Page 44 of The Game She Hates

But she suddenly halts, saying, “I need some air.”

I desperately hope this is her way of signaling that our first kiss shouldn’t happen in public and end up in a headline. There’s probably a camera lurking somewhere, waiting to capture this moment.

I follow her, matching her steps, but she turns and looks surprised, “You need air too?”

I realize my assumption was wishful thinking.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight looking like that.”

She frowns and keeps walking.

We get to the patio adjacent to where the ceremony took place, a spacious area overlooking the golf course that could easily accommodate an outdoor reception. The gentle glow of low lights bathes the surroundings, while the distant sounds of children playing outside remind me of my childhood aversion to weddings—being forced to sit with Dad was always a punishment. Above us, the moon hangs in the sky, adorned with a sprinkling of stars.

“Men can be so superficial,” Pearl scoffs, her words accompanied by an array of animated gestures. “So this dress I’m never gonna wear again is making you follow me all night. And this heavy makeup. Is that why you’re looking at me like that? This isn’t my real face, you know.”

Despite her dramatic gestures, I know she knows this isn’t why I’m here. Why does she keep fighting this? Fighting us?

“Unless you’ve forgotten, you once called me a stalker, and you’ve already warned me about the way I looked at you at their engagement party,” I counter, pointing toward the reception hall where Kate and Duke are now dancing with their parents. “And I’m pretty sure you weren’t wearing this dress and had less noticeable makeup then.”

She turns her face away, remaining silent.

I remove my jacket and approach her, gently placing it over her shoulders. The day began with warmth, but now a gentle breeze stirs, and her sleeveless dress, while stunning, leaves her vulnerable to the chill. I want to admire her, but not at the cost of her comfort. Normally, Pearl carries a cardigan or sweater, but today, she’s without one, much like at the engagement party.

She looks at me and mouths a “thank you,” without making a sound.

“Listen, I think you’re beautiful. Like, out-of-this-world kind of beautiful,” I say, my heart thudding, hoping she hears my sincerity. “The very first time I laid my eyes on you, it was as if time itself paused, just like in those Hollywood movies, and everyone else in that coffee shop blurred.”

I reach out for her hand, our fingers intertwining effortlessly. “But that’s not all. You are kind, you are extremely caring, you live out your faith in the way you care about people. You’re a joy to be around, and you have this amazing way of really listening to me without any hint of judgment.”

“You really think all that about me?” she asks, her eyes searching mine.

“And so much more, Sweet P,” I reply, now trailing my fingers over her arms as I pull her closer.

“I have to confess something. I never just wanted to be friends with you.”

She giggles and playfully rolls her eyes.

What a beauty!

“Now that I’ve come clean, would you let me kiss you?”

Hesitation flickers across her face, and when she shakes her head, a sharp pain shoots through my chest. But then, with a barely audible voice, she whispers a shy yes, sending a rush of relief flooding over me. I almost want to double-check if that’s really what she means because in my world, shaking your head signals “no.” But there’s no time for overthinking when her eyes are shining like puppy-dog’s and her eyelashes are fluttering shut.

I gently cradle her head and lean in to claim her lips in a kiss that feels like it could last a lifetime. She doesn’t wait to mirror back all the emotions I’ve been feeling. They’re strong, intense, and I can tell Pearl isn’t holding back. She hasn’t said it with words yet, but it feels like she’s claiming me too.

I have to pull back. Not because I want this moment to end, but because we can’t kiss as if we’re already something more when she hasn’t even expressed her feelings. Maybe she hasn’t even told herself the truth.

I need to tell her how I feel, that four-letter word I’ve never uttered to anyone before. I hope it doesn’t scare her away but rather encourages her to open up as well.

“Pearl, I—” I start, but she interrupts me.

“I don’t think this was a good idea,” she breathlessly says.

“What wasn’t a good idea? Me kissing you, or you kissing me back with the same fervor?” If not more, if I do say so myself.

I had to hold the fort for both of us, to not get carried away in what I now know would be dangerous territory. Oh, right, I still need to tell her my testimony. One thing at a time. She needs to admit she has feelings for me.

“I made a mistake. I didn’t mean to lead you on. We can’t be together.” Her voice is trembling and her eyes are brimming with tears. She puts a hand on her mouth and rushes back inside—with my jacket.

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