Chapter Fifteen
The end of the kiss isn’t a passive closing off, an easy pulling away. It’s forced, it’s purposeful, and with the warmth of her lips on mine, it’s nearly impossible. But with all eyes still on us, I lift Anna up, making sure she’s steady on her feet, and resist the urge to go back for more.
The attendees murmur their approval, quiet calls of “adorable” and “romantic” and “dazzling” floating around us—as well as one shouted “That was hot as shit!,” thank you Blaire—but Anna and I just stare at each other in mute shock. I realize I need to appear to have done this a million times, not just this once, so I try to pull my features together even though the sensation of her full, pillow-soft lips against mine still feels like an earthquake rolling through me.
Blinking away, I focus on her shoulder, and on the strap that has slipped an inch to the side, revealing a tan line from her bikini today. I reach up, stroking the line with my thumb. I want to suck her there, bite it. I want to leave a mark.
She reaches up, touching her lips, speaking behind them. “You’re good at that.”
“At what?” I ask, distracted.
“Fake-kissing.”
I hum. Nothing about that felt fake.
“Wonder how you kiss when it’s real,” she whispers.
I’m about to open my mouth and suggest she follow me outside to find out, when a man approaches.
“Anna?”
She pauses, searching his face. After a couple seconds, recognition lights her features. “Holy sh—Jamie?”
“Yes, my God, it’s so crazy to see you here!” They hug easily and pull away, both smiling.
“No kidding! I’m—” She cuts off, looking around, and her startled eyes meet mine. “West, this is my—well, okay, a little awkward—” They both laugh, sharing some inside joke I don’t follow until she says, “My ex.”
My body temperature plummets. “Ex. Wow.”
“Jamie, please meet my husband, Liam Weston.”
We shake hands, smiling, but it’s tense. With the way she looks tonight and even if he saw that kiss just now, I’m sure he’s thinking about all the times he made love to her. And now I’m thinking of all the times I haven’t.
I manage an even “Nice to meet you.” He’s tall, but I’m taller, and God I know it’s childish, but I straighten my spine, emphasizing it. He’s also extremely good-looking, with the same kind of easygoing smile that makes it possible to imagine them together.
“You, too,” Jamie says, and turns back to her. “Married? And to a Weston! Anna, I swear I never would have called this.”
“I’m not sure I’d have called it either back then,” she says, laughing. “That and running into you on a private island.” To me, she adds, “Jamie and I met in a pottery class.”
“She was a virtuoso with her hands,” he says, and I know he means it playfully, but the innuendo lingers like a sneering echo. I imagine landing an uppercut that sends him through the ceiling.
“Meanwhile, Jamie finished his project. Pretty much all I can say about that,” Anna teases.
“Hey,” he protests, laughing. “My grandmother still uses that coffee mug.”
“She would have to,” Anna says. “That thing was so huge, I’m sure it’s still full from the first time she poured coffee into it.”
I am not here for this flirting. I step closer, sending my hand around her waist, pulling her into my side. Redirecting, I ask, “Jamie, what brings you to the island for the wedding?”
“My father is the US head of operations for Bimbo, but he’s under the weather, so I’m here in his place.”
Beside me, Anna startles, delighted. “Did you say ‘Bimbo’?”
He nods, laughing, but I cut in. Jamie has had enough screen time. “Grupo Bimbo,” I explain. “It’s a global food company. They have some American brands now, like Oroweat, Thomas’ English muffins, Entenmann’s… a few others.”
Leave it to my father to invite business contacts to his daughter’s tropical wedding and use it as a tax write-off.
“I had no idea you’d even gotten married,” he says to Anna. “And five years ago, too, wow. I must have been living in a cave.”
Some unspoken communication passes between them, some disappointment on his end that he’s run into her too late, and I can’t read in her silence whether she’s sharing his regret. I look down at her, drawing her attention to my gaze.
Fuck, I hope she wasn’t dating him when we were roommates.
“When did the two of you…?” I begin.
“Sophomore year,” she says quickly, understanding, I guess, the tension in my eyes. “For about six months from, what was it? October to March? Something like that.” Anna puts her hand on my stomach in that way I’m starting to like too much, stretching to kiss my cheek. Warmth spreads down my neck. “You and I met that summer and had our whirlwind romance.”
I’m relieved that she wasn’t dating this guy at any point since she and I got married, but for the first time the broader idea feels sour: of course Anna has been with other men while she’s been legally mine.
I can’t look away, even when the wake of this thought leaves me feeling both ashamed and increasingly possessive. I want to take her away from this party and find a dark place to kiss her until she’s gasping for more.
I realize we’ve been staring at each other too long only when Jamie leans in, chastely air-kissing her opposite cheek. “Good to see you, Anna. Nice to meet you, Liam. I’m sure I’ll see you more this week.”
We shake hands and he walks away, but I don’t take my arm from where it circles her waist. Instead, I pull her closer.
“You had a little bit of a vibe there,” she says, grinning up at me.
“A vibe? I did?”
“A little…” She curls her fingers into claws, pretending to growl at me, but my eyes are drawn to the tan line again. “Like you were on the verge of kicking his ass. That was some good acting.”
“Well.” I look around the room, grateful that Jamie has fully disappeared into the crowd. “He didn’t need to comment on your skill with your hands.”
“Maybe he just meant I made good coffee mugs in pottery class.”
“Do you think that’s what he meant?”
She laughs, lifting her drink to her lips. Her voice echoes a little when she says, “No, probably not. I do make a great clay mug, though.”
“Liam!” my mother crows, approaching with two glasses of champagne. “I have been trying to make my way across the room for ages!” She hands me a flute and I expect her to hand the other to Anna, but instead she lifts it to toast only me. “To your anniversary!”
Pointedly, I hand the flute to Anna, who I realize is unfortunately now double-fisting it with her mostly full vodka tonic. With an annoyed glance at me, Mom passes me her flute, and snags one off the tray of a passing caterer.
“I’d forgotten the date, since we never see you together,” Mom says, “and when Charlie reminded us tonight, I just thought, ‘Oh, we must have a party!’?”
“We have a trip planned,” I lie. “Anna and I will make a big deal out of it together, but we don’t need anything else, truly.”
“It would mean a lot to your father and me. He insisted we add something to the wedding itinerary.”
I laugh. “Mom, it’s already packed.”
“We can squeeze in another party.”
“There’s no—”
Anna cuts me off. “Janet, that would be amazing. Thank you. There are never enough celebrations in life, isn’t that right?”
My mom turns her eyes on Anna as if she’d forgotten she was here. “Especially on someone else’s dime, I suppose!”
Ice-cold mortification washes me out. “Mom.”
She lightly smacks my arm. “I’m just teasing her. I mean, truly, why not fold it into the wedding festivities? It’s a great idea, and Charlie wouldn’t mind sharing the spotlight.”
Anna is flushed red, visibly humiliated.
“Mom,” I say, “you suggested it. She’s just agre—”
“Liam,” my dad cuts in, suddenly appearing at my side. “Son, I need you for a minute. I’ve got the senior editor of Forbes over there—”
“Ray, honey,” Mom says quietly. “Do we have to do this tonight? It’s a party.”
“I’m holding a glass of champagne,” my father says irritably. “What the hell else do you need me to do?”
“That’s my husband, always working. Even at his only daughter’s wedding…”
I smile with false warmth at my father, but my pulse is still thundering over what my mother did. “We were just talking about the anniversary party you want to throw us.”
Dad squints. “The fuck are you talking about?”
Mom threads her arm through his. “Raymond. Didn’t you hear Charlie just now? Liam and Anna are coming up on five years married.”
My dad snorts into his champagne glass. “Call me at twenty. If you’re still sharing a bed, then we’ll throw you a party.”
“Oh God,” Anna exhales. Against me, she’s shaking from the tension.
Mom does a double take when a catering cart passes, full of some non–Weston brand soft drinks. “Mystic Cooler? Not on my fucking watch,” she growls, stalking off after it.
“Liam.” Dad claps a hand on my back. “Follow me.”
He turns without waiting and I look down at Anna and her thousand-yard stare.
I reach for her chin, tilting her face to mine. “Hey. You okay?”
Our eyes meet and when she nods, I see how this must be for her. Raised alone by her father, who, I can tell from the way she talks about him, wouldn’t dream of answering even the stupidest of her questions with “The fuck are you talking about?” Would never in his life gaslight her the way my mother just did.
But then, her eyes clear, she straightens, and puts on a brave smile. “I’ll be fine. I’ll go find Blaire or Jake.” She sends her hand down my arm, squeezing my fingers. “Go.”
Without thinking about it, I bend, giving her a soft, brief kiss on the lips. Before she can react, I speak into her ear: “You’re pretty good at this, too.”
Her breath shakes on my neck. “At what?”
“All of it.”