16. Marcus

16

Marcus

Saskia’s wedding day dawns a perfect day in paradise. It doesn’t surprise me. I don’t think even the weather would risk not giving Saskia the perfect beach wedding she wants.

I’m awake at six a.m., so I slip into my running gear and head to the beach. The soft pink light of dawn casts everything in a dreamlike glow.

The air is heavy with moisture, promising another sweltering day ahead, but for now, the temperature is almost pleasant.

The beach stretches out before me, endless and pristine.

As I run, my mind is on Seb, which is not surprising because my mind has been full of him since I arrived.

I can’t help comparing the Seb I talked to last night to the one I left behind. He’s still quirky with an offbeat sense of humor, but he seems more comfortable in his own skin now. And he’s still so…authentic. Which encouraged me to have one of the most authentic conversations I’ve had in a long time.

I’m suddenly struck by a sharp pang of regret for all the moments I’ve missed.

Movement catches my eye. About two hundred feet farther up the beach, a child emerges out of a villa. She’s only about six, and she’s followed by an older boy who looks about nine or ten.

They run toward the water and my breath hitches.

Grab her , I want to yell at her brother. Grab her and don’t let go.

But I don’t become the crazy man shouting at children. Instead, I come to a complete stop, shaking, as I watch them dance in the shallows of the lagoon before a voice from the villa calls them back.

I sit and press my palms into the sand, focusing on the rough texture against my skin, anchoring myself in reality.

Deep breaths.

Feeling slightly dizzy, I retrieve my phone from my pocket and thumb through to the Instagram app. I’ve got over a million followers. My last story, where I was dressed only in board shorts while showing off the resort’s infinity pool, has had over forty thousand likes.

This is me. I am real. People all over the world like me, adore me.

I have meaning. I am worthwhile.

My breathing settles as I scroll through social media, checking my other accounts, the familiar routine of checking likes, comments, and notifications.

Gradually, the tightness in my chest eases and my muscles begin to relax.

I take one last deep breath and climb back to my feet. I set out running with jerky strides that eventually smooth into my usual running style.

As I retrace my steps along the shoreline, the sun now fully risen, I catch a glimpse of a solitary figure emerging from the hazy distance. The silhouette grows clearer with each stride, a runner moving steadily in my direction.

Recognition hits me like a physical blow when I clock the messy curls and the slight hunch of his shoulders as he runs.

Seb.

Of all the people in this resort, of course it would be him.

The universe really does have a twisted sense of humor.

As we approach each other we both slow to a stop.

Seb’s hair is damp with sweat, curls clinging to his forehead. His cheeks are flushed, bringing out the spattering of freckles across his nose. He’s wearing a faded T-shirt with some obscure scientific pun I don’t understand and running shorts that reveal legs more toned than I remember.

“Nice day for it,” he puffs out.

“For a run or a wedding?” I ask.

“Both.” He smiles, and I’m fucking lost. Oh holy hell, there’s no escaping the fact that even after seven years, I still have an incomprehensible desire for this man.

“I didn’t know you ran,” Seb’s saying, and I snap my attention back to our conversation.

“I didn’t used to. But it turns out there are different standards on your physique when you’re a Hollywood actor compared to an Otago University law student.”

“I can imagine.” Seb’s eyes rake down me. His lips part slightly, as if he’s about to say something, then close again. He raises his eyes, a flush spreading up his neck and onto his face.

That blush. Fuck, that blush was always my undoing.

I swallow hard, looking out to the ocean.

“Tell me a scientific fact about the ocean,” I say softly.

Seb hesitates for a second before he speaks. “Did you know that the deepest part of the ocean, the Challenger Deep, is so deep that if you put Mount Everest at the bottom, its peak would still be more than a mile underwater?”

“Sounds like the perfect hiding spot for when the paparazzi get too much,” I say as I stare out at the endless horizon.

There are a few moments of silence between us.

“You never messaged me,” Seb says abruptly.

I jerk my head to look at him. He’s staring at me, and I’m pretty sure he’s trying for a nonchalant expression, but he’s missing it by a mile.

Fuck.

What can I say?

I owe Seb the truth.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I was trying…trying to leave everything behind.”

Seb’s shoulders slump, his gaze dropping to the sand between us. His fingers fidget with the hem of his T-shirt. “I thought…I thought that showed it had meant nothing to you.”

“It meant something,” I say. “Are you kidding me, Seb? Ours was the longest relationship I’ve ever had.”

His Adam’s apple works. “It was a relationship, wasn’t it?”

“I was a twenty-one-year-old idiot, but yeah, it was. Well, it was the closest thing I’ve ever had to one.”

He lets out a breath. “It’s good to hear you say that. I thought maybe I’d imagined it all.”

“You didn’t imagine it.” I let out a shaky laugh, although there’s nothing particularly funny going on right now. “It took me a while to get over you.”

I can’t believe I’ve said that. But something about Seb has always made me comfortable revealing the real me.

He raises his gaze to meet mine. “It took me a while to get over you too,” he says softly.

We remain locked in each other’s gaze for a few heartbeats before I glance at the sand.

“What about now?” I ask. “Do you have a boyfriend now?”

“Not at the moment. I had a boyfriend while I was doing my PhD. He was in the botany department, and with me in the zoology department, it was always going to be doomed.” Seb throws me a grin. “Since I moved to Auckland, I’ve been concentrating on my research.”

“Oh, right.”

Seb runs a hand through his damp curls, pushing them back from his forehead. He takes a small step away from me. “We better get back. I’m sure Saskia’s got work for us both.”

“Yeah, I guess we better.”

Seb’s right. After having a quick shower, I arrive at breakfast to find Saskia handing out orders like a queen bee orchestrating her worker bees.

She assigns me the task of finalizing the seating chart for the reception. We retreat to a quiet corner of the restaurant, accompanied by place cards and a complex diagram that looks more like battle plans than wedding preparations.

“Remember when we used to plan parties in uni? Seems like a lifetime ago,” Saskia says.

“Yeah, but back then, the stakes were just how many kegs to get, not whether Aunt Mildred would be offended if she’s not at the main table,” I say.

Saskia laughs. “True.”

She studies the family table she’s putting together for a few seconds before she lifts her gaze to mine.

“Hey, Seb is a no-go zone, you know that, right?”

Fuck. My pulse pounds in my throat.

I pull my most confused face. “Your brother?”

My voice is loaded with so much skepticism I’ll next be trying to convince her the moon landing didn’t happen.

Saskia’s head tilts to one side as she studies me. “Oh, sorry. I just thought I caught this vibe between you guys last night when you were talking to him.”

“I think you need to check your vibe detectors,” I say.

Saskia laughs

“Sorry. You’re right. The idea is ridiculous.” She slides a place card across the table, her fingers lingering on it for a moment. “I guess I’m just being an overprotective big sister.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“But he is kinda cute now, right? Like, some nice sciency guy will eventually decide those big blue eyes and encyclopedic knowledge of bird mating rituals are irresistible.”

The thought of Seb with a nice sciency guy makes my throat close. It’s incredibly hypocritical, given the number of guys I’ve been with over the last seven years, but even the thought of him and his old boyfriend doesn’t sit well with me.

Seb kissing, fucking someone else. Someone else seeing his blush, hearing his moans.

My jaw clenches involuntarily, and I have to force myself to relax. “Yeah, I’m sure someone will decide that,” I reply.

The rest of the day is a whirl of wedding preparations.

Saskia and Tom get married on the beach at sunset.

My best friend is a vision in ivory lace, her blonde hair adorned with tropical flowers. Tom, wearing a linen suit, watches her with a mixture of awe and adoration. They’re a magnetic couple, drawing all eyes to them.

All eyes except mine.

Because I spend most of my time watching Saskia’s brother instead.

Seb’s in a light-blue suit that brings out his eyes. His curls are tamed for once, and there’s a soft smile on his face as he watches his sister saying her vows.

After the ceremony, he chats with some of Saskia’s friends. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs. The sound drifts over to me. Fuck, I’ve missed that sound.

I find myself fascinated by the contrast between the eighteen-year-old I knew and the twenty-five-year-old now.

He’s still quiet, still someone who prefers to watch from the sidelines. But he’s definitely got more confidence in himself now.

I wonder what changes he notices in me?

Because Seb’s watching me too. During the photo session, I strike a few playful poses with the bridesmaids, eliciting giggles and blushes. Seb watches from the side, his expression a mix of amusement and something I can’t quite decipher. While the other guests clamor for selfies with me, Seb maintains his distance, content to observe.

The reception unfolds on a sprawling lawn overlooking the ocean.

A large open-air pavilion, its roof a canopy of twinkling lights, houses the bar and buffet. White-clothed tables are scattered across the grass, each adorned with elaborate centerpieces of exotic flowers.

“They say you know you’ve found the right person when being with them feels easier than being alone,” Saskia says in her speech. She gives Tom a beaming smile. “Love is about finding someone who feels like home, no matter where you are.”

I glance at Seb to find him watching me in return, and for a moment, it’s like everyone else fades away. He offers a small, almost shy smile before quickly averting his gaze. My heart does a complicated flip.

After our conversation this morning, it feels like I laid my soul bare. With other men, I’d worry they’d use my confession against me. But not Seb.

Saskia and Tom take to the dancefloor as the opening notes of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” fill the air. They move together with practiced ease, Tom leading Saskia in a waltz. Their eyes never leave each other as Elvis croons about rivers flowing and things that are meant to be.

After the first dance, Tom’s mother cuts in to dance with him and Saskia dances with her dad.

Saskia’s father has such a proud smile as he steers her around the dancefloor. A lump forms in my throat. I can’t begin to imagine what it would feel like to inspire that level of paternal pride.

Then it’s my turn to dance with the bride. I pull her close and sway gently. It’s a much more conservative dance than ones we’ve done in the past.

Saskia is giddy, champagne and excitement making her cheeks flushed, and her words tumble out in a happy rush.

“Today has been everything I always hoped for.”

“I’m glad. You deserve to have the wedding of your dreams,” I say.

The dancefloor is filling up, and I hand Saskia back to Tom and start to dance with Emily instead. I watch as Seb reluctantly allows himself to be pulled into a group dance with his relatives.

He’s definitely not a good dancer. He spins one of his young cousins around and then has to take evasive steps to avoid a collision with one of his aunts.

When the song ends, he glances up, catching me watching. Instead of blushing and looking away like he would have seven years ago, he holds my gaze.

I’m the one who has to tear my eyes away to force myself to focus on Emily, spinning her in a playful twirl, plastering on my most charming smile.

But as the music shifts to a slow ballad, the sudden emptiness inside me becomes unbearable.

I make my excuses to Emily and head to the restroom.

As I exit a stall, Seb enters the restroom. We nearly collide, our bodies inches apart in the narrow space. Seb’s cheeks are flushed, his curls slightly mussed from dancing. His tie is slightly undone and the top button of his shirt is open, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

Seb runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further.

I cross my arms, then uncross them, feeling oddly exposed under his gaze.

“Did you know that the average person spends about ninety-two days of their life on the toilet?” Seb asks.

I huff out a laugh.

Seb still has no game. And I still like that about him.

In fact, I think I like it even more now. I’ve spent so much time in Hollywood, surrounded by fake people and false compliments. Where every interaction feels like it’s a transaction. In contrast, Seb is just so…real.

His cheeks pink even more. “Sorry, that’s probably not appropriate wedding conversation.”

“It’s probably not the most romantic comment ever made,” I agree.

“Sorry,” he says again.

“Don’t be sorry. I’ve missed your random facts.”

His gaze flies to mine.

The restroom door swings open, and a giggling group of Saskia’s friends squeal in embarrassment when they realize they’re in the men’s room but quickly recover when they recognize me.

“Oh my god, it’s Marcus!”

“I knew I was irresistible, but I didn’t think it extended to drawing women into men’s restrooms,” I drawl.

They laugh far harder than my joke warrants. That’s one thing I’ve noticed about the growth in my celebrity status. The decline in the standards of humor of the random people I meet.

“Can we get a selfie?” one of them asks.

“Sure thing.”

When I’ve finished posing, I realize Seb is gone.

I head back into the reception and find myself at the center of a dance circle, guests eagerly waiting their turn to share a moment with the celebrity in their midst. I laugh and joke, making sure I’m the charming movie star they expect.

But as I pose for selfies between songs, my mind keeps drifting back to Seb’s flushed cheeks and nervous smile in the restroom.

He’s over at one of the tables now, talking to Saskia’s new in-laws, his polite smile not quite reaching his eyes.

But his gaze snares on mine from across the room, and for a moment, the noise and chaos of the reception fades.

And I remember how I felt about Seb, that confusing, tight feeling I’d get in my chest.

I turn away, trying to get back into dancing.

But the atmosphere is changing, the humidity rising, turning the air into a sticky embrace.

A gust of wind sweeps through, strong enough to send napkins fluttering and extinguish a few tiki lanterns.

The sky, once a canvas of stars, is now obscured by rolling clouds. The scent of rain hangs heavy in the air.

The approaching thunderstorm feels inevitable.

The first raindrop on my cheek is startlingly cold. As if on cue, the heavens unleash a torrent, rain sheeting down in silvery curtains. The guests’ hairstyles immediately wilt under the onslaught as people make a mad dash for cover.

I head for a clump of trees, ducking under the branches. The dense canopy offers a surprising amount of protection, but I’m unprepared for the sight of Seb already sheltering there.

Seb’s eyes widen, and for a moment, we just stare at each other.

His chest is heaving from his own dash through the rain, his curls plastered to his forehead. Droplets of water cling to his eyelashes, and his wet shirt sticks to his frame.

There’s a wild, exhilarated look in his eyes. He looks disheveled, caught off guard, and utterly beautiful.

“Seb,” I choke, but I’m not sure he can hear me over the noise of the thunderstorm.

The air between us feels like it’s charged more than any storm.

I move into his space and reach out, my fingers finding the damp cotton of Seb’s shirt. He breathes in sharply, the sound cutting through the white noise of the rain.

“Marcus,” he whispers. He reaches out to brush a raindrop from my cheek.

Seb’s touch is what causes me to lose control. I surge forward to claim his mouth.

Our kiss is like inhaling lightning.

I’ve been with some of the hottest men in Hollywood. I’ve kissed countless guys since I last kissed Seb. More than I can remember.

But nothing compares to this.

After seven years, I still remember exactly how Seb kisses.

It’s like our first kiss all those years ago, the one that ignited everything between us.

And it appears the fire is still burning.

We stumble back until he’s pressed against the tree and I’m devouring his mouth, my tongue sliding against his in a desperate dance.

It’s rediscovery and revelation. The taste of him—rain and champagne and something uniquely Seb—floods my senses.

Tears prickle my eyes because kissing him is so good that it hurts. Like I’m breaking apart and being put back together all at once.

I now have an even greater appreciation of how lucky I am to kiss Seb.

Because I know what it’s like to be without him.