Year 3
Simon Yates looks so good in a tuxedo, he's hard to look at straight on. It's like gazing directly at the sun. The only way my brother's rival could look better is if he slid that black mask off, revealing his cheekbones and thick eyebrows; the hard-earned lines at the corners of his eyes. The wisdom of his thirty-six years.
Over the last twelve months, I've stared at his face on so many screens. Stalked him online and watched every news clip. Committed every feature to memory, my heart aching and my breaths coming short.
I've missed this man. So freaking much.
"Ass," Nicholas mutters as Simon comes closer, prowling through the ballroom crowds. Guess I'm not the only one who recognizes those silver-gray eyes, fixed on me and burning hotter than molten metal. We're crammed like w
