Lessons in Faking (Hall Beck University #1)

Epilogue

EPILOGUE

“Ten minutes, people!” somebody shouted over the music; the rest of the crowd erupting into cheers and excited groans. Hands, and possibly bodies, were thrown in the air, as the numbers on the projector screen began counting down.

The hand holding my cocktail glass shot upward, and if I weren’t as euphoric as I was, perhaps I would’ve cared more about some of the sticky liquid spilling onto my dress.

But I was euphoric, and I didn’t care. My glass clinked with Wren’s water midair, making a point of looking her in the eyes when it did to avoid bad luck. Then, I repeated the procedure with Laila, the extremely casual ( she stressed that part ) date Wren had brought to the annual Pressley New Year’s Eve party.

The only difference from the past few years was the lack of views from the top of a New York City skyscraper, which had been replaced by idyllic gardens and rosebushes in the Hamptons. And the fact there wasn’t just one McCarthy, but six of them invited.

I twirled in place to look for my one, though the thick crowd around us proved that to be a task far more difficult than anticipated. With an excusing glance toward Wren, one she rightfully understood as I’ll be right back , I shuffled my way through dancing bodies, sharing smiles and laughs with vaguely familiar strangers as I pushed past them.

I spotted my brother leaned against the bar in the back, a drunken, wary look on his face. If I just followed his gaze… bingo . My McCarthy stood with the rest of them, having formed a casual circle from which only the youngest of his family members was missing. Even his dad showed a relatively pleased expression.

By the time my gaze shifted back to my brother, his attention had already drifted onto the next best thing. Henry had always been a people-watcher, more so than a mingler, though I was surprised by who I found at the other end of his gaze.

“You invited Paula,” I said by way of greeting, watching her curly hair bounce with the sway of her hips in the crowd. “Are you guys better?”

“No,” he grunted, though his eyes stayed on her. “I also invited her friends. I invited most people I’ve ever spoken to. This has nothing to do with Paula, specifically—” He caught himself rambling and immediately shut it off.

I nodded in amusement. “Classic. You invited her friends to make it seem less like you wanted to see her—”

“I didn’t want—”

“They didn’t hook up, by the way. Her and Dylan,” I blurted, and I felt Henry’s eyes on me for the first time. I couldn’t help but snicker, “And you never told me that you thought so because you saw them hug . Are you twelve?”

Henry blinked one, two, three times—which he probably needed to compute the information. His mask of nonchalance barely slipped out of place, but the fact it had, told me the revelation had changed a lot of things. Hopefully for the better.

Now that the summerhouse-debacle had been fixed, the MLS draft over and Henry had a professional contract lined up, maybe he’d have more time for other things in his life. Relationships that weren’t familial or professional.

“Dylan.” He hummed disapprovingly. Like the name tasted sour on his tongue. At the mention, Henry’s eyes slid back to him across the room. “Still wondering if we really had to invite all six of them,” he said drily. “I know you’re taking advantage of my guilty conscience. And I still can’t seem to do anything about it. You ask, I say yes.”

“Don’t worry, I just have that effect on people.” I winked, though circled back quickly. “I do appreciate you trying. With him.”

Henry snickered, clearly overcoming something before he asked, “So you guys are… what? Dating?” He winced, like the thought caused him physical pain. “You’d think after what you put me through the past few months, I’d be used to the thought by now.”

Clearly, he was not.

“I don’t know,” I admitted honestly, eyes trailing back to Dylan at the other end of the room. He spotted me at the same time, smiled, and started in our direction, right as someone in the crowd announced, “Five minutes!”

Loud cheers erupted through the room. Henry leaned toward me to make sure I’d hear him over the noise. “For the record,” he said. “If he hurts you, I’ll kill him myself.”

And I think that was as much of an approval as I’d get from Henry. I turned to face him, finding a bored expression that didn’t surprise me.

“You said you’d be nice,” I pointed out before Dylan could make it here. Henry’s hands shot up in defense, almost offended at the accusation. “Even Wren liked having him at Hamilton .”

Henry shook his head dismissively. “You know how she gets about Hamilton ,” he pointed out. “That’s not a fair comparison.”

Maybe not. “Still—”

“I haven’t said anything,” he grunted back.

“It’s the way you said it.”

“Said what?”

“ If he hurts me .” I tried my best to mirror his tone and attitude. Henry snorted. “It’s like you’re expecting it.”

“I said it perfectly normally, Athalia. The way any brother would.”

I groaned, turning toward him with an accusatory finger lifted. “You did not —”

Strong arms wrapped around me from behind, and the gesture effectively cut me off. Before I could turn around in his embrace, Dylan huffed, his breath tickling my ear. “You most definitely did not,” he chimed in, his eyes on my brother. I didn’t need to see the smug grin on his face to know it was there.

It was Henry’s turn to groan in annoyance, glaring at the man behind me. “You don’t even know what we’re talking about,” he pointed out, eyes shifting as I felt Dylan’s lips against my cheek, kissing it once, before he shrugged.

“I don’t need to.” He stepped around me casually, and it was like second nature to lean into him. “There’s few times you do anything , at all—”

“McCarthy,” Henry snapped, eyes flicking to Dylan’s arm around my shoulder. “I swear to God if you don’t—”

“Henry!” I glared at him. “ Behave . Don’t laugh—you too, Dylan.” I finally turned, just in time to see the smug expression slip from his face. “We’ve talked about this.” The reminder was met with an eye roll, but it made a smile find its way to my brother’s face.

“ Yes, Dylan . You’ve talked about this—” the latter gloated, though another one of my glares finally shut him up.

“ Oh ,” I sighed, faking a swoon. “I just love that you guys get along so well.” My fake smile turned into a scowl—maybe a pout—and Dylan gave me another kiss on the forehead before interlacing our hands with a teasing smile on his lips.

“Come with me,” he simply said, and by the time I did, I wasn’t paying attention to the way he tipped his head in my brother’s direction, or the way Henry mirrored the gesture in a silent goodbye.

Dylan gently guided me after him—one would think he spent most of his summers here, with the way he navigated through the house with such ease. Perhaps it was easy because he had no true destination in mind, just led me around corners, through corridors, until the music was mere background noise, and the only light was the moon, shining through the large balcony window.

“Since the first guests arrived, all I’ve wanted to do was steal you away.” He pouted teasingly, twirling me around once before pulling me to his chest. “You look so pretty tonight.”

I grinned up at him. “And you decided to do that right now? At 11:58?” My gaze was as incredulous as it was adoring. “You really thought that was the best time to steal me away, Dylan?”

He nodded proudly, taking a few steps back to lean against the wall behind him, dragging me with him. His head fell back. “God,” he muttered. “I love it when you call me that,” he said, eyes falling onto me again. “Have I ever said how much I love it?”

I grinned so widely my cheeks hurt. “It is your name,” I pointed out, head craning back from where I pressed against his chest.

Dylan shook his head quickly. “I don’t love it because it’s my name,” he protested. “I love it because you’re saying it.”

It was another one of those moments. I love you too, Dylan McCarthy Williams .

In the distance, people began to count down. “ Ten! Nine! Eight! ” they chanted from the main room in unison. “ Seven! Six! Five! ”

Dylan’s smile was subtle, his head tilting slightly, when his hand moved from my waist to cup my cheek.

“ Four! Three! Two! ”

“Can I kiss you?” he asked against my lips, a slither of air all that separated us at this point. Instead of answering, I just did. Pressed my lips to his lightly and lovingly, missing all the heat that usually played into this part of our night.

I love you too, Dylan McCarthy Williams.

“First of January,” he muttered against my lips, reminding me of that contract for the first time since we broke it. “How does it feel to be officially on the market again?” Bringing distance between us, he failed at hiding his dimpled grin.

“So.” I pressed a kiss to his lips. “ So .” Another kiss. “Lonely.” And another one.

He hummed against my mouth, nodding in mocked understanding as he caught my lip between his. “Yes,” he sighed, a groan bubbling in his throat. “Me too.” He looked at me now, a lopsided smile on his face. “Such a coincidence—both of us single and lonely at the same time.” His tongue flicked over his lips. “Isn’t it?”

“ Such a coincidence ,” I agreed, nodding grandly. “Whatever can we do about it?”

He laced our hands together, kissed me, hummed against my lips while the fireworks outside lit up the hallway. They matched what was happening in my stomach, and the moment could’ve been perfect for many reasons, but I could only think of one…

I loved him.

I loved him.

I loved him.

I was in love with him.

Our kiss faded into deep smiles, hovering against the others, his forehead pressed to mine. A light note of champagne lingered on his breath when he sighed against me.

And, like he could read my mind, he said, “I love you too, Athalia.”