Page 9 of The Best I Never Had

“Thea?” The deep rumble of his voice sends goosebumps along my arms.

I turn toward the sound, finding the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen boring into me from a few feet away. Dark navy circles the iris, fading into a blue so clear it’s nearly silver. If I were closer, I’d see the crystal green ringing his pupils, like his creator couldn’t decide on an eye color and chose to give him all the best ones.

He’s still perfect. The type of perfect that makes me want to reach out and ruffle him, just to see how he’ll react. No one should be that perfect.

The suit clings to his broad shoulders, tapering down at his waist. His light brown hair is a bit tousled, like he ran out of time to do it. On anyone else, it would seem like an attempt at the too-cool-to-primp look, but on him I’d bet anything it’s genuine. He was probably helping the staff set up or clearing up some last-minute plans for the wedding, even though it isn’t his job.

My panic is reflected at me, and I back away on pure instinct. My legs hit a piece of furniture and the momentum has me tipping backward, landing in something that makes a wet, squishing sound.

The entire room gasps.

I close my eyes for a count of three before confirming what I already know. My ass is planted comfortably on the huge cake they made for the party.

I scramble off the table, the sound of cake chunks plopping to the floor punctuating each movement.

The room is silent, so much worse than if everyone started piling on questions, and my anxious brain decides it has to fill the silence, no matter what comes out.

“I guess dessert is out, unless some of you like eating ass.” My eyes fly wide at my words, a new form of panic gripping my throat as people across the room gasp again. Owen runs his hand back and forth over his mouth. “Oh my god. I can’t believe I just said that. And that. Why isn’t my brain working? Stop talking, Thea.”

A cackling sounds from the side of the room, and I turn to find Owen’s grandmother bent over in laughter. Some of the other partygoers join her, but I can’t laugh along when the walls feel like they’re falling in on me.

I should go to Addy, apologize for making a scene right after I got here, but I can’t look at her face right now. Can’t see the disappointment or frustration she’s bound to have, so I run. I don’t stop, rushing past the diners at their romantically set tables until I push out of the restaurant, gulping in air.

The bell on the door chimes a second later. I turn, expecting to find Addy, but am greeted by those eyes again.

“Hey, Thea,” Owen says, as calm and collected as ever, his eyes traveling down the line of my dress. A dress he bought me three years ago after I told him I didn’t have anything nice enough to wear to his cousin’s wedding. When I’d come out of the bathroom back then, his eyes had bugged out and warmth had bloomed through my limbs.

His gaze now is less admiring and more assessing, probably determining how thoroughly I’ve ruined a very expensive dress. I’d looked up the brand after I got home and choked on my spit when I saw what these dresses were going for. And I just planted it right in the welcome cake.

So much for not making a scene.

“How the fuck is this happening?” I ask, running both hands up into my hair, only to belatedly remember they’re covered in icing. I wince, pulling one blond curl in front of my face to see just how badly I’d destroyed my hair. It looks like I’m a high schooler who thought putting in blue streaks would make me cool and unique.

“What are you doing here?” Owen asks.

“What am I doing here? I’m here for my sister’s wedding! What are you doing here?”

“Brother’s,” he says with a laugh lacking in all humor. “What are the chances?”

Slim to none. But the universe has never given me good chances. Why would it start now?

“But your last name isn’t Hayes,” I say with a petulant stomp of my foot.

His brows pull together. “Yes, it is.”

“No, it isn’t!” I yell.

He crosses his thick arms over his chest. “I think I’d know my own last name, Thea.”

“Your last name is Ellis.”

He keeps his arms folded but rubs a hand over his brow. “The Ellises are my mom’s side of the family. They’re the ones who own the vineyard where Camila got married. I promise you my last name is, and always has been, Hayes.”

“I’ve never heard the name Hayes in my life.”

That’s probably a lie, but if I have, it never stuck, where the last name Ellis is burned in my mind. I pace the sidewalk, new patrons shooting me concerned glances. But of course they would. I’m covered in food and walking back and forth muttering “fuck” to myself on repeat.

“What do we do? I promised myself I wouldn’t mess up Addy’s wedding, and now every person in that room except for the most important one thinks we dated.”