Page 160 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
"Sophie."
She stuck out her tongue, quieted. At the altar, her fiancé waited, eyes red-rimmed. I placed her hand in his, stepped back. Turning down the steps, my eyes drifted to the corner.
He was still there.
I snapped away, sat in the front row. Leo, in Ella's lap across the aisle, fiddled with petals. My pulse thumped in my ears.
After the ceremony, guests spilled into the reception hall. White cloths draped long tables, flowers and candles everywhere, chandeliers casting warm gold light.
I sat, Leo beside me, smearing cake cream on his mouth. Sebastian on my other side poured champagne. I took it, sipped, scanned the room.
No sign of him.
Maybe he left. Maybe just a cameo, maybe he didn't care—my fingers tightened on the glass. What was I looking for? Wasn't I avoiding him?
"Looking for someone?" Ella sidled up, champagne in hand, grinning.
"No one."
"No one, but you're scanning like a hawk?" She plopped down, eyed Sebastian, whispered, "Your date's cute. That French guy who's always after you?"
"Ella."
"I'm serious," she sipped. "He looks gentler. Doesn't seem like the type to smuggle drugs and guns on the side."
"Ella!" I raised my voice.
Sebastian chuckled beside me, said nothing. He stood, said he'd grab food, left us space. Ella watched him go, turned, eyes sparkling.
"Seriously, he's chasing you, right? When's it official?"
"Just friends. Please, no gossip, Ella."
"Friends?" She arched a brow. "He doesn't look at you like a friend."
"Ella, it's Sophie's wedding."
"Fine, fine." She raised her glass, smiled. "But think about it. He's a catch."
She stood, sauntered off. I sat, breathed deep, scanned again.
Still no him.
The dancing started. First dance: bride and groom. Sophie leaned on his shoulder, eyes closed, smile soft, like floating on clouds. Guests circled the floor, clapping, laughing, glasses glinting.
I stood outside the crowd, holding warm champagne. Sebastian beside me; Leo off with Ella and the kids.
Second song kicked in. Sebastian turned, offered his hand.
"May I?"
I met his eyes. Steady hand, palm up, fingers long. I smiled, placed mine in it.
"Sure."
He led me onto the floor. Solid steps, arm light on my waist. We swayed slow, his palm warm, not hot. I followed, skirt swirling at my ankles, but my mind wandered.
What did Ezio want? To take Leo? He—
