Now, in front of the crowd, I share a condensed version of that journal for all of the wedding guests. They get only the highlights, the sappy-sweet version of why Sonya and Wesley are meant to be, the story of their first date, when Sonya rushed home and proudly declared that she was off the market for good.

  It’s toward the end of my speech, when I glance up from my cue card, that my gaze is drawn to the double doors at the back of the banquet room.

  My stomach squeezes tight.

  At first, I don’t believe my eyes.

  Professor Barclay stands there, leaned against the wall, hidden in the low light.

  A waiter passes in front of him and I expect him to dissipate like an illusion, sand blown away by the wind, but he stays. No one seems to understand the gravity of him. No one else turns to stare. Their attention is on me and Cooper, and on the bride and groom sitting at the head table behind us.

  He’s dressed in a sharp black tuxedo with a folded white pocket square winking from his breast pocket. There’s no smile; instead, he wears a look of quiet reverence as he watches me stutter over my words and finish my speech on muscle memory alone.

  “I know we all feel blessed to be here celebrating with Wesley and Sonya today,” I say, feeling as though I’m in a dream. “Two people truly meant to be. Let’s raise our glasses to the bride and groom and wish them a lifetime of love and happiness. Cheers!”

  I take a sip of my champagne, and then everyone applauds. I pass the microphone over to Cooper and try to ground myself in the present, but I can’t. Professor Barclay is at Sonya’s wedding even though I didn’t invite him, even though I pushed him away time and time again, even though he’s my boss and I’m the former student he never had to notice, even though the way forward is complicated…he’s here.

  I’m shaking from the potent cocktail of adrenaline and residual nerves from having to speak in front of an audience of a few hundred people. I glance away from Cooper for only a moment, back to where Professor Barclay was standing, only to find that he’s not there anymore. I immediately start to scan the crowd, looking for him, but then Cooper says my name and I chide myself for not paying better attention to his speech. He’s telling a story of when Wesley, Sonya, he, and I all went to the beach on vacation and got stung by a swarm of jellyfish. I lose the thread of significance. I have no idea why the story is relevant to Sonya and Wesley’s wedding, but then again, I’m not being the world’s best listener at the moment.

  Finally, Cooper finishes his speech, and we raise our champagne flutes in honor of Sonya and Wesley. Waiters are seamlessly dispatched to retrieve empty plates from tables as Sonya’s father stands to take our place on the dance floor for his turn with the microphone.

  I have no choice but to reclaim my seat and try to pay attention. I’m on the left arm of the bride; I don’t want to distract anyone from listening to the speech. I force my attention to Sonya’s dad, and even though I listen dutifully, I don’t hear a single word. My head is buzzing. Under the table, I wring my hands. The audience laughs, and I join in a half-beat later.

  It continues like this. After Sonya’s father’s speech, Wesley’s father stands for one as well, and I grind my molars. Then the DJ announces the couple’s first dance, and my eyes rove hungrily over that reception hall, but I don’t see Professor Barclay. The dessert table and open bar, photographers and guests…table after table filled with strangers. I start to lose trust in the fact that I ever saw him in the first place.

  Even still, I refuse to give up my search as the DJ invites guests to join the newlyweds out on the dance floor. Everyone in the wedding party stands up around me, and then I feel a hand touch my shoulder.

  I expect it to be Wesley’s cousin, the one from the cocktail hour, trying one more time to capture my interest.

  Instead, a familiar voice speaks behind me.

  “Dance with me?”

  My heart drops as I spin around. Professor Barclay stands there, in the flesh, his hand outstretched for me to take.

  If I stand, I’m not conscious of it. If I let him guide me out onto the dance floor, it’s only because I’m too stunned to do it myself.

  I focus on the details to keep from becoming too overwhelmed: the perfect way he’s styled his hair, special and fancy for the occasion; the subtle worry he carries on his brow, as if this isn’t easy for him either; the truth so perfectly visible in his clear blue eyes I’m surprised I didn’t see it there before now.

  He takes me to one corner of the dance floor and wraps his sturdy arms around me as the familiar opening string instruments lead into Ella James’ low, angelic voice in “At Last”. I glide my hands up until I can link them around his neck.

  “Life is like a song,” Ella tells us as Professor Barclay tugs me even closer, hip to hip as we sway gently. My throat squeezes tight as I try to come to grips with the fact that he’s here, holding me.

  “Don’t cry,” he tells me, taking one hand off my hip so he can reach up to cradle my face and swipe the tears away with his thumb.

  “I’m not,” I promise, though the evidence is damning.

  “Emelia.”

  “You came all the way here.” My eyebrows scrunch as realization dawns. “How? How did you know where to find me?”

  He has the audacity to blush as if he wasn’t already the most charming man on earth. “I was stumped at first, but in your HR file, you listed Sonya as your emergency contact. I had my assistant call her to ask about the wedding you were attending this weekend.” He smiles. “It was convenient, obviously, that she was the one getting married. The rest…worked itself out.”

  I laugh at the simplicity of his fairly momentous grand gesture.

  “I’m so happy you’re here.”

  “Because otherwise you’d be alone on the dance floor?” he quips, trying to get me to smile.

  “I’ll have you know, I wouldn’t have been all that lonely. I promised a dance to Sonya’s grandfather.”

  He smiles. “I’m sure he’ll come try to collect you at any moment.” His expression suddenly turns serious, even as he continues to tease me. “But I don’t think I can let you go.”

  The heady look he gives me is enough to melt any cynic’s heart.

  “Prof—”

  He squeezes my hip in protest.

  “Jonathan,” I amend.

  “Say it again.”

  I can’t help but smile.

  “Jonathan,” I repeat, almost crooning this time, laying it on thick to make him laugh.

  With that bit of confidence under my belt, I gift him my honesty. “The truth is, I wanted you to come, but I was too scared to invite you. When I looked up and saw you across the room…it’s the happiest I’ve felt in a long time.”

  It’s as bold as I’ve ever been with him. For the last few weeks, I’ve been the one putting up road blocks between us, but he’s here, which means maybe there’s no sense in running anymore.

  “I said I wouldn’t force this,” he tells me, “but I feel like I have no choice. There’s no way to avoid me putting my heart on the line. I would have regretted not coming after you. I have to make my feelings known, and if after, you think you’d still be happier with someone else—”

  “No,” I say quickly, suddenly needing him to know that.

  A beat of silence passes, a moment where our eyes stay locked and my hope for our future hangs on a precipice.

  “I’m in love with you.”

  He drops the revelation on me like they’re not the five most important words I’ve ever heard.

  Love.

  Ella would be proud.

  I open my mouth, prepared to respond, but then the DJ speaks into the microphone. “Let’s hear it for all the couples on the dance floor! They’ve got the moves, don’t they? Show us what you’ve got out there!”

  His encouragement elicits a round of whoops and hollers, and Jonathan delivers with a mischievous smile, taking my hand and gently pushing me out with one hand before twirling me back in with a quick spin and wrapping me up in his arms.

  Just as the song is ending, I hear my name shouted and turn to see Sonya rushing over to me in her white gown.

  Only now does it dawn on me that, this whole time, she knew Jonathan was going to show up here at her wedding, and she never once hinted at it to me. I’m not mad; I’m impressed.

  “I see you found your date,” she says with a wink.

  I play my part perfectly. “Sonya, you remember Jonathan.”

  “Nice to see you again,” he tells her.

  She blushes when she meets his eyes (can’t say I blame her), and then she nods and smiles. “I’m so happy you could make it. I wish I could have seen Emelia’s face when she realized you came here to surprise her.”

  “I actually first saw him during my maid of honor speech,” I admit.

  Her jaw drops. “You’re kidding! Talk about timing. Jonathan, you have to come meet Wesley!”

  Jonathan looks at me, and I nod. From that moment on, we’re at the mercy of the bride.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Emelia

  * * *

  We don’t talk on the elevator ride up to Jonathan’s suite later that night, but he keeps me close. His hand has a lazy claim on my waist, keeping me pressed against him as other guests step on and off the elevator. When we arrive on the top floor, he leads the way down the hall. After a swipe of his key card, he pushes the door open and holds it ajar for me, but when it closes with a heavy thud, he leaves me standing in the vestibule of the large room as he walks over to the mini bar.

  I’m not sure how the dynamics of our relationship will change as we grow closer. I wonder if we’ll always want the same things, if we’ll always fit together the way we do now. The simple fact that I’ve started to call him Jonathan and not Professor Barclay is significant in itself, but while we’re becoming equals everywhere else, I’m not sure the same rules will apply in every circumstance.

  His suite is twice the size of the room I’ve been staying in—plush, luxurious, a notch above. Housekeeping must have come for turndown service because a lamp near the bed is lit, along with a floor lamp in the far corner. It’s enough light that we don’t need to bother turning on anything else, but it’s still moody, tempting. I set my clutch down on a console by the door and watch as Jonathan fixes himself a drink. I wait, but he doesn’t offer me one. Though he’s been nothing but a courteous gentleman all night, now he’s not. Now he stirs his drink slowly, unbothered by the fact that I’m waiting for him to finish. He turns slowly and watches me as he takes his first sip. He doesn’t like it. He adds more seltzer, stirs it again.

  I stay positioned near the door, playing the same game he is.

  He takes another sip then holds the thick cut crystal glass near his hip. When he speaks, I’m captivated.

  “Why don’t you come in?” he says, almost mockingly.

  “You didn’t invite me to,” I say quietly.

  He nods with approval, a certain clever mischief playing in his expression.

  “The thing about you, Emelia, is that I don’t have to tie you up or pin you down to ensure you comply. You’re inclined to do exactly as I say, and more than merely abiding me, you do it because you need it as much as I do. You get such pleasure out of being my pet. Undress for me.”

  Shock must color my expression, but he doesn’t look at me to see what I think of his assessment or his command. He walks unhurriedly to a lounge chair in the corner of the room, the darkest spot in the suite. He’s not nearly as lit as I’d like him to be. I have no way to discern the nuances of his expression, no way to determine if he’s annoyed or pleased that I’m still standing here getting my bearings.

  I’m aware of his request and the fact that he hasn’t issued it a second time.

  He seems content to sit there like a devil in black, reposed with his drink in hand.

  I swallow past the lump in my throat and take a step forward on shaky legs.

  My dress is floor-length and heavy, and thanks to the zipper that sits in the middle of my back, I was only able to get it on with the help of another bridesmaid. I walk over to Jonathan and turn, giving him my back so he knows what I need him to do. He leans forward and carefully tugs the tiny zipper down until it hits the base of my spine. The soft fabric splits apart as he sits back to let me know I’ll have to finish the rest on my own.

  I turn around to face him, moving far enough away that he couldn’t reach out and touch me if he tried. I feel off limits, a prized possession set high up on a shelf, to be admired but never touched.

  His eyes smolder as I push the thin straps of my dress off one shoulder and then the other. I’ve undressed like this a million times, and yet it feels new, like I’ve never felt fabric slip over my skin. Goose bumps bloom down my arms as the dress falls off me and pools at my hips. Jonathan takes another sip of his drink, finishing it off, and then he drops the glass onto the table beside him, forgetting about it in lieu of pinning his full attention on me.

  I shimmy the garment down off my hips and let it fall the rest of the way to gather on the floor at my feet. I’m left in my panties, strapless bra, and heels.

  I have no doubt he enjoys the effect my shoes have on my legs, but I still bend down and undo the straps, stepping out of them with a quiet sigh of relief. I feel better on my bare feet, smaller, yes, but no less sexy.

  When I’m done, I wait for him to continue.

  What should I do next?

  A long moment passes while I wait with bated breath, but Jonathan merely sits there with all the patience in the world. Then I understand suddenly that I’m not done. I haven’t finished doing what he told me to do.

  Undress for me.

  I wet my lips, stalling. Then, trying to hide my trembling hands, I reach back and unclip my bra. It sticks in place for a moment, and then it slips down and lands on top of my crumpled dress. Standing before him in nothing but a pair of panties, I feel delicate and exposed, raw and cut open.

  I’m conscious of every movement, my ribs rising and falling with every anxious breath.

  Jonathan rubs his lower lip then leans forward.

  “Come over here.”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, I step over my dress and bra and heels, making my way to him quickly, relieved when he takes hold of my hips and pulls me down onto his lap. The cool fabric of his tuxedo makes me shiver. We’re a study in contrast: clothed and unclothed, confident and nervous. His hands slip up and cover my naked skin, gliding higher until he has a grip on the back of my neck.

  “My little Emelia. Your speech was beautiful tonight,” he says, complimenting me. “You were beautiful tonight.”

  I float with the gift of his praise, leaning forward to steal a quick kiss.

  He allows it for a moment and then he pulls me back, separating us just enough that I’m cold in the hotel suite, and he must register it. The chill in the air is evidenced all across my body, but he doesn’t move to bring me closer or wrap me in his arms.

  I’m suffering in this small way, and he likes it, which makes me like it in return. It’s confusing how this all works, how intrinsically we’re tied together. His pleasure is my pleasure, his hurt is my hurt. It never worked that way in my past relationships, and the significance of it, while thrilling, is also terrifying, which is why it’s taken me so long to surrender to this, to open myself up to the potential for real hurt.

  “I trust you,” I tell him, needing him to know.

  Trust is as important to me as love. Trust is not a surface feeling, not something you get to share with strangers. The absence of family in my life means the circle of people I hold dear is extremely small. In fact, I’m not sure there’s anyone outside of Sonya, and because of that, I’ve had so few people I could rely on. It’s always felt like me against the world, but now I sit on Jonathan’s lap, laid bare before him, and it feels like I’m resting on bedrock. Though I may shift and falter, he’ll still be there beneath me. Always.

  He finally uses his grip on my neck to bring me forward for another kiss, and this time it’s not short. This time, he strings one into another, until our mouths know just what to do, until it seems as easy as breathing. We grow more impatient. Hands rove. His warm palm covers my breast and my fingers twine through his hair.

  It’s unfair to have him hidden beneath the barrier of his tuxedo. I groan in annoyance, and he chuckles against my lips.

  I don’t care that I hear ripping seams as I free him of his tie. His jacket goes next, and at least this time, he aids me, yanking his arms out of it and tossing it away. He can barely keep up with me as I work on the buttons on his shirt. Soon his expanse of toned, tan skin is a gift I accept greedily. My hands glide across his chest, pushing his shirt off his shoulders as I kiss my way down his sternum, across his pecs, back up to his collarbone. I want to draw upon his warmth, become a part of him. I want unfettered access tonight and every night hereafter.

  “Emelia,” he says with a soft chuckle that morphs into a deep groan as I shift on his lap.

  The absurdity of us living so long without each other turns this moment into a frenzy. What was I doing sleeping alone in my apartment? Why did I resist the idea of us for so long?

  Make love to me. Make love to me. Make love to me. The initial chant is born in my head, but I give life to it, begging him until he’s forced to cup my cheeks and tilt my head back and look me square in the eyes.

  “Tell me you love me,” he insists.

  “I love you.”

  The words slip from my mouth like they’ve waited there my whole life.

  “Again,” he says haughtily.

  “I love you,” I say, more emphatically this time, exasperated even. Don’t you see it? Can’t you feel it?

  My spark lights his. What impatience I felt a moment ago he matches now, kiss for kiss, touch for touch. His hand slips into my panties, and I rise up on my knees to let him take more, feel more. Nothing will sate me; nothing is enough. His pants come down, and we’re only separated by cotton and silk as I sit back down on top of him and move my hips, trying to ease our suffering.