Page 66 of Beauty and the Beach

“Hi,” I say faintly, giving a stupid little wave. I let my arm drop quickly and then turn to face Phoenix again.

And I don’t know what I’m feeling; there’s too much going on. I’m embarrassed to look like this in front of these women, and I have the strange desire to stand in front of Phoenix so he’ll be shielded from their sight. Even more confusing is whathe’sfeeling; I’m going to have to unpack all that.

What I do know is that this is my chance—my chance to get away. Away from him, away from his family, away from the feelings that keep cropping up.

This is your chance,I tell myself.This is it. Run.

So…why am I hesitating?

I can’t stop myself from inspecting him, taking him in, especially his face; he’s trying not to let anything show, but there’s a desperate question in his eyes, one he doesn’t want me to see.

A question—and a truth.

He wants me to stay.He wants me to stay, but he’ll never ask. Because he knows how hard this arrangement is for me.

A strange feeling filters into my chest—a grim sort of relief. And even though my brain is telling me to run, run, run, my heart makes a unilateral decision: No matter what he and I are working through, Iwill notabandon him to these people.

I’ll stay with him, and we’ll figure out the rest later. That’s how it’s going to have to be.

But if I’m going to do this, I need to commit—really commit. Not fight and whine and complain and participatehalf-heartedly. And what I said last night was true: sometimes looking at him hurts.

How can I move past that?

I don’t know, but it’s not something I’m going to figure out right this second. So I straighten up and tell myself that confidence is 90 percent of how people perceive you. Then I look over my shoulder at the Butterfield women.

“I’m so sorry I was unprepared,” I say, gesturing to my hair and my clothes as I make my way around the desk to where Phoenix sits. “If I’d been informed of your visit, I would have taken the time to make myself more presentable.”

A suspicious-sounding snort comes from Wyatt—I think it’s a laugh, though I don’t know what’s so funny—and Phoenix clears his throat loudly, his eyes on me as his lips twitch. When I reach him and hold my hand out, however, the wariness enters his eyes again.

I wiggle my hand at him, and he takes it, standing slowly when I give a tug.

His face is back to its neutral mask as he looks down at me, but I can tell his jaw is clenched. I don’t let myself hesitate; I close the space between us and wrap my arms around his neck in what might be the firstrealembrace we’ve ever shared.

And as his arms encircle my waist, his body curving around mine, something deep inside of me sighs in relief.

This is how it’s supposed to be, that little part of me urges.This is what Phoenix Park is supposed to feel like.

I tighten my arms, going up on my tiptoes as I breathe him in, pressing my face into his neck, and he pulls me closer, his arms banding further around me. He’s warm, and solid, and his grip is strong.

Despite all his strength, he still needs someone on his side.

I will be that person.

“I’m not leaving you,” I say in his ear, barely a whisper.

“What?” he murmurs.

I tighten my arms, because I can hear his disbelief, his hope. “I’m not leaving you,” I repeat, more firmly now.

For a second, he doesn’t react to my words; but then his hold on me changes, going from tight to desperate—grasping and bone-cracking. And even though it’s painful, it’s also strange and warm and…nice.

It’snice, being held like this. What does that mean? Do Ilikehim?

Someone clears their throat; not Wyatt but one of the women. I release him more reluctantly than I expected, letting my hands trail down his arms as I step back.

And at the stunned look on his face, the heartbreaking hope in his eyes, a smile tugs at my lips; it pulls and pulls until finally I stop fighting it. I smile at him,reallysmile—and he smiles back.

My stomach flips, and the warmth inside glows a little bit brighter.

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