That was when I noticed the quiet around us. Save for the band's bluesy rendition of a popular Beyoncé song, the tent was almost silent.
Everyone was looking at us. Staring, gaping, whispering as if this was the main stage and we were the evening's headlining act. I swallowed hard. "I should really?—"
He held out his bear-paw hand. "Dance with me."
No no no no no.
When a few seconds passed and I was still blinking, he added, "Let them watch, Saunders. Give them the show they came to see."
Except they weren't watchingme.They never watched me. It was always Jude. From the start, he'd had an upside-down relationship with this place and everyone in it. They loved him almost as much as he loathed them.
All the things that should've made him an outsider here had turned him into an unlikely hero. The way he insulted old-moneyed man-children and ignored them and refused to give a shit about any of the silly, posh things they adored? Nepo babies lived to be negged. When you had everything handed to you, working for the attention of a guy with true, effortless confidence was a dopamine hit unlike any other.
The pieced-together motorcycle he rode to school long before he could legally get a driver's license? Proof he was a champion in an arena built on white-collar crime.
His unpolished arrogance and the canyon-deep chip on his shoulder that cast no doubt as to whether he'd received a full scholarshipandjust begged them to pick a fight with him? No one was thirstier for a fight than rich boys who'd sooner hide in the trunk of someone's Audi to avoid actually throwing hands.
Even the teachers loved Jude. They'd never admitted he was one of their favorites since he had minimal concern for dress codes or arriving on time, and not a day went by withouthim poking holes straight through their course material. But he cruised to the top of every class, and whenever it seemed like he was becoming too much of a self-righteous jackass, he'd do something like fix a teacher's flat tire or tell that one criminally disruptive kid to shut the fuck up or get the hell out of the class.
And when Jude Bellessi chose me, the bookish girl with a severe ballerina bun and long, knobby limbs I hadn't grown into yet? Over everyone else? Well, it baffled them. I couldn't say it helped his ascension but I was enough of a blank slate that I didn't matter much in the end. That bloodless love of theirs was laced with just enough fear for the boy from the wrong side of Hartford to know better than to cross him when choices had been made.
It was so like him, really, to be invincible.
And so like me to be the opposite.
I eyed his hand for one crackling moment. There was no way for this to end well if we spent the next three minutes pressed together. But I'd imagined this so many times. Notthisexactly but seeing him one more time. Talking to him. Maybe even getting the closure I'd craved.
And being that blowtorch without worrying about who I'd burn in the process.
We stood almost at eye level, with my heels adding a few inches to my five-ten frame. I tipped my chin up and slipped my hand into his. I forgot how to breathe. Turned myself inside out between blinks. Then I remembered his comment about putting on a show and I scoffed, asking, "Don't you think you're giving yourself a bit too much credit?"
"Not at all," he replied.
His gaze dropped to my hand and his expression tightened. He stroked his thumb over my knuckles several times. His brow creased and he drew in a breath that pulled his shoulders up like he was bracing himself.
He traced the spot where my wedding rings once sat. He closed his eyes for a second before he glanced away, toward the dance floor. As the band transitioned to a slower song, he settled his palm on the small of my back and this familiar comfort sent tears rushing to my eyes. I fought them off but I knew this was just the beginning of my emotional journey here tonight.
When we stopped at the center of the floor, he pulled me close to him and I had to flatten a hand on his solid chest to keep my footing. My heart stuttered against my ribs, hard enough that I was sure he felt it.
For a second, we just stood like that, wrapped in a moment waterlogged with history. I tried to tell myself that this was just a dance, just a long overdue chat between people who used to mean everything to each other.
But then his thumb traced a careful line down my spine and I forgot all of it. We swayed together, silent as I breathed him in and the years telescoped down to nothing.
Then he went and ruined the moment when he asked, "Where's your husband?"
I could almost hear my nervous system kick into hypervigilance at the mention of that man. "Not here," I said. "Not anymore."
"Good." Jude gave a sharp nod that told me he'd already known the answer to his question and just wanted to hear me say it. But then the corner of his lips quirked in a wry smile and he asked, "Divorced? Or did you finish it off the right way and leave him for dead?"
I rolled my eyes. "Does it matter?"
He cut a glance to the side and surveyed our classmates as we moved together. I expected a bland comment about the throwback music or the opulent decorations or anything, but he shook his head as if he was already bored with the topic, saying, "Not tonight, Saunders. But you'll tell me eventually."
"Yet another bold assumption."
"If you think that's bold, you need to pick your bar up off the floor."
I stole quick glances at him as I indexed the lines in his forehead and the creases at the corners of his eyes. There was a faint tan line on his temple, right where the arm of his sunglasses would sit. A few strands of silver shot through his dark hair now and the utter truth of it, the proof of life after all this time, punched hard into my belly.
