Chapter 3 #2
And now Sarah, who has always deserved something simple and good, is caught in his orbit. I wish I could shake her and tell her everything. Instead, I’m unpacking gowns and shoes, filling the silence with what-ifs and silent prayers that she’ll see him for what he is—before it’s too late.
Restless, I head out, hoping some fresh air will settle my nerves. I’m not really paying attention as I round the corner near the grand staircase. Suddenly, I nearly collide with someone—solid, broad, and right in my path. Strong hands catch my shoulders, steadying me.
I look up, breath catching, and meet a pair of smoldering hazel eyes.
Holy shit. This man is ridiculously handsome. His hair is still damp from outside, dark and tousled in a way that looks both effortless and entirely intentional. His jaw is strong, peppered with stubble, lips quirked in a half smile that’s equal parts wolfish and kind.
He steadies me with his hands on my arms, big and sure and just a little too intimate. I feel every inch of his touch. He smells like pine and winter and something deeper, almost dangerous.
“Easy,” he says, his voice low and rumbling, just on the edge of a growl. “Didn’t mean to knock you over.”
I swallow, my cheeks heating. “Sorry, I was…distracted.” I can barely breathe, let alone think.
He looks me up and down—not rude, just noticing, slow and attentive. “No harm done. But I’m curious. Are you running from someone?”
Just my past, I almost blurt.
My pulse skitters. “Just needed to stretch my legs.”
The way he watches me—direct, unhurried—makes me feel exposed and deliciously seen.
There’s something familiar about him too.
His eyes, his build. My brain catches up a moment later.
He does look a bit like Tyler—same bone structure, the easy athleticism, even a hint of that playful spark.
Though this one’s energy is heavier, more intense.
For a wild moment, I wonder if he’s the third brother Tyler mentioned.
His smile is devastating, and I realize how close we’re standing. It’s almost unfair, how magnetic he is.
He studies me a second longer, then offers his hand. “Marcus.”
“You wouldn’t happen to be…related to Tyler, would you?” I ask, a smile tugging at my lips.
His gaze sharpens, the corner of his mouth quirking. “You’ve met my little brother, then. That explains a lot.”
I laugh, relaxing a little. “It’s the eyes. And the way you both look like you could bench-press a car.”
He leans in, conspiratorial. “Only if someone needs rescuing.”
I laugh.
“And you’re with the wedding party?” he asks.
“Yeah, I’m the maid of honor,” I say, scratching the bridge of my nose. It still feels weird to say that out loud.
He nods, eyes not leaving mine. “Ah you’re the infamous best friend. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Good things, I hope,” I say, daring a little.
He grins, and it’s slow, wicked, but real. “The best.”
We stand there in the quiet hall, a beat too long, the space between us charged and humming. There’s no doubt I should move, but I don’t. Not yet.
“So if you’re Sarah’s best friend, you must be Mia,” he says.
“Yeah, I am,” I say, surprised that he remembers my name.
He hesitates, his gaze lingering on me in a way that makes my skin flush. Then his brows draw together, and his tone shifts—low, edged with something strange. “You’re Jarrod’s daughter?”
My heart skips, caught off guard by the question—and the way he’s looking at me, like he can see right through all my layers. My body feels electric, nerves singing in every inch of skin he’s already touched.
I tilt my head, caught between wanting to close the space between us and wanting answers. “You know my dad?”
He smiles, a little lopsided, a little nostalgic. “Yeah. We’ve been friends for years. Since before you could even see over this railing, probably.”
There’s a warmth to his voice, but something in the air between us is charged, almost dangerous. I realize suddenly that my dad’s world—always a little distant, always full of important names—has just become very, very real.
“Oh god. My dad has mentioned you three a million times. Well, not by name, but…almost always with respect. That’s a big deal for him.”
He chuckles, the sound low and rough. “We’ve had our share of adventures. He’s a good man. Hard to impress, though.”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter, then blush when I realize I’ve said it out loud.
He grins, openly now, and steps just a hair closer. The air feels different—thicker, hotter. His eyes linger on mine, then drop to my lips and back up, and my knees feel suspiciously unsteady.
“You’re not what I expected,” he says quietly.
My heart flutters. “No?”
He shakes his head, gaze hot and steady. “Not at all.”
There’s a world in those three words, an unspoken invitation, and I feel my pulse trip over itself. I wonder if he feels it too—this something, this spark, this bold curiosity neither of us quite knows what to do with yet.
“Neither are you,” I murmur, a little breathless, unable to break his gaze.
Marcus lingers, one hand braced on the wall as if he’s not quite ready to let me go just yet. I can feel the heat of him, still so close, his gaze lingering on my lips before meeting my eyes again.
He leans in just a little, voice low, playful but edged with warning. “I have to warn you,” he says, a glimmer in his eyes. “My brother—Tyler—he’s an inveterate womanizer.”
A real laugh escapes me, warm and genuine. “Is he now?” I arch an eyebrow, letting my own gaze drift over Marcus, slowly, pointedly. “Thanks for the warning, but I think I can protect myself.”
He studies me, smile crooked and appreciative, like he enjoys the challenge. “I don’t doubt that.” For a moment, something heated passes between us. “But if you ever need backup, you know where to find me.”
The moment stretches, the electricity between us almost dizzying, until he finally steps away, his fingers trailing off my arm.
I feel the heat rise to my cheeks, caught somewhere between amusement and genuine, flustered attraction. “Well, thanks for saving me from myself.”
He gives me one last, lingering look—something unreadable but unmistakably heated flickering in his eyes. “Anytime.”
As I slip back into my room, my heart is still thumping wildly from that encounter with Marcus. I sink onto the edge of the bed, rubbing my arms where his hands had been, the echo of his touch lingering long after he’s gone.
For a second, I seriously consider skipping the welcome dinner. I could blame jet lag or a headache and no one would question it. It would be easy—safe—to stay hidden, to avoid Jason and the weight of Sarah’s hopeful eyes.
But something stubborn in me refuses to give in.
I promised Sarah I’d be here for her, and—after the way Marcus looked at me, the memory of Tyler’s charm, even Alexander’s frosty acknowledgment—I want to make an effort.
Maybe I even want to prove to myself that I can face them all, that I’m not some fragile shadow of who I used to be.
I take a slow breath and open my suitcase, sorting through the carefully packed dresses.
I pick a deep emerald green, silky and simple, one that flatters my shape and makes my eyes pop.
I smooth it over my hips, slip on my favorite heels, and sweep my hair into soft waves.
A little makeup—just enough to give me confidence, not a mask.
I study my reflection. There’s still a ghost of the old heartbreak in my eyes, but tonight, there’s something else too. Determination. Maybe even a spark of hope.
With a final swipe of lipstick, I square my shoulders and pick up my clutch. I can do this. Tonight, I’ll be present. I’ll be visible.
I step into the hallway, heading toward the glow and laughter drifting up from the dining room below. Each step steadies me.
I’m not here to hide. Not anymore.
The welcome dinner is already in full swing when I arrive, the dining room glowing with firelight, clinking glasses, and the low buzz of old friends and new acquaintances.
I spot a few faces from childhood—girls I used to share ski lifts with, cousins I haven’t seen in years—scattered among Sarah’s relatives and what must be half the local town council.
My parents are nowhere in sight yet, and for that I’m quietly grateful.
I barely get two steps inside before Sarah catches me by the elbow, pulling me through the crowd with infectious energy. “There you are! You look incredible,” she whispers, eyes wide as she takes in my dress. “You have to sit with me!”
I hesitate, glancing around for an escape, but Sarah is already weaving through tables, towing me along.
As I follow, I become keenly aware of eyes on me—three pairs, to be exact.
Tyler stands at the edge of the bar, his gaze openly admiring, a crooked smile on his lips that makes my pulse skip.
Marcus is near the windows, talking to a relative, but I feel his eyes linger on me, dark and unreadable.
Even Alexander, standing at the far end of the room in crisp black, is watching, expression unreadable but intent.
I feel heat rush to my cheeks, something fierce and giddy swirling in my stomach. It’s not lost on me how gorgeous they all are, each in their own way—and all my father’s best friends. Of course it’s wildly inappropriate. Of course it makes my heart beat faster.
My smile wavers as I settle into my chair. Jason immediately leans in for a hug, but I slide away, pretending to reach for my napkin. He laughs, low and smug, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“You look incredible, Mia,” he says, letting his eyes wander in a way that makes my skin crawl. “I guess heartbreak agrees with you.”
I ignore him, focusing on Sarah as she arranges her bouquet at the table.
I can feel Tyler’s gaze on me from across the room, and when I glance up, he lifts his glass in a subtle toast, a teasing smile on his lips.
Marcus catches my eye a moment later, and there’s something heated and steady in his look that almost knocks the breath from my chest. Even Alexander’s stare lingers, intense and unreadable.
Sarah is called up to make a welcome speech, and she squeezes my hand before hurrying off to the podium.
That leaves me sitting far too close to Jason.
He takes the opportunity to lean in, voice dropping just for me.
“You know, I’m really glad I waited to find the right one.
” He grins, as if the whole room is meant to hear his victory.
I clench my jaw, the words stinging far more than I want to admit.
I want to say something, to stand up for myself, but I know it would just make a scene.
My knuckles are white where they grip the napkin.
I focus instead on the laughter at the next table, the light reflecting off the wine glasses, and—most of all—the eyes of the three men who make me feel beautiful and seen, even in the middle of all this chaos.
Jason keeps talking, but I barely listen. I’m done letting him get under my skin. Tonight, I’m here for Sarah, for myself, and—if I’m honest—for the way those three men are looking at me like I’m the only thing worth seeing.