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Although the scenic stretch of moonlit highway between Laguna Beach and Los Angeles is forever etched in my mind, it still captures my attention every time I drive past it. The exhilaration I feel when I see the crashing surf or the transcendent vision of the jagged shoreline is something I’ll never get tired of. It’s easy to lose yourself in its beauty—in fact, the sight helps to calm my racing nerves. And the panoramic ocean view off to my right lit by streetlights overhead always seems to put things in perspective for me.
When I left the house I was still trying to figure out exactly what I was going to say to S’belle when I saw her. But now looking out to the distance, I know I’ll do whatever it takes to make her understand I’m looking past tomorrow.
Sequestered behind iron gates, the SLS Hotel is perched on a secluded coastal bluff. The guard waves me forward with a pass of my ID. My car makes the mountainous climb and when I reach the top I valet it and head to the sixth floor. S’belle managed to score exclusive access not only to the rooftop pool but also the hotel’s restaurant conveniently located on the rooftop. The elevator dings and my palms start to sweat. When I exit the doors the wedding party is in full swing. Looking around, I notice right away what S’belle had been so excited about—the place looks magical. The pools have been turned into usable space. With pieces of Plexiglas covering them and lights shimmering from beneath them, one pool has been turned into a dance floor and the other a stage for the band.
I take deep calming breaths and search the space for her. My eyes land on the restroom and I decide to slip inside there first. What the hell am I so nervous for? I splash cold water on my face and when I look up to straighten my tie, I’m staring into the reflection of the face of the man I haven’t seen in over a year. The man who for far too long I thought stole my girl from me. The same man Dahlia chose to marry. And up until today I didn’t realize she must love him in a very different way than she ever loved me. And right now, strangely enough, I’m thankful for that.
River Wilde’s green eyes narrow on me as he takes another step inside. His resemblance to Bell is unbelievable. Their facial features, skin tone, and eye color are so much alike it’s uncanny. I’ve recognized it before, but right now I see it clearer than day.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. His tone is even and controlled.
Trying not to let my nerves rattle me and not wanting to upset anyone, I look at him and say without pretense, “I came to talk to your sister.”
His bow tie is undone and hangs to either side of his collar. His eyes look slightly glassy as though he might have had a few drinks. His piercing gaze makes me feel we are in some kind of silent stare-down. But I don’t avert my eyes. Instead I allow him to study me. I get the feeling he’s trying to gauge my intentions. I’m okay with that. Then I notice his fingers tighten into fists and think, Fuck, I’m not here to fight with him.
Finally he says something. “Did you tell her you were coming?”
“No.” I’m trying not to let his attitude get to me.
“Then I think you should leave.”
“I need to talk to her.” I’m not sure what she told him, if anything, about what happened, but I don’t like the impression I’m getting from the way he’s glaring at me. Silence hangs between us for a few long moments.
His face is like stone. “If you hurt my sister—”
I don’t give him a chance to finish, because the words leave my mouth without a thought. “I would never hurt her. I love her.”
My knees start to shake and I grab the counter to steady myself as it occurs to me that I need her in my life because I love her in a way I’ve never loved anyone. The part of me that I thought died a long time ago didn’t. I just couldn’t find it.
That’s how I feel about her. She’s my missing piece—my Rosebud.
Those are the emotions I’ve been feeling that I haven’t been able to figure out. Fuck me. It’s not the same kind of love I felt for Dahlia. What I feel for S’belle is somehow different—deeper, more consuming maybe. I don’t know, but I do know Noel was right. It’s not something any man wants to think about. Comparing the love for one woman to another seems wrong.
I shove all these thoughts aside, knowing all that matters is making sure she’s in my life, because without her I don’t feel whole.
The shock on his face has to mirror mine.
“I’m going to find your sister now,” I tell him in a surprisingly even tone. Then I walk past him and out of the room without a second glance.
Ivy plants are scattered through the room, and twinkling lights are strung beside paper lanterns. Banners reading HAPPY NEW YEAR and CONGRATULATIONS, XANDER AND IVY are wrapped around the chairs. Champagne bottles, party hats, and noise blowers decorate the tables along with white candles of all shapes and sizes. But what I notice most is the sheer amount of gold and silver confetti that dusts the floor and all of the wedding guests. It looks as though they might have celebrated midnight a little early.
When I drag my eyes over to the couples dancing on the clear platform over the pool that makes them look suspended in air, I spot her parents first. Charlotte has her arms around her husband but gives me a wave and Jack nods hello. My breath hitches when my eyes dart to a couple dancing beside them. I immediately spot the mass of red curls tumbling down her back.
Time stands still as I stand frozen in the glow from the dance floor beneath me. She’s all I can see as I drink her in. A vision of beauty, she’s wearing a long silver satin dress that skims her body to perfection. Her back is bare and her skin looks soft and smooth. As my eyes drop, so does my heart. Someone else’s hands are wrapped around her waist, resting just above her ass. I nearly jump out of my skin when I see his fingertips caress the dip at the bottom of her spine.
As if she senses me, she turns in my direction. Her green eyes flash in surprise, but her gaze catches mine and holds it. In that moment I see what I’ve somehow known but not understood. I remember thinking so long ago that she looked at me as if she got me, understood who I am. I’ve thought that since the first time I laid eyes on her. But it’s not until right now that I really understood it. It has to be because she loves me as I love her.
The guy with his arms around her is tall, with dirty blond hair and a spray of freckles across his nose. He’s wearing a white T-shirt with a screen-printed bow tie on it, black scuffed boots, and a tux with his jacket unbuttoned. His skinny downtown biker look makes my blood boil. Has she already moved on? I take a few slow breaths, trying to calm the jealousy erupting within me.
The music changes from a slow ballad to an upbeat tempo and more people rush the dance floor. I keep my eyes pinned to her, and when I’m sure I can handle whatever the situation brings, I slowly make my way toward her. Thank f**k she pulls away from the guy who still hasn’t removed his fingers from her back even with the start of a new song. She pops up on her toes and whispers something to him. He nods and finally drops his hands.
She moves off to one side of the dance floor. I can’t help staring and begin to move closer and her eyes widen as she watches my every step. People cross the space between us, but I don’t notice their faces; I only see her. She runs her hands down her arms as though she’s cold. I increase my stride to be by her side faster. But once I’m standing in front of her, my words catch and stick in my throat.
A mix of emotions crosses her face, but she seems to settle on confusion. My mind, on the other hand, is still spinning with what to say, how to say it. Shit, Casanova I’m not.
She’s the first to speak. “What are you doing here?” A tear leaks from her eye and flows down her cheek. Her voice doesn’t sound accusing or angry; it’s soft as though she’s genuinely surprised to see me.
My hand goes to her face and I gently wipe the tears away. “You invited me.” I give her a slight smile, trying to make light of the situation, make light of the fact that I haven’t called her in a week, that I’m about six hours late, that I didn’t pick her up—that I’m an ass**le.
“I can’t do this,” she says, and rushes away.
When I follow her exit with my eyes, I also notice we’ve got the attention of her mother, stepfather, brother, and Dahlia. Her mother starts toward the door, but I step in front of her and say, “Please let me.”
Jack takes her hand.
“Let me make this right.”
Charlotte steps aside and with all eyes on me I head toward the closed door of the bathroom. My stomach is in knots as I lightly tap on it.
The door cracks open.
“What are you doing?” I ask her as I take a step in and she takes a step back. It’s a small bathroom just like the men’s—two stalls, one sink, and a mirror.
“Why are you here?” she asks again, dropping her eyes.
I move closer still. My pulse pounds so fast I can hear it in my ears. “I wanted to see you. I missed you.”
“Why? I was such a bitch. I don’t know what came over me. I feel ridiculous about the way I acted. Pushing you for more that wasn’t there.”
I lift her chin toward me. “S’belle, look at me.”
I continue speaking once she raises her eyes to me.
“You were not a bitch. And there’s more. I was the dumb ass who didn’t understand what you needed because I couldn’t see what I needed. I let you walk out because of it. But I’ve had time to think about it and I know what I want.”
Her eyes sharpen. “What?”
“You. I came here for you.” Finally I manage to say something that makes sense. Sweat coats my brow and I draw my hand back to loosen my tie because I feel as if I’m suffocating. I’m so f**king nervous. She’s not saying anything. Maybe I’m too late?
“What do you mean?” She steps closer to me. Her warm breath whispers across my skin. The heat from just that slight contact makes my body buzz.
I press my forehead to hers. “Can we talk?”
She nods but quickly pulls away. Her eyes flash over my face and I’m certain that what she thinks she sees isn’t how I feel. This has to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I’ve been so closed off in my own life I haven’t really allowed anyone in. She’s the closest I’ve come, but now I know it wasn’t enough. Obviously it wasn’t.
I look around at the small space. “Somewhere that isn’t the women’s bathroom?”
Her slight smile gives me a little bit of hope, but it gives way to a swallow, as if she’s trying to hold back the tears. I try to pull her to me, but she pushes me back. It takes all of my willpower not to struggle with her. I want to comfort her, just hold her. But I’m not sure how she’ll react if I push. I know my chances are running out; they should have been up already. I want to do this right, so I opt to guide her out of here. My hand finds the dip in her back and with just that slight touch I’m electrified. Every inch of her seems to draw me in. She fills me—my body, my mind, my soul, and my heart.
I open the door and try hard to avoid the stares of her family huddled together on the edge of the dance floor. I whisper in her ear, “We have an audience.”
She shakes her head. “Give me a minute. I’ll meet you at the elevator.”
With my hands in the pockets of my suit pants, I rock back on my heels and wait for her. She’s just a few feet away with her family gathered around her. My breath comes in stuttered pants until I see her hug her mother and head toward me.
“I’m ready,” she says, her voice surprisingly much calmer.
I press the DOWN button at the only elevator servicing the rooftop. We enter along with two other couples. I stand behind her, and heat fills the large gap between us.
“You did a beautiful job planning the wedding,” one woman compliments Bell.