Ten Years Later.... Marie FerrarellaЧитать онлайн книгу.
now. The blame rested squarely on his own shoulders. He’d been so desperate to do anything to please his infirm mother, he’d made the mistake of saying as much—and this, this, was the only thing she asked of him. To attend his high school reunion—and then come home and tell her all about it in the morning.
Except that there wasn’t all that much to tell, he thought, slowly looking around and taking in the various little cliques gathered together throughout the large room.
Apparently the “mean kids” were now “mean adults,” and the “nice kids” were still their targets, even though they were now, for the most part, “nice adults.”
And, he noted, the ones who went on to make something of themselves and become successful had skipped the reunion entirely.
Just as he should have done.
Just as he had intended on doing until he’d been informed of his mother’s stroke.
Okay, so he was here now because he’d promised his mother he would attend. However, he hadn’t told her how long he’d be staying, so the duration of this Chinese water torture was strictly up to him.
Sebastian glanced at his watch. Nine o’clock. As good a time as any to declare that his stint in hell was officially over.
Draining the last bit of punch from the glass he’d been holding on to for the past hour—at least the food and drink had been excellent—Sebastian put the empty glass down on one of the side tables.
Time for a swift exit.
He looked neither to the left nor to the right, afraid that if he accidentally made eye contact with anyone he might be forced to spend an extra few minutes engaged in stilted, polite conversation with a person he would only pretend to remember.
It was exactly because he was avoiding making any sort of possible eye contact that he didn’t see her.
Not until they had collided.
At that point, they were just two bodies with definite goals in mind and gaits that resembled slightly disoriented gazelles attempting to flee their unwanted location.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Brianna automatically apologized, stepping back and trying to collect herself. She felt slightly flustered, but did her best not to show it.
“No, it was totally my fault,” Sebastian said, annoyed with himself for being so preoccupied that he’d been oblivious of where he was going.
Mercifully, at least there were no small, half-filled glasses of red punch to christen the unplanned collision. He really didn’t want to remain here one more moment than he already had. So far, he hadn’t really run into anyone he knew and for simplicity’s sake, and the sake of a clean getaway, he wanted to keep it that way.
Drawing back, he reached out to steady the woman he’d nearly sent sprawling. He caught her by her slender shoulders. The next moment, his vision clearing, enabling him to actually focus on the face of the woman before him, he dropped his hands from her shoulders, stunned.
At the same time, Sebastian’s jaw dropped.
The one person he hadn’t wanted to run into at the reunion was standing less than five inches away from him.
Looking far more radiant than he ever remembered her looking.
Maybe he was wrong.
Maybe it wasn’t her.
“Bree?” He cleared his throat and this time managed to say her full name. It came out in the form of a question. “Brianna?”
And even as he said her name, he tried to convince himself that he was mistaken. That he had just bumped into someone who merely reminded him of the girl he’d left behind.
The girl who had, in effect, emotionally stranded him, leaving him adrift.
Brianna could feel her stomach sinking—and fervently wished that the rest of her could go, too. Straight down through a hole in the ground.
But the floor remained solid even as her stomach twisted into a knot, making it hard for her even to breathe.
Her chin shot up as she squared her shoulders, looking for all the world like a soldier prepared to face certain death.
“Sebastian?”
The way Brianna said his name had always made him smile. Half lecture, half prayer. That much, he thought, hadn’t changed.
But everything else had, he silently stressed. He’d gone on to make a life for himself abroad. A very good life.
If it, coincidentally, was also a solitary life, well, that had been his choice, right? Had he stayed behind or at least waited for her, instead of beginning to cut ties practically from the start, maybe life would have turned out differently.
But there was no way of really knowing just how things would have gone, and besides, he had no real regrets. He didn’t allow himself to have any. He’d chosen to leave Bedford and grow, rather than to remain here and stagnate.
“You look good,” he heard himself saying to her.
God, talk about inane lines. But his mind had gone blank. Either that, or abruptly missing in action.
But she did look good, he had to admit. Maybe even too good. He didn’t remember her figure being quite this curvy. And he was in a position to know. The last day they had been together, he’d shared the last dance at the prom with her. It had been a slow number and he’d held her to him for what had felt like an eternity.
Maybe you would have held her for far longer if you had actually remained in Bedford.
He blocked out the voice.
“You, too,” Brianna was saying.
Her mouth felt dry, as if it was incapable of sustaining or uttering a single word without her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth.
She cleared her throat, searching for a graceful way to end this awkward moment. A moment that shouldn’t have been awkward at all.
Sebastian had been her first love, and her first lover.
Her pulse was racing. That couldn’t be good, she thought.
“Were you just leaving?” Brianna finally managed to ask. When at a loss for words, go with the truth, she told herself.
“No.” The denial was purely automatic. Relenting just a little, he murmured, “Maybe.” But that was obviously a lie. So he finally admitted, “Yes.”
The fluctuating answer amused her a little. “I thought multiple choices were only for exams. Am I supposed to pick an answer from the above three?” she asked him.
Sebastian shook his head. He needed to go before he made a complete fool of himself.
“I was leaving,” he confirmed, nodding toward the door behind her. “For some reason, my attending this reunion seemed to mean a great deal to my mother, so I told her that I would go. But I’m really not comfortable here.” He looked around at the sea of mostly unfamiliar faces. “Being here kind of feels like putting on a sweater that used to fit but doesn’t anymore.”
“Because you’ve outgrown it.”
It wasn’t a question. She knew exactly what he was saying, because he’d described exactly the way she felt about attending this reunion.
Rather than nostalgia, what she’d heard in the various conversations she’d either taken in or overheard was the longing of former gridiron stars and ex-cheerleaders talking about the past, the scene of their glory days. For most it had been downhill after that. Hearing them talk just made her sad.
“My father made me come,” she admitted.
“Your father,” he echoed. That was right—he remembered his mother saying something about the