“Hand-holding is fine.”
“Arm around waist?”
“Fine.”
“Kissing?”
I nearly choked.
“Absolutely not.”
He lifted both hands.
“Professional boundaries. Understood.”
By the time we left the café, I felt strangely calm.
Saturday was supposed to be revenge.
I didn’t know it was about to become something far messier.
The afternoon of Mason’s wedding, I stood in front of my bedroom mirror wondering whether I had lost my mind.
I wore a deep emerald dress with an open back, simple gold earrings, and heels that were beautiful enough to justify the pain they would inevitably cause.
At exactly five thirty, my doorbell rang.
Julian stood outside in a black tuxedo.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he smiled.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“Your ex is going to have an extremely difficult evening.”
I laughed.
“That’s what I’m paying you for.”
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