Page 146 of Forsaking Midnight
“I screamed like aman.”
Juliette pats his face. “I’m sure you did, Trouble.”
Watching them together is nice. They’re so clearly in love, and it feels like the room molds around them, effortlessly.
I don’t think Art and I were ever like that, even before.
My gaze flicks around the party, my shoulders loosening, when I see him.
Lance is near the edge of the room, half-hidden by a column. He’s in a black suit that makes him look like he was carved from shadow. It’s fitted perfectly to his frame, and there’s a hint of silver peeking from around his neck. He stands out, even when he’s trying to blend in, and I soak him up, heat sparking to life deep in my abdomen.
He’s not looking at me, but now that I see him, Ifeelhim. Every time I laugh, his shoulders tense. Every time I shift, his eyes flicker toward me before snapping away.
“So that’s what pining looks like,” Merrick murmurs at my elbow.
I nearly choke. “What?”
He nods toward Lance.
“Your boy over there. He’s got it bad.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You can fool most people, Genevieve DeGrance, but not me. Tragic love is my specialty.” He spreads his arms. “Rosebrook Falls is where love goes to die, and I’m the last man standing.”
“Oh my God,” Felicity’s voice cuts in, gorgeous in emerald green. “Merrick’s gonna put that on a shirt someday and sell it to tourists.”
“I might,” he replies. “Speaking of dead love…”
Merrick jerks his chin, and I turn just in time for Paxton to approach with a pretty brunette on his arm.
“Felicity,” he says. “I didn’t realize you were invited.”
Her expression goes flat. “Must we go through this every time?”
“Charming as ever.”
“Someone has to balance out the aggressive mediocrity.”
She gestures at the grandeur around us.
“It’s our anniversary party, Felicity. Perhaps save the commentary for somewhere you’re welcome.”
“You’re right. Happy anniversary. May your next year be as thrilling as your last.” Felicity raises her glass in a toast. “I’m leaving to find the less obnoxious Calloway brother.”
She walks away, and Paxton clears his throat, muttering something to Tiffany about caterers before disappearing into the crowd. But his eyes flick over his shoulder to watch Felicity leave.
Across the room, Alex does the same thing.
“I should find Art,” I say, feeling like I’ve witnessed something I wasn’t supposed to see.
Juliette squeezes my arm. “Come find me later.”
I slip into the crowd, scanning, and I spot Art near the grand staircase with an older man. He’s tall and silver-haired and has the kind of face that belongs on campaign posters. He and Art share the same jawline, same posture. Even from here I can see the way Art’s stance mimics him in almost every way, like he’s emulating him without even realizing it.
His father.
I smooth my dress and make my way over. Art’s face lights up when he sees me, but there’s something tight around his eyes.
