How to Ruin a Wedding(77)

And not when I genuinely believe this isn’t something that Valerie should keep a secret.

His face furrows together, anger pulling at every muscle.

I finish explaining. The moment stretches as a new, slower song drifts through the air. Anders goes still.

His jaw tightens. His hand—still resting on my waist from when we were dancing—clenches slightly. His eyes drop to the ground like he’s trying to process the weight of everything I just dropped on him. His sister. A million dollars. Gone.

“She didn’t tell me,” he finally says. His voice is low, like he’s afraid of how loud his anger might be if he gives it any more breath. “She lost a million dollars, and she didn’t tell me.”

I shift closer. “She was scared, Anders.”

“She should be,” he snaps, then instantly shakes his head. “No. No, that’s not fair. It’s not even about the money. It’s him. John. I knew he was reckless. I told her he was reckless. And now it’ll be her problem, forever.”

“It won’t, we’ll stop them.”

“She listens to everyone but me,” he says, on a tangent. “And I don’t even care about being right. I just . . . I care. And she makes it impossible to protect her.”

“You’re doing all you can.”

“It hasn’t been enough.”

He sounds defeated. And I hate that.

“I know,” I say gently. “I know you feel like she’s slipping away from you. But she still listens to you, Anders. She still loves you. She just doesn’t want to disappoint you.”

“I’m not even mad at her. I’m mad at him. And I’m mad that I can’t trust him. Not with her, not with her future, and definitely not with her money.”

He takes another step away from me, then turns back, his face unreadable now. “Anders—”

His mouth presses on mine. If not for his fingers gripping the sides of my waist, pulling me closer to him, I’d fall over. All the wires in my head short-circuit, and I feel the bolts ricocheting throughout my body in hot, sudden flares.

My hands grab his neck, to pull him away, to bring him closer, to feel his skin under the pads of my fingers. Only when my head starts to spin—faster than it already does—do I press my hands on his chest.

Right before I lose my very last breath, he pulls away.

I’m trying to compose myself, and Anders, the bastard, simply wipes my lip stain from the side of his mouth, the most out-of-place thing about him, including the stray hairs falling at the side of his face.

“Sorry,” he says, his thumb caressing my lips, presumably to remove the smudged lip stain. “You wanted me to act, and that was the only way to hide.”

“It’s okay.” I step back.

“Actually.” He grabs my arm. “I’m not sorry. At all.” To prove his point, he presses another kiss to my lips, and I can feel my body heating at the speed of a kettle on a flame.

It’s way too easy to kiss Anders, to lose where the line between reality and acting lies. My heart shouldn’t beat at a thunderous pace; my body shouldn’t plead with me to look for him in every room and glue itself to his, and my brain should know better than to fall for someone who absolutely won’t stay with me.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” I lie, shoving him off me.

I think someone calls my name, but I hurry through the vineyard, speed through bodies lining up for drinks, and throw myself out the exit. I’m not sure where to go, only that I need to get my traitorous heart and body as far away from Anders as possible.

I spot a lantern hanging at the opening of a trail—I’m not sure where it leads. Trying to keep my balance on the pebbled lot, I make my way to it. Then move to the next lantern that leads me to a path lined by hundreds of tiny lit bulbs, their yellow light pouring over the meticulously cared-for landscaping of fruit bushes and flowers.

Like a fairy garden come to life.

“Lucinda!” Anders, of course, grabs my hand and pulls me to a stop.

“Don’t start with me.” I yank my hand away.

The glow of the lights makes his skin a warm tan, and his hair is a shade lighter here. He looks perfect, as always, but now I feel the urge to shove his head through the bushes for it.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, undeterred.

“What’s wrong?” My eyes widen. “You. Me. Us. There’s no us, see? There’s the problem.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Oh, please.” I shove him with my finger. “You know what I mean.”

“Pretend I don’t,” he says, “spell it out for me.”

“I shouldn’t be buying you gifts,” I tell him.

“Well, you can’t have it back,” he answers bluntly.

The fact that that’s his first worry almost makes me smile, but the nerves simmering in my stomach remind me to be serious. I take a breath, calm myself. This conversation is long overdue. Instead of drawing lines between us in my head, I need to tell him they’re there.

“I just mean, I’m a temporary addition to your life. I’m here for a limited amount of time. I’m going to keep your sister from getting married, which is going to leave some hurt people for you to deal with when I’m gone. You’re paying me to do the job. I will do it well. But that’s the extent of this relationship between us.”