Chapter 4 — Thank You for Saying It Out Loud

“Thank you,” I said.

Arabella blinked.

“For what?”

“I spent three years wondering what was wrong with me. You just reminded me the answer was never me.”

Her smile vanished.

I could hear my own heartbeat, but my voice came out steadily.

“I thought I should have been thinner. Quieter. Better at standing beside Bennett without attracting the wrong kind of attention. I thought there was some version of me he would have been proud to marry.”

“Laurel, that isn’t what I—”

“You said he needed a woman who could represent him. I understand now. He didn’t want a partner. He wanted someone he could display.”

Evelyn looked down at her empty hands.

The man beside her shifted his feet.

Arabella noticed both movements.

“I think you’re taking this in the worst possible way.”

“Then tell me the better way.”

She opened her mouth.

I waited.

Ronan stood beside me without moving. I could feel how closely he was listening, but he left the silence alone.

Arabella glanced toward Bennett.

He had started across the room.

“I was trying to acknowledge a difficult situation,” she said.

“You could have said you were glad I came.”

“I did.”

“And you could have stopped there.”

Bennett reached us.

“What’s going on?”

Arabella turned toward him immediately.

“Nothing. Laurel misunderstood something I said.”

“What did she say?” he asked me.

The old question almost worked.

For years, Bennett had asked me to explain disputes as though he were the judge and I was already an unreliable witness.

I looked at Arabella.

“Would you like to repeat it?”

Her cheeks reddened.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Then we can leave it here.”

I picked up my clutch from the narrow table beside us.

Bennett’s eyes moved between us.

“You came to our wedding to do this?”

“No,” I said. “I came to your wedding because you invited me. I’m beginning to think neither of you expected me to speak while I was here.”

Evelyn cleared her throat.

“Laurel was telling us about her studio.”

The intervention was small.

It mattered.

Arabella looked at her, visibly startled that someone had supplied a version of the evening that did not favor her.

“I’m sure everyone would rather enjoy the reception,” Evelyn added.

“Absolutely,” I said.

Ronan turned toward me.

“Would you like something to drink?”

The ordinary question nearly made me laugh.

“Yes. Water, preferably.”

He offered his arm.

I took it because I wanted to.

We moved away before Bennett could find another sentence to put between us.

I felt eyes follow us across the ballroom. For once, I did not imagine those eyes measuring the size of my waist.

At the bar, Ronan ordered water for me.

The bartender set a glass on a folded napkin.

I drank half of it without stopping.

“That was less graceful than I intended,” I said.

“Which part?”

“The part where I apparently delivered a speech at someone else’s wedding.”

“You answered a question.”

“I answered several.”

“She kept asking.”

I looked toward the group we had left.

Bennett and Arabella stood close together, their faces turned away from the guests. Her hand moved sharply between them.

“I didn’t mean to create a scene.”

Ronan leaned one elbow against the bar.

“Would you rather have let her finish?”

“No.”

“Then don’t apologize to me for refusing.”

I rolled the cold glass between my palms.

My fingers were still unsteady.

“I thought it would feel better.”

“What?”

“Saying it. I imagined this enormous sense of relief.”

“And instead?”

“I feel like I’ve run up six flights of stairs and may have offended a very expensive florist.”

He glanced at the flowers.

“I doubt the florist cares.”

“Bennett will. He’ll say I ruined the atmosphere.”

“He can say it.”

I looked at him.

Ronan had a way of speaking that made other people’s demands seem surprisingly optional.

I wondered what it would have been like to learn that earlier.

He nodded toward a pair of doors beyond the bar.

“Would you like some air?”

“Is that the polite version of asking whether I’m about to cry?”

“No. If you cry, I’ll ask whether you want privacy.”

I swallowed.

“Air would be good.”

He guided me through a short corridor to a terrace overlooking the street.

The doors shut behind us, muffling the orchestra.

Cool air touched my shoulders.

I walked to the stone railing and set my glass down.

Below, taxis moved through the evening traffic. A woman carrying grocery bags argued with someone on her phone. Two boys in restaurant uniforms hurried past, laughing.

The rest of New York had not stopped because Bennett Shaw was getting married.

That helped.

Ronan stood beside me, leaving enough space that I didn’t feel crowded.

“I’m still shaking,” I admitted.

“I can see.”

“That wasn’t an invitation to inspect.”

“I wasn’t.”

I held up one hand.

He looked at it, then at me.

“Do you want my jacket?”

“Wouldn’t that be suspiciously boyfriend-like?”

“It would be suspiciously practical.”

I laughed.

He waited for my answer.

“Yes, please.”

He slipped out of his jacket and held it while I put my arms through the sleeves.

It was warm.

That was inconvenient.

So was the faint scent of him in the collar.

“You’ve created a new problem,” I said.

“What problem?”

“This is much nicer than my coat.”

“I’ll try to recover from the accusation.”

I folded the sleeves back until my fingers appeared.

For a minute, we watched the traffic.

Then I said, “You could have interrupted.”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t.”

“You weren’t asking me to.”

“How did you know?”

“You kept answering.”

I turned toward him.

“That’s all?”

“No. But it was enough.”

His white shirt fit across his shoulders in a way I tried not to notice. Without the jacket, the scar at his temple and the hard line of his jaw seemed less softened by the formal setting.

He looked dangerous even while discussing my right to finish a sentence.

“You weren’t worried I’d embarrass myself?”

“No.”

“Everyone embarrasses themselves occasionally.”

“You didn’t.”

I looked down.

The sleeves had covered my hands again.

“Bennett used to say I talked too much when I was nervous.”

“You do talk when you’re nervous.”

My head snapped up.

Ronan’s mouth moved.

“You also talk when you’re amused, irritated, interested, and trying to explain why I can’t have a dark envelope with dark lettering.”

“Because people need to read the address.”

“I remember.”

“You’re avoiding the point.”

“No. I’m saying I’ve heard you talk under several circumstances. I haven’t found it a problem.”

I could not think of a joke quickly enough.

He noticed.

He had the decency not to mention it.

Through the doors, a voice rose over the music.

Someone was calling for attention.

I checked the time on my phone.

“Is that dinner?”

“Probably.”

“I should return your jacket.”

“You can keep it until we’re inside.”

At the doors, I stepped out of it and handed it back.

His fingers brushed mine.

Briefly.

My body registered the contact with embarrassing enthusiasm.

We returned to the ballroom as Charles Price moved toward a cluster of guests near the head table.

Bennett stood beside him.

Arabella had recovered her smile.

Charles raised his glass.

“Before we sit down, there’s another beginning I’d like to celebrate.”

Ronan’s attention shifted.

Several men who had been speaking near us turned toward Charles.

“Most of you know about our proposed waterfront development,” Charles continued. “Tonight, I’m pleased to say the project is entering its next stage.”

A member of the hotel staff carried over a small table.

On it lay several bound presentation portfolios.

I recognized the format before I could help myself.

Landscape binding. Heavy cover stock. A metallic project name.

Bennett rested one hand on the nearest copy.

“Bennett will oversee the development,” Charles said. “A considerable responsibility, and one he’s ready to take on.”

Guests offered congratulations.

Bennett’s posture changed.

The tension in his face eased. He had found a subject that allowed him to be admired again.

“And,” Charles added, looking directly toward us, “assuming the final documentation proceeds as expected, we’re fortunate to have Varelli Industries participating as our principal investment partner.”

My hand stopped halfway to my glass.

Ronan went still.

Bennett approached with a smile.

“I’d hoped we could discuss the project this evening, Mr. Varelli.”

Ronan looked at him.

“You’re running it?”