Page 3 of Promise Me Forever

He looks genuinely interested in what I’m about to say, and I remind myself that I need to start living again. I need to start engaging with the outside world and accepting that what I had in my old life is no more. I have to build a new one, one that has a solid foundation.

Running scared the first time an attractive man speaks to me wouldn’t be a good start. Plus, what the hell—I’m four glassesof champagne in, and I have nothing better to do this evening. I have zero interest in joining the mating frenzy on the dance floor, and I can’t leave until Emily and Tucker are gone. Maid of honor rule.

“Yes, I have, actually,” I say, not meeting his eyes.

He tilts his head. “But you’re not married now?”

“No.” The word comes out in a harsh whisper, and the swell of emotion in my chest takes me by surprise. It’s been a long time since I found out Chad was cheating on me, and our divorce was finalized two weeks ago. We’ve been living apart for eleven months, and our once-joined worlds are now very much separate. I should be over this by now, shouldn’t I? I promised myself that I wouldn’t give any more of myself to that man. That I wouldn’t waste any more tears or energy thinking about him and his new fiancée. Now, here I am, talking to a hot stranger and blinking away the hurt.

He notices even though I try to look away. I get the feeling he’s the kind of man who notices everything. “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding sincere. “But I suppose you’ve also proven my point.”

“No, I haven’t. Plenty of marriages go the distance,” I say defensively. “Just because my ex-husband was a cheating asshole doesn’t mean that all men are.”

“Or all women,” he counters with a cock of one eyebrow and a grin that lightens the mood. It also makes my ovaries ache, which wasn’t a thing I thought could happen. “Men haven’t cornered the market on infidelity, though I grant you, they have the bulk of it. What’s your name,rosa?” He taps his pointer finger on the flowers decorating my now brightly patterned name tag. “I’d like to know who I’m debating.”

Debating? Is that what we’re doing? I kind of like the sound of that. It makes me feel more like a grown-up and less like an emotional wreck. Maybe I haven’t handled this encounter quite as disastrously as I thought.

I flip my tag over, ensuring my actual name remains covered up. “It was Amelia,” I announce firmly. “But now I’m considering changing it. Tonight, I feel like being someone entirely different. What do you think?”

I hear the purr in my own voice, and it takes me by surprise. I’m not usually flirty at all. I was with my husband from the age of sixteen onward, so it’s something I never really learned how to do. I’m totally winging it here.

“I think it’s always fun to try something new for size. See how you like the fit. What’s the new name going to be?”

I give it some thought. “I’m torn between Scarlet and Portia. Something deeply glamorous.”

“Hmmm… I prefer Scarlet, I think.” He leans forward across the table and smiles in a way that makes my heart flutter.

“Scarlet it is, then. She’s quite the catch, you know. An independently wealthy business magnate with her own jet and a home in the Hamptons. She’s confident and sassy, and she can have any man she wants.” I’m quite carried away with my vision of Scarlet and wish I could have even a fraction of her self-assurance.

“I’m sure she could,” he replies, giving me a lopsided grin that goes straight to my core. “And I totally get the appeal of being someone else for the night. Letting go of everything else, all the things you’re expected to be, and just recreating yourself.”

“Exactly! I’m… Well, I’m not normally that person. The one who throws caution to the wind. But Scarlet is. She’s a minx.”

“I see that,” he says, laughing. “I think Scarlet and I are going to really hit it off.”

“Maybe so. I notice you don’t have a name tag on, though. What should I call you?”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled badge. He lays it flat on the table, and I see the name “Charlie” written in Sharpie.

“I warn you, though, Scarlet,” he says, his dark eyes pinned on mine. “That might not be my real name either. Maybe I saw you from across the room and decided to come talk to you. Maybe I’m not even a guest at this wedding.”

My lips tremble at the intensity of his look, and I find myself staring at his mouth, imagining it closing over mine. No. He must be joking. Men like this don’t look twice at women like me, never mind crash a wedding just to get close. But I decide to go with the flow. That’s what Scarlet would do, after all.

“Nice to meet you,Charlie,” I say, holding out my hand for him to shake.

“The feeling’s mutual, Scarlet,” he replies smoothly as he takes my fingers in his. His skin is warm, and I can’t help but notice that his hand is huge, his palm practically swallowing mine whole. The touch of his flesh, along with those intense eyes, sends a thrill of excitement shooting through me. This man is pure sex in a suit, and my whole body is tingling in response.

He releases me from his grip, and I sit back against my chair, studying him as his gaze rakes over my face. His attention flickers to my breasts for a few seconds, but like a gentleman, he doesn’t linger there. He opens his mouth as if about to speak, but before he can utter a word, we’re disturbed by someone dropping heavily into the chair on the other side of me.

The strong smell of Scotch fills my nose, and a heavy arm drapes over my shoulder, his hand pawing my bare skin. I roll my eyes because I know exactly who our new table companion is, and I’m not thrilled about it. Charlie arches one eyebrow at me in amusement before I turn in my seat to face our new friend.

“You know if the best man and the maid of honor are both single, it’s tradition for them to get together, right?” he slurs in my ear.

“Hey AJ,” I say with a sigh to Tucker’s very annoying younger brother. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Sure it is.” He peers down at my cleavage as he leans closer, puckering his lips for a kiss. He’s harmless enough, I’m sure, but I recoil from the stink of his breath and the reckless expression on his face. Why do men always think this kind of behavior is acceptable? I know he’s drunk, but still. If we weren’t at a wedding, I’d be tempted to slap him.

We are at a wedding, though, so I shrink back from him, wanting to avoid his touch without causing a scene. He’s about to shuffle forward to make another attempt when Charlie grabs his arm and removes it from my shoulder.

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