Page 36 of When You Are Mine

Kerris blew a cool breath out, air hissing across her lips until her chest hollowed out and her body drained of the tension.

“That bad, huh?” a deep voice asked from the shadows.

Kerris’s head jerked toward the familiar baritone, narrowing her eyes in the dim light just beyond the steps of the gazebo.

“Walsh?” His name rested on her lips, mixed with hope and dread. “Where’d you…how did you…”

“I saw you leave and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

He stepped onto the platform and into the light cast by the small lanterns suspended from the ceiling.

She blinked against the sight of him, the sharp planes of his face softened in the glow to a beautiful symmetry she could have looked at all day. Their eyes held too long before she made herself look away. Her tongue felt twice its normal size in the dried out cave of her mouth. Delighted panic knifed through her. Her fingers played Twister in her lap.

“I’m fine.” Kerris answered the question in his eyes.

“You could’ve fooled me.”

“I thought you were closing a deal.”

“Check’s in the mail. Now stop trying to change the subject. You sure you’re okay?”

“I just…” She hesitated, looking up at him, lowering her eyes again, weighing how much she should tell him.

“You just…” He prompted.

He sat, scooting until he could rest his back against the wall and pull his knees up, feet on the bench. She felt his eyes on her profile.

Tonight had conspired with her past to pound her confidence into a fine powder.

“I don’t belong.”

“Belong where?”

“Here. In there.” She smoothed the silky material of her dress with a sweat-moistened hand. “With those people.”

“That’s ridiculous.” He leaned forward a little, resting an arm on his knee. “What makes you say that?”

“Everyone is haute couture in there.”

She hoped she didn’t sound as miserable as she felt in that room with the glitterati. She had thought she was doing fine until Sofie reminded her of why she always hated these parties.

“I’m Goodwill. My dress is from Goodwill, Walsh.”

“Let me get this straight.” Walsh’s mouth hitched up at the corner in the smallest of wry smiles. “After all you’ve endured with so many odds stacked against you, you’re out here alone because of your outfit?”

“Well, when you say it like that—”

“Is belonging so important?”

“It would be hard to find anyone who ‘belonged’ more than you.” She heard the bitterness in her own voice. Despite all she’d experienced, cynicism sat on her like an ill-fitting jacket, gaping under the arms and sagging at the shoulders. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me. Tell me.”

She rationed her breaths for a few moments, asking herself if she actually could tell someone.

“I come from nothing.” A lock of hair had escaped the knot at the back of her head, and she pulled it over her shoulder, giving her something to do with restless fingers. “I mean, you know I’m an orphan.”

Walsh only nodded, eyes moving from the hair resting on her shoulder back to her face.

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