Not You It's Me (Boston Love #1) - Julie Johnson Page 0,102

as he lifts me against the coat-room wall and brings us together, we don’t say anything as we make good on the promise he made to Mrs. Breeland. We just touch and cling, our mouths never breaking apart, and lend each other strength with the comfort of our hands.

***

A secret smile plays on my lips as we walk, hand in hand, back to the party. My hair is a little wild and I’ve had to completely reapply my lipstick, thanks to Chase’s kisses, but I can’t say I’m even a little bit sorry about that.

The cocktail hour has wound down in our absence and the atrium is rapidly emptying as people wander into the main ballroom to find their tables. Even the thought of sitting at Chase’s side through a three-course meal in front of hundreds of people isn’t enough to diffuse the happy glow that’s settled around me. Still, as we round the bar and head for the ballroom, the smile falls abruptly off my face… because standing there, in our direct path, are Brett and Phoebe.

Unavoidable.

I feel Chase’s hand tighten on mine as he stops, his narrowed eyes locking instantly with Brett’s gloating ones.

“Cousin!” Brett grins. “There you are. I was wondering if you’d even bothered to come.”

“I’m here,” Chase says flatly.

“Well, good. If you hadn’t shown up, Jameson might’ve had to give the position to someone else.” His words are playful — a harmless joke between cousins, to anyone else’s ears — but from this distance, I see Brett’s eyes gleam with repressed vitriol, which doesn’t wane as his gaze slides to me.

“And Gemma! Looking lovely, as ever.”

He leans in to kiss my cheek, and Chase goes so tense, I think he’s going to snap and punch Brett out in the middle of the atrium. I’m utterly still as Brett’s lips skim my cheek in a cool kiss. A deep rattle of anger rumbles from Chase’s throat as soon as his cousin’s mouth makes contact, and I quickly step back to his side.

“Always a pleasure,” I say, my words as stiff as my expression.

“We still need to meet, to discuss that artwork you sold me,” Brett reminds me cheerily. “Perhaps you can swing by my apartment tomorrow.”

Chase stiffens.

I force a smile. “I’m on vacation.”

“Monday, then.” Brett’s grin widens as he glances at his date. “I think you’ll agree, we have plenty to discuss.”

I still at the clear threat in his words.

Brett chuckles and slides his arm around Phoebe’s waist. “I’m sorry, I’ve completely forgotten my manners. Have you met my date? This is Miss Phoebe Evangeline West.” He looks back at me, glee in his eyes. “Wasn’t it lucky that she was free tonight?”

“Luck is one word for it,” I murmur.

Chase’s grip tightens on mine — a warning. “A date you didn’t have to pay to spend the night with you? Good for you, Brett.”

His tone is so light, no one would ever suspect the hatred running deep beneath his teasing words.

Brett chuckles, like it’s all in good fun, and the woman at his side — who I’ve been steadfastly ignoring right up until this moment — lets out a peal of innocent laughter. The sound is so pure, so joyous, I can’t help my eyes from sliding to hers.

She looks like me, five years ago.

The realization slams into me, harder than a punch to the gut. We’re almost the same height, both petite with compact, curvy frames — hers, at the moment, is zipped into a stunning ivory gown that floats down to mid-calf, and strappy, skyscraper-high heels I’d never be able to walk in. Our hair is the same shade, though hers is straight as a pin and cut into a sleek, angular bob — shorter in the back, with longer ends that just brush her shoulders in the front. She’s got awesome bangs across her forehead — the fringed, too-long-on-purpose kind that hang into her eyes — and she radiates confidence, just standing there looking at me.

When her eyes lift to mine — almond-shaped, hazel, sparkling with life — I’m so dazzled by the beauty of them, I don’t even feel relief that they aren’t blue, marking at least one difference between our looks.

“Brett don’t be so stuffy.” She sticks her hand out with a roll of her eyes and a grin on her lips. “It’s just Phoebe.”

For a minute, I struggle for composure, staring at a girl who clearly has no idea who I am, wondering how on earth I should possibly act