Page 179 of Face Off

By the time I returned to the bedroom wrapped in a towel, I had twenty minutes to make myself presentable enough that Bliss wouldn’t send Cade upstairs with a tranquilizer dart.

The yellow Maid of Honor One tank fit close through my waist and chest, and I paired it with high-waisted black slacks that hugged my hips before falling wide over strappy black heels. Gold bracelets, layered necklaces, and a few rings made the ridiculous wedding shirt look intentional. I left my hair in soft blonde waves, pinned one side away from my face, sharpened my eyes with dark liner and warm gold shadow, then chose a deeper nude lipstick.

Fancy had always been my superhuman cape.

The difference now was that I didn’t need it to hide inside.

Lance could look at the curves filling the yellow shirt, the lightened hair he never approved of, the makeup, heels, jewelry, and every other choice I made without asking permission. He could decide I had become every disappointment he once warned me against becoming.

He no longer got a vote.

Tonight, I would stand in the same room with him as the woman I had built after leaving his control. If Ryan touched me, I wouldn’t move. If Lance looked at us with the same contempt he carried into the study, he could keep looking.

The anxiety was already there. I could feel it beneath my ribs, familiar enough that I knew its shape.

Fear could come with me.

It didn’t get to drive.

I left the journal open on the bed and headed downstairs.

The ballroom and adjoining terrace had filled by the time I arrived. Evening air moved through the open doors beneath music and overlapping conversations, and servers navigated clusters of relatives, teammates, coaches, and friends carrying champagne and small plates.

I heard Bliss before I saw her. Her laugh rose near the entrance, followed by Cade telling someone Daniel Bennett would not be permitted near the grills without adult supervision. Rider and Temple appeared to be arguing about his sleeves while Briggs supported Temple with the confidence of a man who clearly had no idea what she had said.

I searched for Ryan.

Apparently, my body still did that before consulting me.

Easton and Briggs stood near the bar in outfits that made them look like Easter had invaded a country club. Rider was several feet away in purple and stripes, lending unfortunate credibility to whatever Beach Boys accusation had apparently followed them downstairs.

Ryan wasn’t with them.

His drink was.

I followed the direction the guys kept pretending not to watch and found a smaller patio at the far side of the ballroom. The door hadn’t closed completely, and I had nearly reached it when Ryan’s voice slipped through the narrow opening.

“I still do.”

I stopped.

Three words.

Nothing before them. Nothing after.

Just Ryan’s voice saying something with enough quiet certainty that my heart slammed hard against my ribs.

I moved closer without meaning to.

Through the opening, I saw my mother standing several feet from him with tears covering her face. Ryan wore faded jeans, white Adidas, his Inferno hat backward, and the powder-blue shirt Bliss had apparently managed to wrestle onto his body.

He looked exactly like himself underneath something ridiculous.

My mother stepped toward him and stopped. “May I?”

Ryan watched her for a second before nodding.

She wrapped her arms around him.