Isn't She Lovely (Redemption 0.5)(42)

Paige’s new husband reclaims her for their dance, and I take a deep breath as Stephanie steps toward me, fitting her body easily against mine as she slides a hand around my shoulder and cuddles up. My hand finds her back, and I think I hear her let out a little sigh as we begin to sway to some sappy nonsense.

I was right in thinking that touching the bare skin on Stephanie’s back wasn’t a good idea. The warm smoothness of it reminds me of that moment on the boat when I slipped a hand beneath her, tilting her up—

“Your relatives seem nice,” she says against my shoulder.

“That’s because it’s my dad’s side of the family,” I say, grateful for a topic of conversation that doesn’t have to do with kissing. Or skin. Or touching. “You’re lucky there are no Clark family gatherings while we’re doing our little charade. They’re a bunch of vipers.”

“Your mom seems to have warmed up to me, though.”

I hesitate. “That’s only because the Middletons are in Europe, so she can’t spend the entire evening foisting Olivia on me.”

“Olivia was invited to the wedding?”

My fingers tighten reflexively. “Yeah. But her cousin’s getting married to some Swiss billionaire this same weekend. She’ll be at the party, though,” I say, wanting to warn her.

“This big fancy Hamptons party, yeah?” she says.

I nod and take a deep breath. “Michael will be there too.”

Her eyes search my face. “That’s why you really initiated this plan, isn’t it? Not just to get your mom off your back. But because you don’t want to go to that party alone. Not when they’ll both be there.”

I pull her closer again so I don’t have to meet her eyes. “Maybe. Honestly, I’m not sure at all anymore why I’m doing this.”

It’s a loaded statement, and I’m talking about more than just Olivia and my mother. I suspect she knows it, because her fingers tighten slightly around mine.

I’m beginning to think this is the longest song in the world, and I’m torn between wanting to pull away and not wanting it to end. I turn my head slightly, my chin brushing against her hair. It smells as good as it looks. For the life of me, I don’t know why I ever thought I preferred blondes.

Stop sniffing the girl, for God’s sake.

Stephanie shifts slightly, and the movement causes my hand, which is already low on her back, to dip lower until the tips of my fingers slide just under the fabric of her dress. We both freeze, and I order myself to move my hand. And I do, but not in the direction I should. Instead my fingers stroke just slightly, moving against the small of her back in a heated little caress.

There’s nothing indecent about the touch. It’s not like I’m palming her ass or anything, and nobody around us even notices.

But the fact that nobody notices is exactly what makes it indecent. Because I’m not doing it for them. I’m doing it for me.

I leave my hand where it is for a few heated moments in which the two of us barely move. I start to shift to safer territory, but my hand doesn’t seem to move as far as it should, and I let my pinky finger hover just beneath the fabric.

The distinction between harmless and not-so-harmless touch is infinitesimal here, but I’ve definitely crossed the line. Anyone who might dance with Stephanie would touch the exposed part of her back. But only a boyfriend’s fingers should stray beneath the fabric and linger. And mine are definitely lingering.

The song finally ends, and when we pull back, I don’t think it’s my imagination that she looks a little shaky. I should be relieved that she’s not immune to me. That I’m not alone here. But instead all I can think is, Danger!

The music starts up again, and it’s one of those poppy, girl-power type of songs that has every female on the dance floor letting out a squeal. Even Stephanie.

I find myself grinning at the sight, unable to reconcile the happily bopping party girl with the gloomy film student I met just a few weeks ago.

A couple of my other cousins swoop toward Stephanie, pulling her into the fray of dancing women as they all begin belting out the chorus, which I’m pretty sure will be in my head until the day I die.

I hold up my hands in surrender, giving her a little wink before backing off of the estrogen-dominated dance floor. She gives me a happy wave before turning her back and yelling something in my cousin Tiffany’s ear.

I shake my head, unable to figure out when she managed to make friends with the entire Price clan. There must have been some girly powwow in the bathroom that I’m thrilled to have missed.

I help myself to a piece of cake—my third of the evening, but who’s counting?—when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

I smile at my dad, who looks as relaxed and happy as I’ve ever seen him. I scan the room for my mother, but there’s no sign of her. I remember a time when my parents were glued to each other’s side. Not because they were supposed to be, but because they wanted to be. Or at least I always assumed they wanted to be. Maybe kids just see what they want to see, and I wanted to think my parents were perfectly happy together.

But even a kid wouldn’t have been able to excuse seeing my mother and Mike together. And an adult child definitely can’t.

“Having fun?” I ask as the two of us watch the female dance party.

“Always did love a good wedding. And Paige and Aaron seem happy together. A good-looking couple.”