If first impressions were anything to go by, Isabelle Sinclair had already decided she didn't like me.
I wasn't sure why, but the way she looked at me-sharp, curious, as if she were piecing together a puzzle-put me on edge. The air between us was thick with unspoken words, and I could feel Lucas watching the exchange, though he said nothing.
Emma, blissfully unaware of the tension, looped her arm through mine. "You're going to love Izzy, Claire. She's helping with some of the wedding planning. Oh! And she and Lucas have been working together on a surprise for me."
A surprise.
Together.
The word lodged itself in my throat.
Isabelle caught the flicker of something in my expression, and her lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. "Lucas and I have spent a lot of time together these past few months," she said, her voice casual but pointed. "Haven't we?"
Lucas finally spoke, his tone unreadable. "Some."
Some.
Not exactly a confirmation, but not a denial either.
I told myself I didn't care. Lucas wasn't mine anymore. Who he spent time with, who he wanted to spend time with, was none of my business.
And yet, my fingers curled slightly at my sides.
"Anyway," Isabelle said, flipping her hair over her shoulder, "it's nice to finally meet you, Claire. I've been curious about the infamous ex-wife."
My stomach tightened.
Emma laughed nervously. "Izzy, don't-"
"What?" Isabelle's smile was all innocence, but there was something calculating in her gaze. "I mean, it's not every day you meet the woman who walked away from Lucas Montgomery."
A muscle in Lucas's jaw twitched.
Emma cleared her throat. "Izzy, let's-"
But I didn't need Emma to protect me.
I plastered on a smile, my voice smooth. "Funny. From what I remember, Lucas was the one who let me go."
That wiped the smirk off Isabelle's face.
Lucas's fingers tightened around his drink.
Emma looked between us like she was ready to dive into the nearest bush.
"Well," Isabelle finally said, her expression unreadable, "this weekend should be interesting."
She excused herself after that, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.
Emma muttered something about checking on the seating arrangements and scurried off, clearly eager to escape the tension.
Which left me alone with Lucas.
Again.
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "You didn't have to do that."
I folded my arms. "Do what?"
"Play into whatever game she's trying to start."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so I'm the one playing games?"
Lucas sighed but didn't argue.
A breeze drifted through the yard, rustling the autumn leaves. I hated that, despite everything, standing this close to him still made my heart race.
Finally, he looked at me, something unreadable in his eyes. "You really think I let you go?"
His voice was quiet. Almost... regretful.
I swallowed hard, refusing to let myself fall into old memories. "Does it matter?"
Lucas studied me for a moment before shaking his head. "I guess not."
But the way he said it-the way his voice dipped, like he wasn't sure if he believed it-made my chest tighten.
I needed to get away from him. From this conversation. From the past threatening to pull me under.
"I should go help Emma," I said quickly, stepping back.
Lucas didn't stop me.
But as I walked away, I felt his gaze linger on me-heavy, familiar, dangerous.
And no matter how much I wanted to ignore it, one truth was becoming impossible to deny.
Lucas Montgomery wasn't as over the past as he pretended to be.
And maybe... neither was I.
The reception hall was chaos.
Not in a disastrous way-at least, not yet-but in the way all wedding preparations inevitably became. Bridesmaids rushed between tables, florists adjusted centerpieces, and my mother was in the corner scolding someone about the "right shade of ivory" for the napkins.
I tried to focus on my task-double-checking the seating chart-but my mind was still stuck on my last conversation with Lucas.
"You really think I let you go?"
That question had been circling in my head like an annoying fly I couldn't swat away. Because the way he'd asked it-the way his voice had dipped-made me wonder if I'd been wrong about everything.
But that was dangerous thinking. I wasn't here for Lucas. I was here for Emma.
I was scribbling notes on the seating arrangement when a shadow fell over me.
"You look deep in thought."
I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
Lucas.
Of course.
I took a calming breath before glancing at him. "Just making sure everything is in order."
He crossed his arms, glancing at the chart. "Am I still sitting next to you?"
My stomach tightened, but I kept my expression neutral. "Unfortunately."
A slow smirk tugged at his lips. "Don't sound too excited."
I rolled my eyes, looking back down at the chart. "I'd ask Emma to change it, but I'm afraid she'd bite my head off."
He chuckled, and the sound was entirely too familiar-too comfortable. It made me feel things I didn't want to feel.
I ignored him and kept working, but Lucas wasn't done.
"Look, about earlier..." He hesitated, then sighed. "Isabelle was out of line."
I blinked, surprised he was even acknowledging it.
"She doesn't speak for me," he continued. "She thinks she knows everything, but she doesn't."
I arched a brow. "And what does she know?"
Lucas hesitated. Then, quietly, he said, "That I never really got over you."
My heart stopped.
I stared at him, but he held my gaze, unwavering. There was no teasing smirk, no mask of indifference. Just raw honesty.
It made breathing suddenly difficult.
I didn't know what to say to that, so I defaulted to the safest option.
"Lucas-"
"I know," he cut in. "You don't want to go there. I get it." He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "But being around you again, Claire... It's not as easy as I thought it would be."
My throat felt tight. "Then maybe we should stay out of each other's way."
Lucas huffed a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Yeah. Good luck with that."
I didn't respond. I couldn't. Because deep down, we both knew the truth.
No matter how much I tried to avoid him, Lucas Montgomery had a way of pulling me back in.
And I was starting to fear that this time, I might not be able to walk away.