I wished I had not said anything. Stayed at Weston’s table, drinking pale pink cocktails and laughing at jokes from men who did not make me feel foolish for hoping.
“In the car,” I whispered.
“Sienna.”
“You kissed me.”
“I was drunk.”
The whole back seat, the heat of his hands, the way I had felt chosen for the first time in years.
I was drunk.
Of course Jamison kissed women when he was drunk. He probably kissed women without thinking.
Maybe he remembered and wished I had forgotten.
My cheeks burned.
“I know,” I said quickly. “I know you were.”
His mouth tightened. “Then don’t make it into something it wasn’t.”
The truth, delivered in Jamison’s usual brutal way.
I had taken one drunk kiss from a man who had spent three years showing me exactly how little he wanted me and turned it into a reason to hope.
My eyes stung.
I looked down at his whiskey glass because it was easier than looking at his face.
“I’m sorry,” I said, then remembered he hated that too. “I mean… I understand.”
I could feel everyone around us holding still. That made it worse. I had not only misunderstood the kiss. I had misunderstood it publicly, in front of his family, at a harbour event where half of Harlan already knew how to watch women fall apart politely.
I forced a smile.
“I didn’t mean to make it uncomfortable.”
“That seems to be a habit.” Jamison’s expression turned unreadable.
The tears came so fast I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop them.
Emmie’s hand touched my arm. “Sienna—”
“It’s fine,” I said brightly. I smiled anyway because stopping would be worse. “I’ll go sit where I’m meant to.”
Jamison’s eyes sharpened, but he said nothing.
I stepped back.
“Enjoy the evening,” I said to no one in particular.
I walked away…my face felt too hot. The silk dress suddenly seemed too fitted, obviously chosen by another Crow while the man I had thought might want me there could barely tolerate a question.
The worst part was the kiss.
That was what I understood as I crossed the terrace.