Page 58 of One Wealthy Wedding

“Half the ballroom is watching us,” I say quietly. “Look like you love me.”

“The miserable half,” she mutters, but she gazes up at me with soft eyes and a warm smile.

“Better, darling. Can you dance?”

“I’m fine. Physically, at least. Emotionally, I’m not sure I’ll recover.” She’s so annoyed, and I want to laugh, but I know she’ll be even more irritated.

“That bad having my hands on you?” I pull her toward the dance floor.

“Horrible. I hated it.”

“I could tell,” I say solemnly. “You looked ill when I was whispering in your ear earlier. Red and sweaty.”

“You flatterer, you.” She smiles slyly at me as we step onto the dance floor. My chest twinges. We’re in this together, Cat and me, and I’ve never felt that before today. For the last three weeks, she’s been an enemy to be managed, a situation that befell me. But now, she’s an ally.

“Thank you for earlier,” I say as I pull her into my arms and put one hand on her waist, the other gripping her palm.

“You mean when they asked about hockey, and I said I liked the skating?” She winces. “That was…not smooth. I promise to look up some hockey facts. Or go to a game.”

“You should come.” I splay my hand possessively over the small of her back. Men are looking at her, and I want to snap my teeth at them. Maybe I should get down on my knees again. That’ll show them. Her eyes will go all hazy like they did before, and she’ll look at me like I’m the only man in the world.

“To a hockey game? Sure. I mean, I guess it would be good for this whole thing.”

“It would.” I nod. “But what I meant was thank you for standing up for me.”

“Oh. That.” She frowns. “They were being quite rude. Implying you were some sort of—ne’er-do-well. A problem to be managed or changed.” She makes a small noise of disgust and lets me maneuver her awkwardly around the corner of the dance floor. “I’m sorry, you know.” She looks up at me, regret written in those deep brown eyes. “I implied the same this week. I was being a jerk.”

My lungs seize. “I was being a jerk too,” I say hoarsely. “And you couldn’t have known that’s a sore spot for me. You hear how handsome you are often enough, and you start to think that maybe that’s all you are.”

“That’s not true.”

“You don’t really know me,” I say without heat.

“I think we need to change that,” she says ruefully. “I’m not going through that again.” She tilts her head toward where Lorenzo and Francesca are standing at the bar. “We have to get to know each other better. Get closer.”

“You make me sound like a foot fungus. Try to look excited.”

She bares her teeth in an awful smile, and I snort a laugh. The song switches to something slower, more romantic, and I shift her in my arms until our bodies brush every time we move. She breathes out, and I breathe her in.

“Tell me something true, Catherine.”

Her gaze flicks up to mine. “Something small?”

“Something big.” I pause. “I dare you. We’re supposed to be opening up, remember?”

I want to know Cat. I want to find out who she is beneath the layers and her secrets. Because I’m starting to think there are more of those than I ever anticipated.

She huffs a breath. “Fine. I have a bucket list.”

“Like you’re going to die soon, and you need to check things off?” What would possess this girl who grew up with everything to have a bucket list?

She pokes at my chest. “Don’t make fun. It’s a get out of my shell list. I was supposed to dance on a table the other night. If only I hadn’t been so rudely interrupted when someone dragged me out of there.”

“Heaven forbid,” I mutter, but my thoughts are on her list. “You want to get out of your shell?” I never thought of Cat as having one, but I guess she does. I was always the one to badger her into doing bad things when we were young.

She looks away. “I haven’t had many life experiences,” she says awkwardly. “I know it seems silly, given my family, but my parents dictated a lot of what I did for years. And I’m free now. I’m free, and I want to live.” Her voice goes up as she speaks, until she’s fierce and glaring at me, daring me to mock her.

“So, what’s on it? Anything good?” I keep my voice light and teasing, but inside, the words she used feel like bullets. Dictated. Free.

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