“Dad,” I answer truthfully. “He broke my mom’s heart, and after that everything else just… broke too.”
“Oh.”
I don’t know why I told him that. I’ve never told anyone about that since high school. Now that he’s fallen silent, I regret it. The last thing I want is his pity. I fearfully glance at him, only to find none of that in his eyes.
“You want to know a secret?” he asks.
“What?”
“My dad’s not the best either. And I’m definitely not his favorite. Either Ethan or Ryker is. But hey, we can’t let our parents’ behavior or decisions dictate who we are or how we want to live, right?”
I smile. Now I really want that kiss. In fact, if he doesn’t make a move soon, I might just go ahead and give him one.
I turn my body so that I’m right in front of him. Then I stroke his hand.
“So I’m forgiven?”
Asher nods. “Yes.”
He places his hand on my cheek and leans forward. I close my eyes. A moment later, his lips press against mine. I kiss him back.
He strokes my cheek and my shoulder as his mouth crushes mine. Heat trickles down my spine and floods my chest. I can’t breathe.
He pulls away and I finally get a gulp of air, but my throat tightens as I meet his gaze. Smoldering. Stirring. Excitement simmers in my veins.
He kisses me again. And again. And again. I clutch the front of his jacket and try to keep up, try to breathe in between. He traps my lower lip. My heart skips a beat. Then he wraps an arm around me and pushes his tongue past my lips. When it brushes against my own tongue, my mouth catches fire. My knees tremble.
Each time his tongue rubs against mine, I feel like melting. And I want to. I want Asher to mold my body into a shape meant just for him. I want it to meld with his.
I want him. So much so the desire throbs in my breasts and between my legs. When Asher’s hand cups my breast through my dress, I don’t protest. When his other hand climbs up my thigh beneath my skirt, I start to give in.
But the voice inside my head shouts.
Stop! Don’t do this, Violet! Think.
The moment I start to, the haze in my mind dissipates. The heat beneath my skin evaporates. I realize I don’t want this. Not now. Not here. Not like this.
I grab Asher’s wrist to stop his hand before his fingers reach my underwear. I pull my mouth away and step back.
Asher looks dismayed, confused. I draw a deep breath.
“We should stop… for now.”
For a moment more, his eyebrows remain furrowed. Then he scratches the back of his head and nods.
“Okay.”
Is it? He looks agitated, frustrated, defeated. I feel a pang of guilt.
I reach for his hand to extend some comfort but he steps away.
“I think I’ll go back to the house,” he says.
He’s leaving me?
“Asher…”
“I’ll get you more champagne.” He grabs my nearly empty glass. “And maybe get us some real food from the kitchen. Those hors d’oeuvres barely reached my stomach.”
Oh. He just wants some space. That’s fine. Hopefully, he can walk off some of his frustration and we can reset the scene when he comes back. This awkward atmosphere will be gone and the two of us can just have a nice conversation like the one we were having before we kissed.
I nod. “Okay.”
Asher gives me a smile. “I’ll be right back.”
~
He’s not back yet.
I glance at my watch again. Forty minutes have passed. Forty-two, actually.
I told myself Asher would take just fifteen at most. When he wasn’t back by twenty, I wondered if maybe he’d bumped into someone he needed to talk to. After five more minutes, I thought of calling him just to find out what was keeping him—only to realize I didn’t have his number. I started to worry. Now that forty-two minutes have passed, I’m thinking either he bumped into several people or he’s asking the chef to prepare something from scratch. Or something bad has happened to him and nobody has come to notify me because no one else knows I’m here.
That last thought sends me walking briskly back to the house—as briskly as I can in my two-inch heels—while I rub my arms through my shawl to ward off the chill from the air. As I approach, I hear no commotion, no sirens. The music is still playing. People are still chatting. Champagne and hors d’oeuvres are still being served. I let out a breath of relief.
At least I get the feeling Asher is safe. But I still have to find him.
I search the kitchen first. Asher isn’t there and none of the household staff or caterers have seen him. I comb the crowd next. No sign of him either. Where the hell is he? Finally, I decide to ask Lloyd if he knows where Asher is. When he says he doesn’t, I ask if I can search the rest of the house. He gives me permission.
I search every room, my heart racing and my thoughts jumbling to come up with explanations for his absence, many of which hurt too much for me to dwell on. I try not to, but when I still don’t find Asher after looking everywhere, I start to worry. Where on earth can he be?
Finally, I spot him while I’m standing on the balcony. He’s on the front steps. I’m about to call his name, but then I notice there’s a woman standing next to him. Tall. Brunette. Glistening red dress. Diamonds around her neck. Arm around Asher’s waist.
His Maserati Levante stops right in front of them and the valet gets out. As Asher goes around the front of the vehicle to take the driver’s seat, the butler opens the door to the passenger side and the woman slips in. Asher gets in the car and it heads down the private road leading out of the property, the same road we took coming in. Within seconds, the vehicle disappears from sight.
For a while, I just stand there on the balcony gripping the railing, frozen and numb. The scene I just saw of Asher leaving with another woman plays over and over inside my head until it finally sinks in.
Asher left the party. With another woman. Even though he came to the party with me. Even though he asked me to come to this party with him. Even though he kissed me and said he’d come back to me.
My chest constricts. My heart feels like it’s being crushed. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to jump from this balcony. Instead, I go inside. I lean against a wall and slap my forehead.
Stupid Violet! Did you really think he cared about you? Because he asked you out? Because he was nice to you? Because he kissed you? Did you really think he would come back after you rejected him? Of course he wasn’t going to. Sex was all he was after, and since you rejected him, he had no reason to hang out with you.
Unbelievable. But at the same time, I should have expected it. I should have known sex was all Asher was after. I should have known he’d discard me as soon as he realized he had no use for me. I should have known he wouldn’t even have the decency to drive me home.
I should have known Asher Hawthorne would break my heart.
No. I knew it was a possibility, but I went out with him anyway. I allowed myself to be swayed by his sweet words anyway. I opened up to him anyway. I kissed him anyway.
And now, here I am in this pretty dress, my cheeks cold, my feet sore and my heart torn to pieces.
This is what I get for daring to dream.
But I know better now. Even though I feel like breaking down, I hold my shoulders square. Even as I shatter, I’m turning my resolve into steel.