Chapter 32
Izzy
My breath crystallizes in front of me as I laugh at the dirty joke Nik just told. He has a mouth on him when he wants to use
it, and tonight, he’s been full of laughter and wit, unabashedly kissing me all over Boston. He presses the button for the
crosswalk by our hotel, but there isn’t much traffic this time of night, so I tug on his hand until he runs across the street
with me. My feet are freezing in my heels, but my shoulders are snug underneath his mother’s stole. My laughter turns breathy
as we hit the sidewalk on the other side.
“Reckless,” he murmurs in my ear, but I can sense his amusement. He walks me to the building, pressing me against it. His
eyes glitter in the light from the streetlamp as he gives me his trademark smirk.
Maybe it’s the bottle of wine we split over the tasting menu at Menton, but I’ve never felt heat like this.
I trace his scar. A million wishes crowd my mind, yet I manage to hold them inside.
“Maybe I like being reckless with you.”
He presses his cold lips to mine.
I know that Nik’s family is wealthy—I spent the summer working out of his mother’s outrageous apartment on the Upper East
Side—but somehow, I never quite registered the level until tonight. College has a way of leveling the playing field; I’ve
snuck into his dorm all semester. He could’ve bought anyone out of their housing, and yet he chose to keep a low profile.
Maybe it’s the hockey player in him. He’s no stranger to sacrificing comfort for an end goal. Or maybe it has something to do with his parents’ divorce. I saw the depth of emotion in his eyes, that night with my parents. Hints at secrets I don’t know if I’ll ever learn about from his lips.
The rose gold diamond necklace I’m wearing is utterly gorgeous. I don’t even want to think of the price. I doubt he just had
it, like the stole, which means he bought it for me. All to give me a better birthday.
Is a necklace just a necklace to a guy who has more money than he knows what to do with?
I wind my arms around his neck, biting his lip. His grip on me tightens as he lets out a startled moan. Tantalizing warmth
pools in my belly. The freezing air bites through everything but the fur, but I can’t stop kissing him.
Faintly, I hear music. Instrumental, delicate, like so many of the songs I listened to during my internship.
“Do you hear that?”
“Must be a wedding.”
“In the hotel?” I glance at the entrance. “Our hotel?”
He arches an eyebrow. “Feel like dancing?”
At my grin, he leads me to the hotel entrance, his expression growing haughty. “An hour and a half late. Utterly ridiculous.”
He inclines his head to the doorman. “You’d think she actually liked her cousin, the amount of time she spent getting ready.”
I force myself to scowl, not laugh. “ You’re the one who got the time wrong. And you changed your suit three times.”
“And you gave the driver the wrong address,” he says, raising his voice so reception hears it. “We drove around half the city for
an hour like fools.”
“If you were so certain I was wrong, why didn’t you correct me sooner?” I give him a sweet smile when his mouth shuts. “Precisely.”
“The reception is down the hall, sir,” the woman behind the front desk says.
“Thank you,” he replies, sounding so perfectly exasperated, I nearly lose it and ruin the whole thing. He looks extra hot
when he scowls, even if it’s pretend. “Finally, someone who listens to me.”
He throws me a wink.
“It must be so difficult to be you, darling,” I say dryly.
At the entrance to the ballroom, a young woman wearing a headset, with a clipboard tucked underneath her arm—something so
familiar I miss it, deeply, for a moment—smiles at us. “Welcome. What’s the name?”
She’s busy staring at Nik, so I peek at the clipboard.
“Alan and Yvette Bancroft.” Yvette sounds like the kind of woman who would wear furs. “Well, won’t it be soon, honey? When
you finally get the balls to propose, I mean.”
The woman’s lip twitches.
“Stacy will kill us if we miss another moment,” I add, sliding my arm through Nik’s and tugging him into the room before the
woman can protest.
As I take in the ballroom, decorated from ceiling to floor in shades of white and icy blue, I sigh audibly. Summer might be
wedding season, but a winter wedding? When it’s done well, there’s nothing better.
“Were you so easily swayed by handsome wedding crashers during your internship?” Nik teases.
“Absolutely not,” I say, plucking two glasses of champagne from a passing server. “I was a professional.”
“And your professional opinion of this?”
I turn in a circle, hungrily taking in every high-end detail. Delicate, shimmery decorations combine with the breathtaking chandelier above to give the illusion of stars sparkling on a clear winter night. They must be in between dinner service and dessert, because most of the guests are on the dance floor, moving in elegant circles to the string quartet. They somehow managed to make the balloon arch behind the musicians look classy—no easy feat, Katherine rarely signed off on balloons—and the white orchid centerpieces? I want the florist’s contact information. I’d love to have been the one to pull off a reception this impressive.
“It’s stunning.” I shake my head as I sip the champagne. “Look at the flower arrangements! The cake!”
“I’ve missed how excited weddings make you.”
I couldn’t fight my smile if I tried. “Did you know this was happening?”
“I figured you’d be up for a little fun.” He grins; there’s no doubt he liked playing pretend as much as me. “I’m glad I chose
this dress for you.”
I look down at the sequin-studded, midnight-blue ball gown. It’s the perfect fit, a detail that didn’t escape me when he buttoned
me into it earlier. “It does suit the theme.”
“It suits your eyes.” He holds out his hand. “Dance with me, Isabelle.”
“Yvette, you mean.”
“No. I mean my Isabelle.”
My Isabelle.
Sebastian’s words echo in my mind, despite my best efforts to keep them at bay. I’m terrified to ruin the delicate balance
we’ve struck. I know I need to tell Nik about how I feel; I owe him that honesty—but not yet. Not here.
Not on a perfect night like this.
He sweeps me onto the dance floor as a new song starts. It’s slow and romantic, perfect for dancing. In the middle of the crowd, the bride and groom sway as one, looking at each other lovingly. I smile, even though I have no idea who they are. A wedding isn’t a love story all on its own, but it is a symbol of whatever road the couple has been on and where they want to go in the future, and I’ve always found that beautiful.
“They look happy,” I murmur.
Nik pulls me close, one hand on my hip, the other holding my palm. I put my free hand on his broad shoulder, letting myself
get as close as I can without tripping over his feet. He spins me, then pulls me back in, guiding our shared movements. Jumping
on the dance floor at a college party isn’t the same as a waltz like this, and despite loving to dance, I don’t do it enough.
The give-and-take of our bodies leaves me breathless. Soon, I’m yearning for more contact, more warmth, more of the promises
he’s giving me with his gaze.
This is the best Izzy Day I’ve ever had.
Somehow, I manage to contain myself as we dance through the next three songs. If anyone realizes we don’t belong, they keep
it to themselves. At the end of the third, the last bars of music fade into the air without immediately leading into the next.
I press a fevered kiss to his lips.
“You dressed me.” I scratch my nails down the back of his neck, underneath the collar. He dragged on lacy scraps of lingerie
and the dress; he clasped the necklace around my throat and knelt to guide my feet into the shoes. “Are you going to undress
me, too?”
The desire in his eyes makes my breath catch.
Plenty of guys have admired me, complimented me—but no one, no one , has looked like he’s desperate to breathe the same air as me.
“Slowly.” His voice is so low, so rough. “As slowly as I can make myself, because the moment you’re in nothing but that necklace—”
I drag him out of the room by the tie.