17. Tilly

Chapter seventeen

Tilly

M iranda pulls me to our table, and we take our seats. The air is filled with the aroma of lamb and roasted red potatoes, a scent that would usually have me salivating, but tonight, my appetite is gone. My mind is stuck on the image of Tommy walking out, leaving a knot in my stomach that no food can untangle. Half an hour ago, he was bragging about how he'd always be at my side. Fucking figures that didn't last. I can count the number of people that have my back on one hand. Hell, one finger. Sam. One damn conversation with my sister and Tommy split like his ass was on fire.

I should be relieved he's gone, shouldn't I? He'll be safe from all this nonsense, him and his mother. But instead, the room feels too vast, too empty without him. I mindlessly poke at the food on my plate. Stupid lamb, just laying there in a sauce. Useless food. Get a job, or something, damn it! Okay, I've officially lost my mind. But thankfully, Grayson takes a seat beside me before I can tell the potatoes their parents don't love them. He's looking far too chipper at the food that is set in front of him. Can't he see I'm trying to insult my food over here at my misery buffet?

"Ladies," he greets us.

"Where's George?" Miranda asks. Early in the evening, I had seen Grayson making the rounds with George on his hip the entire time. My absolute favorite part was seeing them dance together.

"Asleep." Grayson fishes a video monitor from his pocket, placing it on the table before adding, "Where's Tom—"

"This lamb is perfectly braised. Tried it yet, Grayson?" Miranda cuts in with a volume that's hard to ignore.

Grayson flinches; there's a thud under the table where Miranda's foot must have met his leg. "Erm, no." He begins to eat, and silence settles over our table as I continue to fixate on my untouched meal. Why does my family have to be so damn complicated? Sometimes, I dream of being part of a different family—one where my mother is still here, fussing over me, dropping by with groceries, worrying about my haircut, or noting how tired I look.

Instead, I'm tied to an aunt threatening the family of the man I love. Love. The realization sparks a grin, then sends a pang of sorrow deep into my heart. I've loved Tommy for a long time and it's almost sadder that on the cusp of learning how perfect it can be, he's pulled into my drama.

He left.

The jealousy I felt watching Sam get married and pregnant was undeniable. I longed for that kind of support, that kind of relationship in my life. Sam's sister was always there for her, and I... I wish I had that. Miranda is bossy, sure, and perhaps a bit na?ve about our father, but she stood by me today, even if it ended with Tommy leaving.

A tear falls onto my plate, unbidden. I don't bother wiping it away; I want to feel this pain, let it remind me to think twice before dreaming of a real relationship again.

Under the table, Miranda's hand finds mine. I look over to see her offering a sad, understanding smile. No words are needed—her gesture is the support I've been craving. I squeeze back and finally manage to take a bite of my food.

Fifteen minutes later, I find myself dancing with Grayson. He's stepping on my feet with all the grace of a drunk elephant—apparently it's his signature move.

"God, Grayson, you really suck at this," I say with a small laugh.

He shrugs. "Suzanne wasn't much of a dancer. Liked laughing more. So, I focused on my assets."

"You miss her?" I ask. He gets a wistful look in his eyes but is wearing a smile.

"Not as much, anymore. Georgie keeps me busy." That's a lie, but I let it slide. He's always been one of my favorite cousins. But since his wife went missing years ago, I haven't really been around him. The love Grayson has for George is clear and unconditional. It makes me wonder what might have been if I had been born to some other family. As my father just died, I'm hit with a sudden burst of guilt for a multitude of reasons.

"I'm sorry for not being around," I say sadly. But Grayson smiles at me. "I'm glad you left, Tilly. But…" he sighs and pulls me into a gentle hug as we keep swaying side to side. "I'm also kind of glad you're back."

As if on cue to break our sentimental moment, his heel crushes onto my toe. Again. "Oops," he says, but he has a mischievous grin. Ugh, he really is fucking cute and awesome. The guy deserves a wife that won't run out on him, if that's really what happened.

"So, what about all these bimbos Andy is bragging about?" I ask, a cheeky grin on my face.

He blows a raspberry. "The fan club I suppose. But ignore her, I don't sleep with hordes of women."

"Oh? No harem for you?"

He laughs, his head tilted back. "No, certainly not. I haven't really dated yet." I nod. It's understandable. I know he and Suzanne met and married young. They've been together since right after high school. Though I don't have a lot of love lost for her. If my family did run her off, like Miranda has told me in the past, she's a coward. I would never leave my kid. Never.

Grayson pulls the little baby monitor out of his pocket that I know he's been checking it every few minutes. Helicopter dad, hovering as best he can while still trying to appease my tyrant of an aunt. She's like a Sat-aunt. You know? Like Satan but as my aunt?

I'm smiling to myself at my own internal pun, as the light jazz music picks up. I try to coax Grayson into spinning me around, but he suddenly stops mid-twirl.

"Erm, Tilly?" Grayson's voice pulls me back, and he's looking past me. I turn to see what's caught his attention.

There's Tommy, making his way toward us, with that adorably apologetic look on his face that sends my heart into a tailspin. "Can I…?" he directs the question to Grayson, who nods at me.

"By all means, I've wanted to slip out to be with my son anyway." Grayson exits the dance floor without another word, leaving us in a bubble of our unspoken emotions.

Tommy takes my hand, drawing me close, and wraps his other arm around my waist. We begin to sway, and the beat of my heart drowns out the music around us.

"You came back," I say, staring at him like he invented pizza. He would too. And it would be way more epic than it already is. Cause that is just how Tommy does things. With his whole heart and all the passion he can offer.

He uses a hand to cradle my head to his body. "I never left. Just needed some air," he whispers, his breath warm against my ear.

I pull him tighter. "You should have left, my aunt—"

"Can do her worst. If she tries to hurt my mom's business... let her. She hasn't seen the momma bear come out. You should see Ma at a Black Friday sale." He backs up for a second to act like he's wielding a sword and slashing dragons.

Chuckling a bit, I pull him back, pressing my ear against his chest. I listen to the rapid beat of his heart, its rhythm a mirror to my own. The joy at his return battles with the remorse inside me, but I can't bear to let him go. It's like the gentle pull of the tide; I let happiness wash over me only to be pulled away again with a new wave of guilt.

I feel his intense gaze on me. With a mix of hesitation and determination, I lift my face to meet his eyes. I need to see that he knows how much this means to me. The tenderness I find there steals my breath, sending my heart into a frenzy.

"Tilly…" His voice is a soft rumble, vibrating with a desire that sends shivers cascading through me.

"Tommy…" My reply is a whisper, our names floating in the space between us, heavy with all the things we've left unsaid.

His face splits with a smirk. "Those are our names." I smile back because what else can I do? I know what I want to say, something along the lines of Please, Tommy, have my babies because my uterus is apparently running the show now. Damn hormones. Damn man smelling so damn good.

I'm about to say something, probably stick my foot in my mouth, but the look I find when I meet his eyes is too intense. And I don't have to tell him what I want. It must be written on my face because he closes the distance between us. There's no teasing and no interruptions. Any number of true tyrants, guns, tasers, marching bands, or earthquakes could happen, and I wouldn't let them stop him.

His mouth finds mine in a kiss that's gentle and soft. Tingles spread across my skin, a shower of sparks that seems to light up the very air around us. It's a kiss years in the making, and my whole body feels lighter, almost floating, at the touch of his supple lips.

My hands find their way around his neck, pulling him closer, seeking more depth, more connection, more Tommy. More. More. More. This kiss, this moment, speaks louder than any words ever could.

His arms squeeze my waist with an intensity that teeters on the edge of pain, igniting an excitement within me that quickly morphs into a blazing passion. The world beyond us blurs into nothingness, leaving only us.

His tongue traces along my lips until I part them. He explores me, his taste a mixture of liquor and mint, as if inviting me into a forbidden dance. I feel his cock against my hip, growing, pressing into me, and a moan escapes from the depths of my stomach straight into his mouth. This is Tommy kissing me. My Tommy. The realization consumes my every thought.

My need for him evolves, becoming as essential as the air I breathe. Our kiss deepens again, his hands wandering across my back in slow, deliberate strokes, each touch stirring a trail of heat across my skin. Every move he makes, I match. There's no hesitation, only movement and colliding. When he nibbles my lip, I bite back with equal gentleness. As his tongue searches my mouth, I explore his with the same stroke. It's everything I never knew I wanted in a kiss and one for the century. Forget every other half-ass ridiculous make-out session in my life. This. This is all I want for the rest of my life.

When he pulls back, his eyes lock onto mine, a breathless "Holy shit," falling from his lips as he rests his forehead against mine. The scratch of his stitches against my skin is a minor detail, though I do hate that he's been hurt. We're both panting, hearts racing as if we've just swum across an ocean.

"Um, yeah, ya think?" I manage, my voice breathy, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. He chuckles before tenderly kissing the tip of my nose.

A smile flickers across my lips as I rest my head against his chest once more. The urge to tear away all barriers between us, starting with his perfectly tailored tuxedo, is overwhelming. His allure isn't just physical; it's the way his strong hands move over me, how his tongue dances with mine, so skillfully teasing. It's no surprise that kissing him is with the same intensity as everything else we do together. The give and take is much the same as our playful banter.

I have to stop myself from imagining his touch elsewhere—along my neck, down my abdomen, between my legs—the thought alone is enough to send a jolt of desire through me.

If that kiss was any indication, I will get what I'm imagining. Hopefully before I spontaneously combust from the sexual tension pulsing between us. But for the time being, I simply surrender to the moment, swaying gently with him. The soft glow of the lights and the mellow strains of jazz above have created a cocoon of intimacy around us.

In his arms, amidst the rhythm of our dance, I feel like I've finally found everything I didn't know I was looking for. A profound sense of contentment envelops me.

"My Tommy," I say, almost to myself.

"Yours, Tilly," he says, kissing my temple.