Chapter 2
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Wait. Was he—talking to me?
Serena blinked, then immediately recalibrated. Her lower lip trembled as she clutched the mic tighter.
"Ezra... was that—was that directed at me?" She pressed a hand to her chest. "I'm sorry. I know I'm talking too much. I just wanted to say everything before... before I have to let go."
The crowd cooed. Several women dabbed their eyes.
I barely heard them.
My mind was racing.
There was no way he was talking to me. I hadn't said a word. I couldn't say a word.
It had to be Serena. Obviously. She was the one monologuing like this was Shakespeare in the Park.
But his eyes—just before he spoke—had been locked on mine.
I forced my attention back to the room and caught Serena drifting closer to Ezra, her fingers brushing his arm with practiced casualness.
"What we had doesn't need words," she whispered, loud enough for the front three rows to hear. "I'll carry it silently. For both of us."
"Oh, for the love of—" My inner voice was practically screaming. "You absolute psychopath! You're literally making up a love story AT MY WEDDING. In front of MY HUSBAND. And everyone's eating it up like discount Hallmark!"
Ezra's eyes snapped to mine again.
His jaw twitched.
I could've sworn his left eye flinched.
Then he turned—slowly, deliberately—to Serena.
"Miss Blackwell," he said, his voice like frost on steel, "you mentioned what 'we had.' I'm curious."
He tilted his head. "Would you care to explain to the room exactly what 'feelings' exist between us? Because I seem to have... missed them entirely."
Serena's smile cracked.
Her mouth opened and closed like a fish yanked from water.
I almost choked on my own suppressed glee.
"Oh my God. He actually said it. He actually—wait." I replayed his words in my head. Then my own thought from seconds ago: everyone's eating it up like discount Hallmark.
Right before I'd thought that, I'd also raged: You're literally making up a love story.
And Ezra had responded—by calling out the fictional love story.
Coincidence?
My eyes narrowed.
I stared directly at him and thought, very slowly and clearly: "If you can hear me right now—blink twice."
Ezra held my gaze.
He did not blink.
But the corner of his mouth tightened—like a man trying very hard not to react.
---
Wait. Was he—talking to me?
Serena blinked, then immediately recalibrated. Her lower lip trembled as she clutched the mic tighter.
"Ezra... was that—was that directed at me?" She pressed a hand to her chest. "I'm sorry. I know I'm talking too much. I just wanted to say everything before... before I have to let go."
The crowd cooed. Several women dabbed their eyes.
I barely heard them.
My mind was racing.
There was no way he was talking to me. I hadn't said a word. I couldn't say a word.
It had to be Serena. Obviously. She was the one monologuing like this was Shakespeare in the Park.
But his eyes—just before he spoke—had been locked on mine.
I forced my attention back to the room and caught Serena drifting closer to Ezra, her fingers brushing his arm with practiced casualness.
"What we had doesn't need words," she whispered, loud enough for the front three rows to hear. "I'll carry it silently. For both of us."
"Oh, for the love of—" My inner voice was practically screaming. "You absolute psychopath! You're literally making up a love story AT MY WEDDING. In front of MY HUSBAND. And everyone's eating it up like discount Hallmark!"
Ezra's eyes snapped to mine again.
His jaw twitched.
I could've sworn his left eye flinched.
Then he turned—slowly, deliberately—to Serena.
"Miss Blackwell," he said, his voice like frost on steel, "you mentioned what 'we had.' I'm curious."
He tilted his head. "Would you care to explain to the room exactly what 'feelings' exist between us? Because I seem to have... missed them entirely."
Serena's smile cracked.
Her mouth opened and closed like a fish yanked from water.
I almost choked on my own suppressed glee.
"Oh my God. He actually said it. He actually—wait." I replayed his words in my head. Then my own thought from seconds ago: everyone's eating it up like discount Hallmark.
Right before I'd thought that, I'd also raged: You're literally making up a love story.
And Ezra had responded—by calling out the fictional love story.
Coincidence?
My eyes narrowed.
I stared directly at him and thought, very slowly and clearly: "If you can hear me right now—blink twice."
Ezra held my gaze.
He did not blink.
But the corner of his mouth tightened—like a man trying very hard not to react.
---