Page 17 of Stuck With the Billionaire Grump

“Why not?”

I clench my jaw, familiar frustration that I haven’t felt in years boiling to the surface. “Because Idon’t want to,Lucy Montgomery.”

Her eyes flash at the admission—my usage of her name the final proof that I recognize her.

But I won’t explain this to her. I won’t stand here and tell her about what it was like to grow up as the son of DaphneShay, constantly in the spotlight. Even the kids at school used to sneak pictures of me in the hallways, and I remember that one photograph of me sitting alone in the cafeteria during my senior year, right after the divorce became public, made it into several tabloids. Never mind how much effort my own mother tried to put into thrusting me into the spotlight, no matter how many times I protested.

Lucy sighs dramatically, tossing a lock of hair over her shoulder. She has shimmery gold makeup on her eyelids, a detail that I can’t help latching onto even in the heat of my annoyance.

“What are you even doing here?” Lucy asks. “I created the guest list. I would have remembered your name showing up on it.”

“Would you have? Truly? It’s been ten years.”

She sniffs. “Twelve years, actually.”

For some stupid reason, my stomach flips when she corrects me. As if there is some part of me that is pleased she remembers the details.

Idiot,I chastise myself.

“Well, I’m not a wedding crasher,” I tell her, brushing an invisible piece of lint off my sleeve. “I went to Caltech with Elijah. I received an invitation. It’s not my fault if you’re not as detail-oriented as you think you are.”

Lucy’s eyes narrow. “You haven’t changed a bit, Theo.”

“Likewise.”

She scoffs. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t one.”

As she takes a threatening step closer to me, it suddenly feels like no time at all has passed between now and then. Our gut reaction was always to be contrarian with each other, always snipping at one another during group therapy at camp. Always bickering whenever our paths crossed during group activities. Always tossing vicious glares at each other from afar.

Without warning, a partygoer nearby steps backward and accidentally knocks into Lucy’s shoulder. They don’t notice the touch, but it causes Lucy to stumble forward another step.

Just like that, we’re practically chest to chest. Or rather, we would be if I wasn’t so much taller than her. Which is really saying something, considering that Lucy has always been tall for a woman.

We’ve been pushed close to each other. Closer than we have been since…

I forcefully shove that memory away.

For a moment, we glare at each other wordlessly. Lucy’s inner light is as blinding as ever, even when she’s frowning at me. I seem to be the only one capable of making such an expression appear on her face, which is a feat that I should probably be proud of. However, it’s difficult to feel anything other than supremely annoyed at the moment.

Lucy’s lips part. My gaze drifts down to them, noting the rosy-pink lip gloss she’s wearing and how it makes her look so… kissable.

As the unwanted thought drifts through my mind like an unpredictable storm cloud, I reel backwards. The movement causes my back to hit the wall for a second time that night, but it puts enough distance between me and Lucy that the tense silence snaps.

“Enjoy the party,” Lucy snarls, not sounding at all like she means it.

Then she turns on her heel and flits away.

Chapter Seven: Lucy

Two days before the wedding finds me at Mermaid Shores’ other Montgomery household, where Josie’s parents are hosting a backyard barbecue in lieu of a formal rehearsal dinner. The idea is that Josie and Elijah wanted the lead-up to the wedding to be a celebration of their hometown and their relationship, which is why we had the joint B-B-B at the Siren & Sword last night. Everything about the festivities is intended to be casual and relaxed and emblematic of this town’s welcoming spirit, which will stand in satisfyingly sharp contrast to the fancy wedding ceremony at Blakeley Manor. It’ll be the best of both worlds, really.

That’s what I’m trying to focus on—how much of a success this wedding weekend will be—as I unpack a grocery bag full of hamburger meat and hot dog buns in my Uncle Joe’s kitchen. Josie’s dad is outside with my dad, who drove down from Maine this morning with his newest wife, Lottie, and the Montgomery brothers are no doubt bickering over the grill while the poor woman is forced to witness it.

Elijah is somewhere in the backyard as well, dutifully using his tech skills to set up the twinkly lights to sync with the playlist I arranged. Josie, dressed in a bridal-white sundress, is smiling at him through the kitchen windows.

“You’re not supposed to be helping,” I remind her.

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