“La Vie En Rose,” Ryke suddenly says with a French lilt.
“What?” My brows pinch together.
“The song,” he says, “it’s called La Vie En Rose.”
“How do you know that…？” I ask, my voice trailing off, distracted for a second by my sister. Rose calms after the initial overwhelming shock of the song choice. And they begin to slow dance together.
“It’s a popular song,” he says before walking backwards. “I’m going to get another drink. You two want anything?”
“Bourbon, no ice,” Lo quips dryly.
“Hilarious,” Ryke says with zero humor. He nods to me. “What about you?”
I can’t get over how he said La Vie En Rose, like he understood exactly how to pronounce each syllable in the foreign language. If I said the song title, it’d sound like an American butchering the words. “Do you know these lyrics?” I ask.
“They’re in French,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at the growing line to the bar. “Last chance, Lily.”
“Fizz Life,” I place my order, letting my suspicions go with it. He weaves between the guests, and I focus my attention elsewhere. “Do you think they’ll be okay?” I ask Lo as we watch Connor spin Rose with poise and masculinity. They haven’t confronted the serious repercussions of having a sex tape floating on the internet.
Once they start Googling themselves and the hatred and criticism pours through—they’ll feel the real sting. It’s not fun.
“Yeah,” Lo says. “They’re Connor and Rose.” He says their names like they’re a fortress of steel. While I agree on some accounts, he hasn’t calculated the fact that negative cannon-blasts from tabloids can easily knock down their defenses.
“Yeah but they’ll need us,” I say with a nod. “We’ve been through this before.” We’ll pay it forward, be a friendly shoulder to cry on like Rose was to me. Not that she sheds more than a few tears a year.
He stays quiet on the matter, his eyes darting to alcoholic beverages in almost everyone’s hands. It’s an open bar. He wears that mildly annoyed look that he used to get in college, when happy people flaunted their enthusiasm in front of him.
Just as the first song ends, guests begin to join Rose and Connor on the dance floor. Instead of rushing to the middle, a hoard of people edge closer to us. They unfortunately linger, as though to eavesdrop. We haven’t had a single reporter bombard us with questions because Connor ordered them not to, but they’re studying our movements from afar…well, now they’re doing it from five feet.
I press up against Lo’s hard, lean body. The spot between my legs pulses, and my arm latches around his waist. If I shift just a little close I can feel his bulge—
“Lily,” he says softly, staring down at me. He fixes a piece of my flyaway hair. “If you rub up against me anymore, I’m going to get hard.”
Ohmygod. I let out a shallow breath. “That’s the point…” Or is it not the point? We’re not allowed to have sex at my sister’s wedding, are we? That’s old, bad Lily.
This is Lily 2.0. Scratch that—this is Lily 3.0. Brand spanking new.
He groans a little. “Lil…” He pries my fingers off his toned ass. Oh Jeez. I redden. “Spanking” is a very dangerous word. The intensity in his amber eyes magnifies when they bore into me. His chest falls heavier than before.
Lo doesn’t distance himself from me. Not once. Instead he closes the gap, kissing me with an urgency that I’ve missed dearly.
My limbs shake as his palm cups the back of my head, his fingers gripping my hair, his tongue skillfully sliding against mine. We part for one single breath.
“Lo…” We’re in a room full of people. It’s a thought that disintegrates in the back of my brain.
“Lil…” He rests his forehead on mine. Then he kisses my cheek, and quickly clasps my hand, leading me in a new direction, swerving between people. I realize we’re aimed for a hallway or a bathroom. He glances back at me once, his lips rising in a gorgeous, devious smile. We’re going to have sex!
Yes. Yes. Yes.
My body thrums with victory and applause. It’s not wrong. It’s so right. I hold onto his one hand with both of mine, afraid that we’ll break apart and I’ll lose him.
And then a sloshed guy with black Ray-Ban sunglasses on—indoors—haphazardly cuts through us, tearing my hand right from Lo’s. Another guy in a white button-down rushes through the same space. “Wait up, Luke!” he shouts after him.