Written in the Stars(82)

“You think so?”

He looked at her like she was crazy. “Elle. Come on.”

Elle bit the corner of her lip.

“I’m serious. Darcy keeps her cards close to the chest, but you’d have to be blind not to see how she looks at you.”

Elle knew how it felt when Darcy looked at her. How it made her stomach swoop with an intensity that stole her breath, made her flush from head to toe, turned her inside out.

“How does she look at me?” she asked, out of curiosity’s sake, mostly. “Humor me.”

“Darcy looks at you like . . .” Brendon’s lips tugged to the side, his brow furrowing. A smile inched its way across his face, both his dimples gleaming. “She looks at you like you hung the moon.”

If that wasn’t the greatest, most beautiful, cheesiest thing Elle had ever heard, she didn’t know what was. Cheeks aching from the spectacular grin she had no hope of controlling, Elle ducked her chin. “You think?”

Brendon chuckled and when Elle lifted her head, he was staring off over her shoulder with a faraway look in his eyes. “I’d kill to have someone look at me like that, you know?”

Brendon had made his entire life about helping everyone else find their happily-ever-after and he deserved one of his own. If it could happen for her, it could totally happen for him. Should happen for him.

“Your dream girl is out there somewhere.” She cuffed him lightly on the arm. “She probably has no idea you’re out here, a total catch who’s just waiting for her to stumble into your open arms.”

Brendon barked out a laugh. “I’ll take your word for it. Though I’m beginning to worry she lives on the opposite side of the world or something. Opposite side of the country, at least.”

“That’s easy. Take a road trip.”

“I’d search every city if I had—” Something over her shoulder caught Brendon’s attention, his eyes widening. “Shoot. One of our investors just walked in. Do you mind if I . . . ?”

She stepped back, waving him off with a smile. “Go. I should go find your sister.”

Brendon looked grateful. “I think I saw her talking to Mom by the chocolate fountain.”

So the chocolate fountain was where Elle headed, because nothing about heading in that direction sounded like a bad idea. If Darcy wasn’t there, there’d still be chocolate. Win-win.

As luck would have it, Darcy was by the fondue, and so was her mother. Brushing her fingers against the edge of her dress, Elle approached. But just as she was almost close enough to announce herself, a group of three women whose giraffish height was only exaggerated by the stilettos on their feet stepped in front of her, cutting her off. She edged around them, approaching Darcy and her mom from behind instead.

“That was when I thought that’s all it was.” Darcy’s mom finished her champagne and set the glass aside, swaying slightly. “Then Brendon’s telling me you’re crazy about Elle and you’re telling me it’s complicated. She seems a little flighty, is all I’m saying.”

Darcy scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“I know I wasn’t always there, but I’m trying.”

“You know nothing, Mom. And you definitely don’t know her.”

“And you do? How long have you known her? You thought you knew Natasha, didn’t you?”

Darcy’s shoulders curled forward. “I know Elle.”

“God, I—” Her mom grabbed another glass of champagne.

“What, Mom? Just say it.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were in love.”

Elle’s heart stopped. Eavesdropping was wrong, but she was weak.

Darcy’s scoff came out strangled. “You’re drunk.”

“I said I’m not.” Gillian teetered on her heels. “Not really.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“You’re saying you’re not in love with her?” her mom asked.

Regret hastened through Elle’s veins like poison. She should’ve walked away. She shouldn’t have eavesdropped. She didn’t want to hear anything more but she couldn’t move. Anchored to the floor like cinder blocks, her feet wouldn’t budge.

“We’ve been dating a month and a half, if you can even call it that.” Darcy shook her head. “I’m just having fun. Of course I’m not in love with her. Don’t . . . don’t be absurd.”

Elle pressed a hand to her stomach as if that gesture alone could hold her together.

Just having fun.

Darcy didn’t love her.

Darcy didn’t.

Because that would . . . that would be absurd.

Fuck, her eyes stung. She wouldn’t cry, she refused. She needed fresh air, a moment alone, a moment to process, to set her world to rights and fix this dissonance, believing one thing, feeling it in her gut, feeling it down to her bones only to hear that it wasn’t true.

Elle stepped back, footsteps faltering as Darcy turned. Their eyes met and Elle’s chest went tight, shrink-wrap around her heart, squeezing until she couldn’t breathe.

A flicker of something Elle had no name for passed over Darcy’s butterscotch brown eyes. Realization? Regret? Concern? Pity? “Elle—”