Ford

All eyes are on the bride and groom … except mine.

I can’t take mine off of her. My Absinthe. My intoxicating addiction.

It was only supposed to be sex, but here I am two days later, craving her. Missing her. She’s in every face I see, every thought that occupies my one-track mind, her breathy sighs playing like a loop in my ear.

I so badly wanted to fuel the fire, keep the raging torch burning just as bright as it had been all those years. It was easy to resent her from afar than to accept how empty the last five years have been without her in them.

After the boathouse Thursday night, she left Aunt Cecily’s and went back to the hotel. I didn’t see her once yesterday, and I thought maybe she’d left Sag Harbor altogether. But then Mason walked into the church fifteen minutes before the wedding earlier today, my beautiful Halston draped on his arm in a pale pink dress that hugged her curves, her dark hair swept into a sophisticated bun at her crown.

Almost immediately she saw me.

And just as fast as it happened, she looked away.

I wasn’t able to usher her to her seat; the groom’s second cousin got to her first, but I intend to find her at the reception, to steal her away and find a quiet place to go so we can sort this out, make sense of what remains.

Bristol and Devin kiss, the priest introducing them as “Mr. and Mrs. Hotchkiss” as music begins to play from the organ pipes up front. The two of them dash down the white satin aisle, and I rise, heading to the front to begin dismissing rows.

When I get to Halston’s, she still refuses to meet my penetrating stare, so when she passes, I brush my fingers against her hand.

Our eyes meet for a single unbroken moment before Mason takes her hand and pulls her away. She disappears into the crowd a moment later, and I lose her all over again.

But I’m getting her back tonight.

* * *

“Have you seen Mason’s date?” I ask Nicolette a couple of hours later. The reception venue is packed, most people either seated at their assigned tables or mingling at the bar. All I’ve done since we arrived is search for the girl in the pink dress with the sad green eyes.

But she’s not here.

“That’s a weird question.” Nic wrinkles her nose.

I don’t have time to explain.

“I wanted to ask her a question,” I say. It’s the truth. I want to ask her a lot of questions.

“About what?”

I exhale. “I need to find her. I’ll be back.”

She rests her cheek against her fist, studying me. “You’ve been acting so freaking weird ever since we got here.”

Waving her off, I grab my tumbler of Scotch, take a healthy drink, and leave the table.

Circling the room, I check all forty-two tables, the span of the open bar, the backstage area where the wedding band preps, as well as the hall by the restrooms.

She’s nowhere to be found.

The air in the reception hall is thick and stale, a mix of perfumes and colognes and kitchen fumes. Heading outside so I can fucking breathe, I spot Mason walking toward the building, his chauffeured Escalade driving off.

“What’s that about?” I keep my cool, pointing to the SUV as it grows smaller in the distance. “You lose your date?”

Mason’s hands are in his pockets and he shrugs as if he doesn’t care. “Said she didn’t feel well. Wanted to go back to the hotel. Couldn’t even stay past cocktail hour. Fucking women, right?”

Dragging my palm across my mouth, I suck in a deep breath and let it go. So she doesn’t want to talk to me tonight. That’s fine. I’ll give her space. But tomorrow at brunch, all bets are off. I’ll corner her—I’ll throw her over my shoulder caveman style if that’s what it’s going to take, but I will talk to her.