Chapter Twenty-Nine
Harriet
Nolan—to my complete and utter surprise—is a good dancer.
“What?” he asks on our third turn around the dance floor, his footsteps smooth, his thigh briefly pressing between my own before he gracefully turns me again.
I feel like we’re floating, drifting on a cloud above the rest of this party.
His palm eases half an inch lower over the curve of my ass and his mouth hovers over mine as we spin around and around.
It’s probably too much for a dance at my parents’ holiday gala, but I don’t care.
This is what I thought his magic would feel like. This spark in my chest that flares brighter every time his eyes crinkle at the corners. This tingling in my hands when his nose drifts across my cheek. I close my eyes and exhale a breath, letting him lead.
This weightlessness in my head and in my heart. This complete and total trust that he has me. No matter what.
Nolan does a neat two-step and extends his arm, whipping me out and spinning me back like a top on a string. I land against his chest with a quiet oof and he spins us away again, my hair flying around my shoulders.
“You’re looking at me like I’ve just pulled a fully decorated tree out of my arse,” he says with a wicked smile.
“Is that … something you can do?”
“You may find this shocking, but I’ve never attempted that particular parlor trick.”
I consider that. “I can’t stop thinking about it now.”
“Maybe later.” He laughs and glances his fingers along my cheek. “What’s got this look on your face?”
“You’re a good dancer,” I explain. “And I’m having fun. Both of those things are unexpected.”
His smile turns crooked. “There’s an insult in there somewhere.”
“Please.” I give him a look. “You forget I’ve seen you on ice skates.”
“Fair point.” We take another spin around the dance floor and I let myself relax in his hold. He watches me with soft eyes. “What do you normally do?” he asks. “At these events?”
“Usually, I stand by the kitchen and wait for the appetizers to come out.” I frown over his shoulder at my mother, standing in the center of a cluster of tables.
She hasn’t looked at me since that disaster of a welcome, though I’m sure she’ll seek me out later in some dark corner to let me know my failings.
I brought an unsanctioned date, wore purple, and left my hair natural?
I might as well have set the drapes on fire and stolen a golf cart.
Maybe I should set the drapes on fire and steal a golf cart. Maybe we can still set the drapes on fire and steal a golf cart.
“I don’t know,” I continue. “I usually try to hide.”
I’ve never felt particularly welcome, so I usually find somewhere to make myself small. I don’t attract attention. I put in my yearly allotted three hours of family face time, then I go home and eat a takeout pizza on my couch in my matching pajamas.
I feel that same foreign burst of anger from this morning. Why do I do that? What did I do to deserve that sort of treatment from my family? The people who are supposed to love me no matter what.
Nolan’s right. I’m not the villain in my story. Not even close.
“I don’t know why I do that,” I whisper, something hot pressing behind my eyes.
“I think it’s easier for me when I do what’s expected.
It’s my way of making up for all my other disappointments.
It gives me hope they might change their minds, I guess.
But maybe I should let that go. I’m not happy, and neither is anyone else.
I think I’m tired of hiding in the corner, eating the canapés. ”
Nolan’s eyes flash in the twinkling lights, then settle into something dark and intent. “We’re not hiding tonight.”
My lips lift up at the corners. “No,” I say. “No, we’re not.”
“Good,” he murmurs. That word settles low in my belly, pulling tight. I might be edging away from seeking the approval of others, but I still like to know when I’ve pleased Nolan.
I like it very much.
Nolan watches me with his dark eyes, his thumb doing another deliberate sweep across the bare skin of my back.
I imagine that thumb working at my body with the same deliberate touch.
Slipping into my mouth and pressing against my tongue.
Dragging slow and rough between my thighs, my pretty purple dress hiked up around my hips, my delicate underwear hanging from one ankle.
“What are you thinking about now?” Nolan rumbles.
You, on your knees in a hidden alcove. Your hand fisted in the material of my skirt, mine in your hair.
“Nothing,” I breathe, trying to blink away the image. “Why do you ask?”
“Your cheeks are pink.”
“You said my cheeks are always pink.”
“Not like this,” he says. “This is what you look like when my mouth is on you.”
“Nolan,” I whisper, not sure if I want him to stop or keep going.
The string quartet finishes the final lingering notes and we slow to a stop at the edge of the dance floor. He lifts my hand to his mouth and brushes a kiss against my knuckles. “Let’s get a drink. Then maybe I can convince you to tell me about those dirty little thoughts you’re having.”
“I’m not having dirty thoughts,” I lie.
His grin is something two shades shy of smug. “Sure.”
I’m about to lob another denial in his direction when a familiar head of blond hair over his shoulder catches my attention. My smile freezes on my face before cracking right down the middle.
On the other edge of the dance floor, Samantha is standing at a table with an ice sculpture, talking to a man in a blue velvet smoking jacket.
She gestures gracefully with her hands and he laughs.
I’m struck by how comfortable she looks.
How relaxed. This whole time, I’ve been hiding in corners and Samantha paraded down the middle of the room.
Where did I make the wrong turn? When did I become someone that was easy to discard?
“I see my sister,” I tell Nolan quietly, my pulse hammering in anticipation. I told Nolan we’re not hiding tonight, and I meant it. “I’m going to go talk with her.”
“Do you need me?”
He asks it quietly, earnestly, and my heart stumbles over itself. I could tell Nolan I needed a plate full of fancy Brie for this conversation, and he’d disappear to the cheese board without another word. No one has ever taken care of me the way Nolan has. I’m not sure anyone ever will again.
I shake my head, then lean up on my toes and press my mouth to his. It’s brief, and chaste, but he chases my lips with his, one of his hands gently cupping the back of my head to keep me close. He tucks our foreheads together, bumping my nose with his.
It’s impossibly sweet, and my heart does another barrel roll in my chest.
“I’ll be by the bar. Signal if you need me.”
“What sort of signal?”
He thinks on it. “Do you know how to do a bird call?”
I grin. “I’d ask you to demonstrate, but I’m a little bit afraid of what might happen.”
Amusement shines behind his eyes. “It’ll be a surprise then.” He pats my side, steering me in the direction of my sister. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”
“Thanks.” I take two steps forward, feeling brave, then turn back, feeling honest. “And thank you for being here. I’m really glad you knocked on my door tonight.”
Nolan’s face softens. “I’m glad to be here.” He gives me a nudge. “Go on. Don’t leave me with the wolves for too long.”
I skitter away before I can second-guess myself, approaching Samantha just as the man she’s talking to departs.
She’s wearing a floor length A-line dress—navy, of course—her hair pulled back in a sleeklooking ponytail.
Her attention catches on me and holds, awareness taking a moment or two to sink in.
Her eyes widen.
“It hasn’t been that long since you’ve seen me,” I tell her as I approach, fighting the urge to readjust my skirt. Two weeks ago, I would have felt like the before to her after photo, an inadequacy I’ve spent most of my life battling against.
But not tonight.
Maybe it’s the dress, or maybe it’s the high of being spun around the dance floor by a man who cares about me, or maybe it’s the heavy, protective feel of Nolan’s gaze on my bare shoulders …
but the only thing I feel is a low rumble of frustration.
I’m so damn tired of begging for scraps of affection.
Not when I now know that it can be given so freely.
“It’s been almost a year,” Samantha says, her voice smooth and rich. She studies my hair while she thinks, her perfectly shaped, caramel-colored brows crashing together. “Spring, I think?”
“That sounds right.”
“Well, you look great.” Samantha’s smile is strained. “That’s quite the dress.”
“Yeah, it’s nice.” I huff a laugh. “Are we really going to do this, Sam?”
She sets down her empty champagne glass. “What?”
“Are we really going to make small talk? Us?” I step closer, careful to keep my voice low.
Old habits die hard, and confrontation is enough of a challenge for me.
I don’t want to cause a scene while I do it.
“You’ve barely talked to me for months. You haven’t been responding to my text messages or answering my calls. What’s going on?”
“I’ve been busy at work,” she answers, not quite making eye contact. “They’ve increased my caseload and I’m in charge of a new special-interest cohort with the corporate law group. It’s a ton of work, Harriet. It’s not personal.”
Ice lodges at the base of my throat. Not personal. It should be personal. I want it to be personal.
“That sounds really great, Sam, but—” I drag my teeth over my bottom lip, debating whether or not I want to push. “Is that the thing that’s made you distant? Work?”
Her stern expression falters, exposing something soft and tender beneath. But then she wipes it away, settling back into cool and indifferent. She looks so much like our mother I want to cry.
“I’m not distant, Harriet. I’m just busy.”
“Don’t do that,” I say. “Don’t make it seem like I’m making it all up. You’ve been avoiding me.”
“I just told you, the—”