Page 27 of One Billion Reasons

I almost laugh. No, it most definitely does not. If only they knew how many times I had to pinch him to get him to talk earlier.

“With her?” I grip the railing. They must not realize I’m right here, or maybe they do and they don’t care.

“She’s not what I would have expected. So quiet, so mousy. And did you see that dress?”

“Miles is slumming it.” A laugh, and my stomach bottoms out.

“He must have picked up with her while he was still with Amanda. I won’t be surprised if he dumps this one while he’s here. They call him Merciless for a reason.”

I’m frozen to the spot, anger and shame coursing through my veins. This dress cost me $200, and I only wear it for formal occasions. The rest of the time it sits in my closet, and I try it on every six months to make sure it still fits. Every time I zip it up, I worry it won’t and I’ll have to scrape together the funds to buy another. My hands shake as I lift the wine glass to my lips. I force myself to keep them still. Miles would say something. He would march over and demand an explanation, make them eat their words. But that’s not me, and I’ve never felt more insufficient than I do now. Well, except that one other time. She thinks she’s good enough for him.

Anger at Miles worms through my system. Fuck him for making me come here with no preparation. And for leaving me on the deck, alone. I’m so out of my depth.

“It’s a great view, isn’t it?” A cool voice sounds from next to me, and my head jerks. A smiling woman, about my age, with shiny hair and thickly lashed green eyes is standing next to me. I didn’t even see her approach.

“Sorry, I was a little distracted. I guess the view is pretty great, though.” I’ve been staring unseeingly at the ocean, but it is wonderful. Tempestuous, dramatic, just the way I prefer it. Just the way Miles prefers it too.

Her smile slips a little as she scans my face.

“Are you here alone?”

“I’m here with a, ah, date.” The words feel awkward on my tongue, but I better get used to saying them. “Not sure where he went off to.”

“Well, I’m here alone, and I’m glad to have someone to talk to.” She extends her hand, and we shake. “Catherine, but you can call me Cat if you want.”

“Lane Overton. You know, I was supposed to be the photographer at this wedding.” A stupid thing to say, since this crowd seems to think working for money is shameful, but Cat’s eyes light up.

“That’s great! How funny that you found yourself here as a guest. I would love to be a photographer. I bet you’ve seen some really lovely moments.” She sounds wistful, and her eyes are a little distant as she looks back out over the waves.

“I have seen some romantic stuff. It’s the best part. There are some couples that you know won’t last, but I can usually tell when a couple is really in love. It’s a hidden talent.”

“Ooh.” Her eyes light up. “That sounds fun. Find me tomorrow please, so we can bet on which couples will and won’t make it.”

I laugh and sip my wine. I like this Catherine. Maybe this wedding won’t be so bad after all.

An hour later, there’s still no sign of Miles and I’ve completely changed my mind. The people here are like biting fish, or a flock of aggressive birds. Tiny pecks here, rude comments there, and I feel like I’ve been dragged behind a city bus for a day. Where are you, Miles? He wouldn’t leave, right? No, he might do exactly that. Miles is known for doing whatever he damn well pleases and leaving ashes in his wake.

Once, he did exactly that to my brother. The thought turns the anger inside me from a simmer to a boil. Fuck him and how he always gets what he wants. I’m done. I grab a fresh drink and make my way to the side of the deck. The moon is huge and lovely, almost full, hanging low over the ocean. My phone isn’t ideal, but I can get a few shots in before I head to bed. There’s a vast garden that runs the length of the property, along the low wall that faces the cliffs. Wind whips at my dress as I leave the protection of the building. The crash of waves against the cliffs is thrilling and soothing all at once. I inhale the cool night air and mince down the path, following the stones in the moonlight. When I’m a hundred feet from the deck, my chest finally loosens and my shoulders lower. This is better.

There’s a little gazebo off to the side, and I head for it, until I see a familiar form inside. He’s been out here the entire time? While he left me to the lions? The thought propels me forward. I’m done with Miles and his games and his selfishness.

14

Miles

I’m not strong enough to face Mark Taylor. I thought I could. I thought I could look that prick in the face and pretend he doesn’t get to me, but I can’t. He’s so smug and awful and condescending. And I feel like a little kid again, watching my dad deal with this treatment from men just like Mark—hell, from Mark himself at one point. The way they dismissed him, the way he took it, standing tall. He tried to hide it from me, but by the time I was fifteen and allowed to attend my parents’ dinner parties, it was impossible not to notice the snide remarks, the eye rolls when he brought up something those glittering people considered too pedestrian for them.

When I was twenty, I overheard Mark Taylor asking my mother why she was in love with someone beneath her. When I was twenty-three, Mark lingered after a party at the Connecticut house, and I watched him like a hawk. When he thought they were alone, he asked my mother to divorce my father and marry him. As if my father were so beneath him that he couldn’t imagine why anyone would stay with him.

The memory has me shaking with rage, and I lean my arms on my knees and let my head hang down. Coming to this wedding was a mistake.

“Miles. What the hell was that?” I jerk my head up to see Lane mounting the gazebo steps, looking like an avenging angel. Her eyes are luminous where the moonlight hits them, but her full mouth is set and her steps are jerky with anger.

“Not now, Lane. Just go away, please.” I sigh and close my eyes. I just want to be alone and wallow for one fucking minute. A weakness I never permit myself unless I’m alone. I look past her, out over the water. Smooth on the surface but turbulent beneath. Like me.

“Oh, no, it’s going to be now.” She climbs the steps in a rush, and suddenly she’s right there in front of me, a whirl of soft curves and flashing eyes and that hair I’d really like to tug on. Lane never gets angry. The thought hits my whiskey-addled brain. She must really be pissed at you.

Fuck you too, Lane. My eyes run helplessly over her dress, and she makes a soft snort of disapproval. I hate that I still want her. I ignored these feelings for years. I eradicated my desire for Lane Overton with ruthless precision, until it felt like I cut out my own heart just to make sure I could never want her again.

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