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"Where in those texts did I say Hayden couldn't date you? Or that I disapprove?"
A little sound escapes me. Nowhere.
He focuses on Hayden, his expression still hard as stone. "The point of the texts was simple. I'm just letting him know what's coming his way if he slips up with you."
"Uh-uhm…" I falter, studying the hesitation on Hayden's face, the hope in his eyes, as he gapes at his friend. "I-I don't understand. So... you do approve?"
"Of course I do, Juliana. Hayden loves you."
Out of the corner of my eye, Hayden stumbles back, as if physically struck. And it's all I can do to just watch and stare, hand covering my mouth, words beyond me, as Jeremy approaches his best friend. His steps are hesitant at first, as if he anticipates receiving his own well-deserved verbal lashing, but then, in unison, they spring forward and embrace in a bear hug.
"I can't believe it. You... believe me?" His jaw drops, slightly agape, earning pats on his back, which are more like heavy thuds that rock his body.
"Yes, yes."
"What the hell, man?! Why'd you—"
"Oh, come on. You really thought I wouldn't give you a stare-down? What better way to make sure my point sticks?"
"What?! I think you took it far enough already!"
Another wave of thunderous back pats, mutual this time, as their laughter fills the air, harmonizing just like it did when we were kids.
"But Jeremy... I still don't understand. What did I do that convinced you I loved your sister?"
I smile, warmth tingling my toes.
"You should be asking what you didn't do."
"Huh?"
"Hayden, you haven't gone to a nightclub in two months."
I freeze, playing back those words, studying Hayden as he seemingly does the same, stiff like a board in my brother's arms. Is that right? The infamous playboy of my childhood, the heartbreaker of New York City, abdicated his title from the moment I set foot in his penthouse, beyond the conditions set forth in our agreement?
That can't be true.
Except, when Hayden looks over his shoulder, fixing those dreamy-blue eyes on me...
I know it is.
FORTY-SEVEN
JULIANA
"Hayden, I'm serious. You really don't have to paint that one. It belongs in the trash."
"What? Nonsense. This is your best mug yet."
I grimace, watching him swivel it on the stand, showcasing every one of its unintentional ridges and bumps. Clad in an apron that matches my own, Hayden sits on a stool, hunched over while cinching his eyebrows tightly in concentration, brushing dollops of paint across my lopsided creation. With his magnificent art studio as a backdrop, it's like Leonardo da Vinci traded his primed canvas for a slab of driftwood.
Slapping a chunk of clay in my pottery wheel, I ease the mound to the very center, praying it sticks this time. "That's what you said about the last one—and the one before that."
"Exactly. You're improving."
I shoot him a look. "Ohhh, am I now?"
"You are!" His front teeth sink into his lip, stopping its tremble.
