright, Dean Stone?”
“Yes,” I replied.
I gave him nothing more. I adjusted the sleeve of my jacket and left the table before anyone could decide they had the right to ask me another question.
The hallway outside the reception area was quieter, with the music fading behind the closed doors. I leaned against the wall across from the restroom entrance and waited, because patience had never been a problem for me when I wanted something badly.
A few minutes later, the door opened, and Edwina stepped out with her attention on the compact mirror in her hand, checking her lipstick as she walked.
She did not see me at first. Then her gaze lifted, found me, and her steps stopped at once.
The color returned to her cheeks, and fuck, I noticed that too.
The music from the reception drifted down the hallway, distant and muted, making the space between us feel separate from the rest of the night.
She stood there in that red dress, furious and flushed, trying so damn hard to look untouchable while every breath she took told me she was anything but calm.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Waiting.”
Her eyes narrowed. “For what?”
“For you.”
The answer landed between us, and for a moment she said nothing. Whatever composure she had managed to gather inside that restroom began to slip again, and I watched it happen with a hunger I had no business feeling in a public hallway.
“What the hell do you think you were doing at the table?” she snapped.
I pushed away from the wall. “Talking.”