Page 3 of From Rome, With Hate

I’m facing the back of him as he watches the violin quartet playing on stage across the room.

My vision turns red when I clear my throat and close the ten-foot gap between us.

I stab my finger against his shoulder.

“Weddings are invite only, asshole.”

I’m prepared to fully lay into him when he turns around. Instead, I fall silent when he does.

“Oh.” I blink rapidly, my cheeks immediately heating. “I’m… I’m sorry. I thought?—”

“I was someone else?” the man cuts in, chuckling to himself and sizing me up. “Clearly.”

I let out a light laugh, relaxing only a fraction. The champagne and growing paranoia must have me hallucinating tonight.

“I really am sorry.” My gaze drops to his bare neck. “I should have known.”

“Maybe I can help you find him, whoever he is.” The man shoves his hands into his pockets and looks around before he’s dropping his gaze back to me. “Or maybe I don’t want to.”

I take a half step back and raise my chin higher. He’s handsome, I’ll give him that. Last year, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I would have leaned into this man’s flirting and sent a witty retort right back. But the cloud that’s following me won’t allow me to now. The idea of flirting with this stranger makes my stomach coil.

“Thank you.” I offer a weak smile. “But that’s okay. I’m sorry for what I said… and for your shoulder.”

“I’ll survive. For the record, Idohave an invite to be here.” His smile reaches his eyes. “In any case, if you don’t want help looking for this man, may I at least ask you to dance?”

I look into this stranger’s kind blue eyes and beg myself to find a shred of willingness to take him up on his offer.

“Fuck. Was that too forward of me?” He scrunches his nose. “He’s your boyfriend or husband, isn’t he? The man you thought I was. Of course, a woman with your startling beauty and wit isn’t going to be available.”

“You’re kind.” I reach up and massage the back of my neck. I think I need air. I take a step back, putting more distance between us. “I’m sorry again?—”

“Colin,” he blurts out. “Name is Colin Walsh. Former client of the groom.”

“Oh, well then, Colin. I’m sorry again for the rude introduction.” I drop my hand from the back of my neck and fold my hands in front of me. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”

“You, too.”

I’m already spinning on my heel by the time the second word spills from his mouth.

Anger. Betrayal. Frustration. Embarrassment. I feel them all. I can’t sort through each emotion as I pass the buffet table and swipe another glass of champagne up into my hand. Shit, Asher and Charleigh are passing them out like candy at this point. I may as well drink as many as I’m able to handle. I toss the alcohol all the way back before slamming the empty glass down on the table with a little too much force. Swallowing, I make my way toward the closest exit. I don’t even know if Charleigh has started the bouquet toss yet, but I need air before I suffocate and die of whatever this feeling is inside me.

“Jules.” London scoops my hand into hers, pulling me back toward the dance floor. “Charleigh’s been looking for you. She’s throwing the bouquet.”

“I told her she could start without me. I need air.” I try to pull away, but I’m unsuccessful. London’s on a mission to get me over to the growing crowd of women gathered in front of Charleigh on the dance floor.

“Comeon,” London pleads. “You know it’ll mean the world to her for you to be there.”

Dammit, London and her soft doe eyes, laying the guilt trip on thick.

“Fine.” I groan. “I’ll join in.”

“Yay!” London bounces on her toes before dragging me over to join the group.

I try to stay toward the outskirts of the crowd of clamoring and giggling women, but London shoves me deeper into the throng of people until I’m wedged between women I’ve only met a few hours earlier. I look over both shoulders for Selene and London but can’t find them. London literally threw me to the wolves then abandoned me.

“Ready?” Charleigh shouts from her position in front of the group.

I stand on my toes and get a better view of her.