Page 37 of A Game of Ruck
“Oh, um, my mom died when I was a baby.”
He sobers instantly.
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.I never knew her.”I try to shrug, but my voice wobbles a little.“And my dad’s not flying in until the wedding tomorrow.He doesn’t exactly have a lot of spare time.”
“Yeah, sorry, you told me that already.My bad.”
But that makes his expression shift again—softening, somehow.
Like he’s tucking away that piece of information somewhere private.
I hate the look on his face.The concern.
“You don’t have to do this if it’s too much,” I blurt.“I know you didn’t sign up to meet all the Martinezes in one room.I just—I didn’t think this through.”
“Stop.”His voice cuts clean through my spiral.“I’ve been to worse family functions, trust me.”
I narrow my eyes.“Have you met my Aunt Cecelia?”
He grins.“No.But I’m looking forward to it.”
“Why are you like this?”I groan, half-laughing, half-sick with nerves.
“Relax, Angel.I’m used to crowds.I can handle a few uncles in stuffy suits and judgmental side-eyes.”
“See, that’s what I don’t get.”My words tumble out before I can stop them.“How couldyoube used to this?You’re, well,you.”
His brow arches.“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re hot and confident and you have fans and abs and a Wikipedia page.”
“I also have a family, remember?”he says quietly.“And believe me, I’ve got my own ghosts.”
That makes me pause.There’s something in his tone—raw and quiet—that knocks the sarcasm right out of me.
He steps forward, brushing a hand lightly down my bare arm.
“All you need to know right now is that I am your guy.I got you, Annabeth.Tonight.Tomorrow.However long you need.”
My breath catches.
And for the first time all day, I almost believe him.
Chapter Nine-Luca
It’s beenten minutes since we walked into the indoor garden where the rehearsal dinner is being held, and I’m already fighting the urge to take Annabeth’s hand and run.
Thank fuck for good air conditioning and giant ceiling fans.
And no, it’s not because she doesn’t look good—hell, she looks incredible tonight.
Long gone the cover of emeralds hugging her curves, soft waves in her hair, a touch of highlighter that makes her cheeks glow under the fairy lights.
No, I want to run because she looks good enough to eat—and I’m starving for her.
Also, this entire weekend?The vibe here?
