Chapter 8
MORGANA
The reception tent glows like a fairytale. Soft gold light spilling across the floor, crystal glasses catching reflections of the chandelier above. Laughter hums around us, bright and easy, like everyone here is as happy as can be.
I’m not.
Kane stands beside me, tall and unbothered, one hand tucked in his pocket.
He looks composed, steady, impossible to read.
Meanwhile, my smile feels painted on. My pulse hasn’t slowed since the ceremony.
Every time I look at him, I see flashes of last night.
His body pressed against mine, his breath on my neck, his voice whispering my name like it meant something.
He leans closer, his voice low enough that it vibrates against my skin. “You okay?”
The question shouldn’t sound that gentle. It shouldn’t make my stomach twist. “I’m fine,” I say, forcing my eyes toward the stage, toward anything that isn’t him.
He doesn’t buy it. I feel his gaze sweep over my face like he’s searching for the truth and not finding it. “You’ve barely said a word to me today.”
I roll the stem of my wineglass between my fingers, focusing on the condensation instead of the way his voice pulls at me. “I’m just tired.”
“Dance with me.”
My head snaps toward him. “What?”
He nods toward the crowded floor. “Come on. One dance.”
“I don’t feel like it.” I sound sharper than I mean to, but I can’t help it.
“You should.” His tone stays even, but there’s a quiet insistence that always gets through to me. “You need to breathe a little.”
I shake my head. “Kane.”
“Please.” His mouth quirks into something that’s not quite a smile. “Before I drag you out there and make a scene.”
That earns him a glare, but he’s already holding out his hand, patient and unmovable. His fingers brush mine once, warm and solid, and my resistance collapses faster than I’d like to admit.
“Fine.”
His grin flashes quick and satisfied, the kind that makes my stomach dip. He leads me toward the dance floor, weaving through tables of people who probably have no idea how close I am to coming apart.
We stop near the edge, under a canopy of string lights. The air smells like roses and champagne. The band slides into something slow and romantic, the kind of song that feels too intimate for a room full of people.
Kane turns toward me and holds out his hand again. “May I?”
I nod, because words are dangerous right now. His hand slides to my waist, firm but careful, the other lifting mine to his chest. His heart beats steadily under my palm, a contrast to the chaos inside me.
We start to sway. I try to focus on the rhythm, on the soft give of the floor beneath my heels, on the faint clink of glasses at nearby tables. Anything but the heat of his hand at my back or how close his mouth is to my hair.
“Relax,” he murmurs, his breath stirring the edge of my jaw. “It’s only a dance.”
“That’s not the problem.” The words slip out before I can stop them.
He tilts his head, catching my eyes with quiet certainty. “Then what is?”
“You know what it is.” My voice wavers, too thin, too honest.
He exhales, the sound brushing my cheek. “If you’re waiting for me to pull back, stop. I’m not going anywhere.”
The words hang between us, soft but solid, like something that might actually be true. My chest tightens. I look up, and for the first time all night, I really see him. The noise around us fades. I almost forget where we are.
Then the next song begins, and every muscle in my body goes rigid.
Kane feels it immediately. “What’s wrong?”
My throat closes. “That song.”
He studies me, concern replacing the easy calm in his features. “What about it?”
“It was mine and Victor’s.” I can barely hear my voice over the music.
He goes still. His jaw tightens, following my gaze toward the center of the dance floor.
Belinda is out there, swaying in her white dress, face glowing in the spotlight. Victor’s hands rest easily on her waist. When she catches me looking, her smile sharpens.
She knows exactly what she’s done.
My chest constricts. The room feels too bright, too loud, the laughter grating against my skin. Heat climbs up my neck, anger and humiliation tangled together. I can’t move, can’t breathe.
Kane’s hand presses gently on my back, grounding me. “We don’t have to stay here,” he murmurs.
Belinda tilts her head, the picture of concern. Her lips move as she whispers something to Victor, and he laughs softly, still swaying with her like this is all a coincidence.
I can’t look anymore. The humiliation curdles into fury. I hate myself for letting it sting this much after all these years. I hate that I’m not immune to Belinda’s bullshit and cruelty.
“I hate this,” I whisper.
“I know,” Kane says quietly. His voice has a new edge, protective and cold. “Come on.”
He doesn’t wait for me to argue. His arm slides around my waist, and he guides me through the crowd.
The night air hits me the second we step outside. Cool. Quiet. Clean. I drag in a breath that actually reaches my lungs. The music still carries faintly from the tent, that song echoing like a ghost across the vineyard.
Kane turns to face me. His hands come up, bracketing my face, thumbs sweeping under my eyes even though there are no tears, only the threat of them. “Breathe,” he says softly. “You’re okay.”
I nod once, swallowing hard. “She did that on purpose.”
“Yeah.” His voice is rough now, low with anger he’s not bothering to hide. “And he let her.”
That simple truth cuts sharper than anything Belinda could say. I look away, the vineyard lights blurring at the edges. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“Maybe not,” he says, his tone softening. “But you did. And you’ve handled every second of this better than anyone else here could have.”
He steps closer, close enough that his body blocks out the tent behind him, close enough that I can see the flicker of string lights reflected in his eyes. “Don’t let her make you feel small. Not her. Not him. No one gets to do that to you.”
The words crack something open inside me. My breath stutters out, uneven. “She looked so smug,” I say, my voice shaking. “Like she won.”
“She didn’t,” he says.
“She married him, Kane.”
“Fuck them.” He meets my eyes, unwavering. “She married a man who stood there and let her hurt you. Us men can be dense, but we’re not that stupid. He knows what she did. That’s not winning, for either of them.”
I stare at him, the fight slowly bleeding out of me, and I admit to myself that maybe he’s right. Maybe I dodged a bullet when things didn’t work out with Victor and me.
The tension in my chest finally eases. The cool night is refreshing on my heated skin, the earthy scent of the vineyard reminding me there’s so much more that is good in the world.
My moment of peace breaks when I hear the click of heels on stone. My stomach drops as Belinda steps onto the terrace, her hands smoothing her wedding dress.
“Oh, Morgana, are you okay?” Her voice drips with false concern. “I saw you leave so suddenly...”
She steps closer, and I see the moment her mask slips, revealing the sharp edges underneath.
“Look,” she says, voice turning cold, “everyone can see you’re still hung up on him. You’re embarrassing yourself showing up here with some pity date, trying to prove you’re over Victor. Are you going to cause trouble in my marriage?”
The words hit like a slap. Pity date. The implication that Kane is here out of obligation rather than choice. That I’m pathetic, desperate, clinging to a relationship that was over years ago.
“Is there a problem here, Belinda?”
Kane’s voice cuts through my spiral, cold as ice. He steps forward, positioning himself slightly in front of me, protective without blocking me completely.
Belinda’s eyes widen, then narrow. She pastes on that fake smile. “No! Just checking on family.”
“Funny.” Kane moves to my side, his arm sliding around my waist, pulling me against him. “Didn’t sound like checking in. Sounded like you were trying to create drama where none exists. I know Morgana far better than you do, and I can guarantee that she has no feelings for Victor.”
“I was making sure she wasn’t going to…do something we’d all regret.”
“Going to what? Be upset that Victor married you? From where I’m standing, it looks like you two are a perfect match.”
The challenge in his words hangs in the air. Then Kane looks down at me, and the expression on his face steals my breath.
“She has everything she wants,” he says, still looking at me even though he’s talking to Belinda. “She has me.”
My heart stops. The way he says it, the certainty in his voice, the look in his eyes.
I still haven’t been able to process what happened last night, but right now?
Kane is making me think it was all real, but that’s a dangerous fantasy for me.
The man I’ve been hung up on all these years is Kane, even when I tried to tell myself I was happy with just friendship.
But now? Now he’s making me think last night was more than a hook-up for him.
He turns back to Belinda, and his voice low and fierce. “Now, if you’re done trying to ruin your own reception, we’re leaving. And if you ever speak to her like that again, ever, we’re going to have a real problem. Do I make myself clear?”
Belinda’s face goes pale then splotches of red appear on her cheeks, rage and humiliation cycling plainly on her face. She opens her mouth, closes it, then spins on her designer heels and flees back inside.
The moment she’s gone, Kane turns to me, hands gentle on my shoulders. “You okay?”
I nod, blinking back tears, but they’re not sad tears. For the first time since my dad died, I feel like I have someone who will truly defend me against my family, and against anyone.
“Thank you. For all of it. For being here, for standing up to her, for...” I trail off, not sure how to articulate the enormity of what I’m feeling.
“You never have to thank me. I’m always here for you,” he says simply, pressing a kiss to my forehead.