Fuck.

“Are you serious?” I’m looking at Rose, and she doesn’t look like she’s kidding. Please let her be kidding.

She makes a face. “I asked you when I sent the email about the party. Thomas and I are having a smaller wedding, so we thought we’d do the best man and maid of honor speeches here.”

I shake my head. It’s coming back a little now. That email was months ago, and I went into avoidance mode at the thought of a party here in this house. God, I feel like an asshole. “I’m so sorry, Rose. I didn’t prepare anything.”

Rose smiles. “That’s okay. I think toasts are a little better when they’re not planned anyway. Just say nice things about me. You’ll be fine.”

“I will one-hundred percent not be fine. I will vomit. I will pass out. You can’t make me speak in front of all these people. Please.”

“You will be fine, and I’m not going to make you,” she says. “But it would mean a lot to me if you would.”

I groan. “You’re the worst.”

“And you love me,” she says, giving me a quick hug. Then she shoves a glass of champagne in my hand and takes another for herself. She taps a spoon against her champagne flute, and the light ringing sound brings the guests’ attention to her. “It’s time for the toasts!” Rose says, projecting so everyone can hear.

Then she steps aside and I’m in the spotlight staring out at a large crowd, bigger than any group I’ve ever spoken to. I clear my throat. “Hi. I’m Fiona, Rose’s sister. She told me about this toast a couple of months ago, and I forgot.” There are a few scattered chuckles. “So I am totally unprepared. But that’s pretty much par for the course for me.”

I keep looking back and forth at different people, because people are looking at me. “But Rose is never—”

Everything goes still when I spot him. Samuel. He’s standing in the back of the crowd and he’s staring right at me. God, if I thought he was hot as a teenager—and I did—he’s so much hotter now that he’s a man. What could have been described as lanky limbs have filled out, and he’s grown into his features. He’s got those intense blue eyes that all the Logan boys have, and for just a second, I forget the fact that it’s been eleven years. Looking at him, I’m transported back to my high school years and having the time of my life with him.

I realize that I’ve paused long enough that people are wondering if I’m crazy. “But Rose is never unprepared.” I finish my sentence.

“As long as I can remember, Rose has been rescuing me. Whatever scrape I managed to get myself into, she managed to get me out of.” I look over at Rose. “She still manages to do that. But since she’s always the one who’s been doing the rescuing, she never really had the same kind of support that I had. Until she met Thomas. Or should I say, she met him again.”

There’s laughter, and I glance back at Sam. He’s not laughing, but his eyes are unerringly focused on me. They’re burning into me, and I can’t tell if what’s behind them is anger or lust. Either one will burn me alive. I have to keep talking. “The Rose I know now, with Thomas, is who she was meant to be. She gets to let go and know that someone has her back. And I’m glad she found that at a time when I wasn’t able to give it to her.” Unexpected tears rise to my eyes, and I blink them away. Sam is still looking at me, but he looks troubled now. I look away. “I’m so happy for you both,” I say, nearly choking on the words. “Cheers to the happy couple.”

“Cheers,” everyone raises their glasses in response.

Rose gives me a hug. “See? It wasn’t that bad.”

“Not for you,” I say. “I’m really sorry I haven’t been there for you.”

“Stop.” She pulls away. “You’re here now. And you’re not going to beat yourself up at my engagement party, right?”

“Right,” I say, trying to laugh. But I feel hollow. This, seeing Sam…I wish I could be happier right now.

I need a few minutes to just be by myself, and I know Rose will be sad if I leave early, so I head to the bathroom. There’s a group of women waiting in the hall outside the bathroom, and I can’t stomach the thought of someone trying to talk to me about Rose or the toast. That’s fine. I know where another bathroom is. It’s nicer, and I doubt anyone’s in there. It’s upstairs.

My heart beats like a galloping horse as I walk up the stairs, and I have the paranoid sense that someone is going to come up behind me and ask me what I think I’m doing. But no one does.

The bathroom is deserted, and I take a few minutes just to breathe. It’s so much quieter up here, almost peaceful. Even if I don’t think I could ever be peaceful in this house. I can’t bear to go back downstairs yet, and so I walk around the upstairs of the house. It’s both so familiar and so foreign. I recognize art and furniture from eleven years ago, and I see new additions to the house, too. Before I know it, I’m standing in front of the door to Sam’s room. Or his old room. The door is open, and I feel drawn to it like a moth to a flame. It’s been updated since I last saw it. More adult furnishings and linens, and a distinct lack of posters on the wall. But it’s the same bed.

I walk inside. I can’t help it. I’m being pulled in, just like I always was. It’s the same bed where I had my first kiss. The same bed where Sam and I lost our virginity to each other. But this room, even though it still bears the stamp of my memories, feels empty. Sam doesn’t live here anymore.

“When I saw you come upstairs I thought I might find you here.”