As we walked, I caught movement in my peripheral vision—Sebastian, still lingering near the bar, watching as we made our way to our table up front, just feet from the sweetheart table where Alex and Grace would sit. A location that said, ‘these people matter.’
Good. Let him see exactly where she belonged.
Victoria and Cruz had already claimed seats. Kate sat beside Cruz, and Nick had left a chair between himself and Kate—maintaining a respectful distance, but I noticed how she leaned toward him when she laughed.
“Connor!” Cruz stood as we approached. “Thought you got lost in the photo marathon.”
I released Hannah’s hand but stayed close, like I couldn’t quite bring myself to let go. “Hannah, this is Kate Martino.” Kate extended her hand with a warm smile. “And Nick, Alex’s brother.”
Nick’s smile, immediate and genuine, made you understand why cameras loved him. Hannah did her best to not look starstruck. “Victoria has been telling me about your Manhattans. Says they’re the best in Saratoga.”
“She exaggerates,” Hannah said.
“I absolutely do not,” Victoria lifted a low ball glass that looked watery, then gestured to the remaining chairs. “Come, sit.”
Mallory arrived in a whirlwind of sparkly gold fabric, dropping into the chair between Kate and Nick like she was completely oblivious to the sexual tension between them that could power a lightbulb factory. Or maybe that’s why she sat there—to use that juice to light up the sequins on her dress.
“Saw you sitting with our mom,” Mallory directed her loud voice across the table at Hannah. “Fair warning, if she hasn’t cornered you yet about Connor’s love life, she will.”
“She already did,” Hannah said.
Kate laughed. “Helen’s a master at the gentle interrogation. Makes you feel like you’re just chatting, and then suddenly you’ve told her your entire life story.”
“That’s exactly what happened,” Hannah said, and the way she and Kate smiled at each other made something settle in me. Like maybe this could work. Like maybe Hannah could fit here, with these people, in this life.
If I wasn’t leaving tomorrow.
Servers brought out salads and conversation flowed around the table. Hannah fit right in, laughing at Cruz’s jokes, asking Kate about her gallery, holding her own with Victoria’s sharp observations.
I watched her over my water glass and tried not to think about how much I wanted this to be real, something permanent. Something that didn’t end when I went back to New York.
“You’re staring,” Cruz said quietly, leaning close.
“I’m not.”
“You absolutely are. And it’s sweet, but also kind of pathetic.”
“Thanks.”
“Just saying—if you’re going to look at her like that, maybe tell her instead of brooding about it.”
Before I could respond, Alex and Grace made their entrance to thunderous applause, and Mallory stood to give her Maid of Honor speech. She talked about love and hormones and her brother being less of an asshole because of Grace, and the whole room ate it up.
Then it was Nick’s turn.
He stood, buttoning his suit jacket with practiced ease, and I felt the shift in the room’s energy. Movie star charisma was a real thing, apparently.
He talked about mythology and hero’s journeys, about Alex being an unlikely romantic lead. And then he said something that made my chest tight:
“Mallory said that love didn’t fundamentally change them. I disagree. I think once you experience love—twoo wuv—” he did the voice fromThe Princess Bride, earning laughs, “—you’re fundamentally different from who you were before. You can’t go back.”
Under the table, Hannah’s hand found mine. I squeezed, wondering if she felt it too—that something had shifted betweenus, that this was more than some convenient arrangement that we could easily walk away from tomorrow.
Nick raised his glass. “To Grace and Alex.”
We drank. Applauded.
And I tried not to think about how much I wanted what they had.
