turns out, that’s absolutely impossible to do when he refuses to stay out of sight. I’m standing in line for the cornhole toss when a shadow stalks in beside me. Like an electric current sliding over my skin, I know who it is before he speaks.
“Blair Porter, Seattle’s top socialite, playing outdoor games.”
I roll my neck and pretend to ignore the jab. I fail. “It’s a time-honored sport. Besides, as a guest of the wedding party, you’re supposed to attend all the wedding festivities.”
“And I suppose you think I haven’t?”
I squeeze my lips tight to prevent my words from spilling out. I manage restraint for a proud five seconds. “I hadn’t seen you at any of the pre-ceremony events.”
“Well, I’ve never been good at following rules.”
“Why were you invited, anyway? Who do you really know here?”
He raises a dark eyebrow. “Such skepticism, Blair. Don’t you think I have friends?” The mocking tone in his voice makes it clear that the question is rhetorical. I answer it regardless.
“Other than my brother? No.”
He steps up beside me. Somewhere from the corner of my eye, I see Maddie slink back in line, abandoning me to my new partner. Damn.
Nick doesn’t answer my question. “This is a wedding to be seen at,” he says smoothly. “Have you seen how many photographers they’ve hired? Why do you think you were invited?”
My stomach churns at the question. Becca and I had been friends in college… Sure, we hadn’t spoken much since, but I hadn’t thought twice about accepting the invitation to her wedding.
“You’re saying I’m a trophy guest.” I speak the words harshly, like they don’t offend me.
Nick raises an eyebrow. The sharp sunlight throws his rough features into relief. “Tell me Cole wasn’t invited as well.”
Bending down to pick up a corn-bag, I weigh it in my hand, refusing to answer his taunt.
Nick’s voice is satisfied. “He was, then. But he didn’t come.”
“He couldn’t,” I say, hating how defensive the words sound. At the time, it didn’t seem odd that Becca had invited my billionaire big brother. I’d thought it a kindness. How had I been so stupid?
If Nick sees my realization, he doesn’t acknowledge it. He unbuttons the clasp of his gray suit jacket instead, a smirk on his lips. He must be aware of the way the other guests are watching him. Watching us.
“Is that why you were invited too? For the press and prestige?”
Nick’s chuckle isn’t amused. He understands the words as I’d meant them—having him attend an event made it noteworthy, but not always in a particularly good way. If my brother is seen as a powerful businessman, Nick is the unscrupulous one.
“We’re up,” he says instead, voice like crushed glass. “Don’t miss.”
And of course I do. Despite my aim, there’s no scoring after his words. The opposing teams cheers, high-fiving each other.
When I turn to Nick, his lip is curled. “I told you not to.”
“I didn’t know I needed advice.”
“It couldn’t hurt.”
I grit my teeth against the annoyance that rises up inside me. I’m a happy person. I like to smile and converse and make people happy. It’s what I’m good at, damn it. And somehow Nicholas Park always makes me forget that.
No longer. I give him a blinding smile. Judging by the faint widening of his eyes, it wasn’t what he’d been expecting.
“Here, why don’t you throw the next one.”
He accepts the corn-bag I hand him with suspicious eyes. “I see,” he says. And that’s all he says, even as he lines himself up, focusing on the cornhole. Tall and muscular, with wide shoulders, he’s an imposing figure. Always has been.
He throws. It flies in an arc through the air and lands solidly in the hole. I don’t look him in the eyes—I turn away instead, but I don’t head to the back of the line.
Nick follows me towards the bar.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m participating in the wedding activities. I was recently told that I wasn’t being a good guest.”
“Why are you really here?”
His gaze fastens on something in the distance. I’m left staring up at the column of his throat, the rough-hewn features that have held me captive for ages.
“Nick, I—”
“Shh.”
“Did you just shush me?”
He looks down at me, speculation in his gaze. His words come quickly. “Pretend you like me for fifteen minutes.”
I blink at him. “Fifteen minutes?”
“I know it’s a rather long time frame,” he grinds out, “but yes, fifteen minutes.”
“No one’s that good an actress,” I mutter. He rolls his eyes at my words.
And then