For Me,There Is Only You |18+|

5. Present and Past

After the rings were exchanged, a tidal wave of relatives surged toward the stage, phones raised like weapons, desperate to capture every angle of the happy couple.

I had zero intention of joining the frenzy. But Ashley—being Ashley—had other plans.

She grabbed my wrist and yanked me up, planting me right between her and Nate.

Nate, my new honorary brother-slash-sanity buffer, slung an arm around my shoulder, while Ash clamped her hand to my back like a vice. It was a group hug with the emotional force of a bear trap.

At her insistence, we pulled a few goofy faces for the camera.

For a fleeting second, it felt like we were cast in a low-budget sitcom, laugh tracks missing only by inches.

The stares we got from the crowd, however, were anything but amused. They ranged from mildly confused to borderline scandalized.

The second everyone's attention returned to the main couple, I made a swift escape, slipping through the crowd like a ninja in heels.

I snatched a glass of wine off a waiter's tray mid-stride and finally found my way back to my table.

Sinking into the seat with a sigh, I let the cool rim of the glass kiss my lips and took a sip.

The wine was dry, with a whisper of berries, but more importantly, it was the only thing not judging me in this room.

I swirled the liquid, watching it catch the light, and tried not to let the lingering glares get under my skin. My presence here was clearly an unwanted wrinkle in someone's flawless celebration spreadsheet.

Still, I chuckled under my breath. I'd rather be the wrinkle than the wallpaper.

My eyes instinctively scanned the crowd, searching for him.

But, of course, Ansel was nowhere to be seen.

Trying not to let my boredom show, I sat quietly, the lull of background chatter slowly dulling my nerves, until Alaric Clell slid into the chair beside me.

Of course. Because peace is apparently a myth here.

Ashley's other half-brother, Alaric, had the kind of reputation that came with warning labels.

Playboy. Narcissist. Full-time menace.

Our personal history was brief but memorable, for all the wrong reasons.

Once, two years ago, he'd tried to kiss me uninvited during a visit to my house.

I'd responded with a slap and a well-placed knee to his groin.

Ever since, I'd made it a life goal to stay at least ten feet away from him at all times.

Tonight, he looked... ridiculous. His once caramel-colored hair had been dyed a bright, lemony yellow, clashing violently with his steely grey eyes.

He looked like someone had dared him to cosplay as a half-ripe banana.

I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

Alaric sipped his whiskey like he owned the air around him.

"Aren't you going to play any tricks tonight?" he drawled, eyes fixed on me like a hawk.

"Not if you promise to behave," I shot back sweetly, swirling my wine with flair.

Dealing with Alaric was like walking a tightrope above a pit of snakes—one wrong move and it would be a very long drop.