Page 18 of Protected By the SEAL
“I’ve done that before,” I admit. “Twice.”
Sophie’s eyes widen. “You absolute idiot.”
“I know.”
The weight of that lands hard. I know she’s right. This is my last shot.
Morgana returns with fresh champagne, her walls firmly back in place. She hands us our glasses with a polite smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“I should go check in with Belinda’s mom,” Sophie says, making a face. “Family obligations and all that. But Morgana?” She pulls her into another quick hug, whispering something I can’t hear. Morgana nods against her shoulder.
When Sophie leaves, the silence between us feels deafening despite the reception noise around us. Morgana’s studying her champagne like it holds the secrets of the universe.
“She seems nice,” I say carefully.
“She is. One of the few good ones. The dinner service is starting,” she interrupts, already moving toward our assigned table. “We should sit.”
She’s three steps ahead before I can respond, maintaining that careful distance. My hands clench at my sides. We’re running out of time. This reception will end, we’ll drive home tomorrow, and if I don’t fix this now, I know surer than anything that Morgana is going to disappear from my life.
Sophie’s right. Morgana deserves someone who won’t pull back, won’t choose fear over love.
She deserves to know that someone is me. That it’s always been me.
I need to get her to let me talk to her.
CHAPTER 8
MORGANA
The reception tent glows like a fairytale. Soft gold light spilling across the floor, crystal glasses catching reflections of the chandelier above. Laughter hums around us, bright and easy, like everyone here is as happy as can be.
I’m not.
Kane stands beside me, tall and unbothered, one hand tucked in his pocket. He looks composed, steady, impossible to read. Meanwhile, my smile feels painted on. My pulse hasn’t slowed since the ceremony. Every time I look at him, I see flashes of last night. His body pressed against mine, his breath on my neck, his voice whispering my name like it meant something.
He leans closer, his voice low enough that it vibrates against my skin. “You okay?”
The question shouldn’t sound that gentle. It shouldn’t make my stomach twist. “I’m fine,” I say, forcing my eyes toward the stage, toward anything that isn’t him.
He doesn’t buy it. I feel his gaze sweep over my face like he’s searching for the truth and not finding it. “You’ve barely said a word to me today.”
I roll the stem of my wineglass between my fingers, focusing on the condensation instead of the way his voice pulls at me. “I’m just tired.”
“Dance with me.”
My head snaps toward him. “What?”
He nods toward the crowded floor. “Come on. One dance.”
“I don’t feel like it.” I sound sharper than I mean to, but I can’t help it.
“You should.” His tone stays even, but there’s a quiet insistence that always gets through to me. “You need to breathe a little.”
I shake my head. “Kane.”
“Please.” His mouth quirks into something that’s not quite a smile. “Before I drag you out there and make a scene.”
That earns him a glare, but he’s already holding out his hand, patient and unmovable. His fingers brush mine once, warm and solid, and my resistance collapses faster than I’d like to admit.
