Page 60 of The Best I Never Had

“Thea,” she calls behind me, and I twirl back to her with embarrassing speed, ready to hear her apology and put everything right between us. There’s a flash of something that almost looks like betrayal—which makes no sense when she’s the one betraying me—and then her face hardens. “I can’t undo this dress myself.”

Oh, fuck her.

“Why don’t you call one of your reliable new family members to help you out,” I say before storming out.

I stalk down the hallway, fighting the urge to slam back into Addy’s room and throw out words I’d regret immediately. Staying here isn’t an option. I have to get out, go anywhere, do anything to avoid the temptation to cause more damage.

I head to the hotel lobby, stopping at the coffee bar to give my hands something to do, but my first sip of caffeine sets off the jitters. The need to keep moving bites at my heels, so I head up the path to the event space where the wedding will be held in just a few days. There has to be something there that can occupy me. A ridiculous centerpiece to make or handwritten welcome notes Addy wants in perfect cursive. I rip the door open, slamming into a hard body right over the threshold.

“Shit,” I holler as the coffee in my hands tumbles to the ground, the contents spilling all over the floor. “Shit, fuck, dammit!”

I rip my sweater over my head as I drop to the floor, using it to soak the coffee up before it ruins the pristine hardwood. I’ve never had wood floors, but I know enough to know you aren’t supposed to pour hot liquid all over them.

A figure squats down next to me, and a quick sideways glance tells me it’s Owen. He lays his hand over mine. “Stop, Thea.”

“I’m not going to ruin your family’s floor, too.”

He doesn’t ask me what else I ruined. Why ask, when it’s clear I ruin everything?

Owen pulls the sweater out of my hands and waves to someone, and a second later a cousin I recognize from the past few days jogs over. “Can you grab a mop for this, please?” Owen asks, such perfect politeness, easily maneuvering out of reach when I try to grab my sweater.

“Give that back,” I snarl. “I need to soak up the coffee before the floor’s ruined.”

He moves the sweater farther out of reach. “The only thing you’re ruining here is your sweater. The floor’s sealed. Lynne’s got it.”

He stands, grabbing my hand and pulling me up before towing me behind him.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask, the impatience and anger in my tone evident.

“To rinse out this sweater before it does get ruined.”

“Golden boy always has the answer.”

He looks over his shoulder with a lifted brow, but stays quiet. He’s so damn steady, his hand anchoring me even as my emotions roil, looking for an outlet.

Owen leads me into a full commercial kitchen off the ballroom. He turns on the water at one of the massive sinks, flicking his fingers under the stream until he deems it warm enough, then methodically rinses my sweater and hangs it up.

I spend the entire five-minute process prowling the kitchen like a tiger in a shitty zoo with way too much energy for the small cage I’ve been forced into.

He leans on the counter, drying his hands on a dishcloth. “What’s wrong?”

“Pretty sure that’s none of your goddamned business,” I reply with a sarcastic smile, and feel a twinge of regret when the corner of his mouth pulls tighter.

This is me at my worst. Mean and angry and unable to stop my own self-destruction. He thinks he wants me, but he doesn’t know me. This is the real Thea, and it’s the one that will scare him away for good. At least I’ll give Addy a clean break if no one in this family wants anything to do with me.

He runs his tongue over his teeth, nodding. “Does it become my business when you slam into me—still waiting on that apology, by the way—spill coffee all over the floor, and then strip in front of me?” I glance down, remembering then that I’d put nothing underneath the thin white tank top this morning, assuming my sweater would keep me covered.

“I’m so sorry for degrading your lovely family home with my near nakedness.”

He flicks the dishcloth over his shoulder and crosses his arms. “Never said I was complaining.”

I stop pacing, pinning him with a hard stare. “Why are you being so fucking nice to me?”

His head tilts to the side, his eyes soft. “Because you’re clearly upset.”

“I’m being a bitch.”

His lips twitch, but he wrangles them back into a straight line. “Your words, not mine.”