BLURB: Attending her ex-boyfriend's wedding, after drunkenly RSVPing—damn tequila, is not how Priyanka Seth imagined spending her Christmas holidays. And things are about to get a lot more awkward when none other than Hadrian Marek, the guy she shafted to land her dream job—and the only one who knows how to make her knees weak, shows up on her threshold as her plus one for the evening.

TITLE: Kiss Me Under the Light of a Thousand Stars

HEAT LEVEL: Sweet

Priya Seth faced the full-length mirror in her chalet suite, wrapped in a metallic grey bandage dress half a size too small. And cursed her misfortune.

Who the hell gets married on Christmas Eve?

In the Swiss Alps?

It was all so sweet, so perfectly saccharine it made her teeth ache. She'd survived the trip, jaw clenched for the entire duration of the evening flight, layover and cab ride to the stunning mountain top resort. Seventeen miserable hours.

Barely six months ago she'd made the stupid mistake of accepting her ex-boyfriend's invitation the night he'd tagged her in a wedding invite over Facebook. A rash and reckless decision spurred by way too much tequila.

But there was no backing out once the deed had been done.

Hi, Bhavin, sorry—yeah, my RSVP was a slip of the finger. Didn't mean to type in my name, meal preference and the addition of a plus one. Total oversight. Please disregard.

HA! She'd chew glass first. Cancelling would make her look foolish. Stupid. Scared. Like she was a lovesick moron still crying over him when the truth was she'd moved on ages ago.

But that didn't make it any less...awkward.

The last time they'd seen one another it was three months after their messy breakup—with his arm was slung around his now soon-to-be wife, Courtney, and a gleam of something in his eyes. Either smug pride, or sympathy, she hadn't been able to tell. Not that either option was preferable.

She wanted neither to be slighted or pitied.

Not by the guy who'd given her an ultimatum and dumped her when she'd refused to consider sharing an apartment. He'd brought it up after dating for only six months, and pushed, prodded and pleaded for another year, but she'd held resolute.

Why move in and live together like they were married if they weren't? What was the rush? Why did it all have to be about the end-game? Marriage, babies and shared bank accounts.

All she wanted was to slow it down. Be together. But that wasn't enough for him. Christ, they'd barely been twenty.

She'd grown up a lot since then. And had accomplished even more.

Sitting through his wedding while he made vows of lasting love and fidelity didn't have to be painful. So why was she dreading it? Seeing all those faces. His family. Old mutual friends whom had parted ways, staying in his camp instead of hers. Like the division of assets in a complicated divorce.

One got the house and the air miles while the other kept the savings and vacation property in Spain...

Turning away from her reflection, Priya brushed her length of dark hair over her shoulder and it fell in a pin-straight drop, grazing the center of her back. She crossed the length of the luxurious suite, all charming, rustic wood offset with the best of modern décor, to stand before the high wall of windows overlooking the glowing quaint village of Villas-sur-Ollon as a light snow fell. Thick, lazy flakes that floated and drifted prettily on the still breeze.

And was struck breathless by the gorgeous scene. Dark spires of ancient pine trees circling a bright carpet of light beneath the brooding blue, white-capped mountains, all set against a darkening sky. The glow of awakening stars lent a final touch of majesty that only enhanced the stunning tableau.  

Her phone hummed on coffee table and she stooped to reach for it. Smiled at the recent message from Shayne. A photo of the tightly smushed faces of her sisters—Cait, Eshe, Shayne, Isobel and Six—in a laughter filled selfie captioned: Missing you, bitch. Merry Christmas.

Priya checked the time. Five pm. Singapore was seven hours ahead. Midnight.

The girls had reunited for the holidays and a surprise trip to celebrate Six's twenty-fourth birthday in Singapore. And was why, despite all efforts, she was trapped alone in the Alps minus the plus one she'd stupidly (and drunkenly) RSVP'd.

Blinking away tears, she typed a quick reply and set her phone aside.

Shayne: Missing you, Bitch! Merry Christmas

Priya: Merry X-mas

Priya: love you, bitches!

The ceremony was set to start in half an hour with the reception to immediately follow. Time to put on her lipstick and her game face, she'd avoided the unavoidable long enough.

She'd only just gathered her clutch and confirmed it contained all the essentials—room key, gum, Advil, invitation and, of course, the deepest shade of lipstick Estee Lauder had to offer—when a knock sounded at the door.

Thoughts a messy whirl of what to do before she left, Priya whisked open the door, stumbled. Blinked. And blinked again.

Nope. Not hallucinating. Not seeing things. And she was most definitely sober.

"Hello, Tiger." Braced against the door frame, and dressed in an impeccable suit—deepest azure with a cranberry tie and black shirt—was Hadrian Marek. Dark brown hair combed from a side fade.

"You," her voice eased out in a breathy whisper so she took a second and put a bit of backbone into the rest. "What are you doing here?"

His hands slid into his pockets with a casual, matter-of-fact shrug. "You invited me."

"I...what?"

"Forget, did you? Guess I shouldn't be surprised." Hadrian's smile brightened, his eyes full of wicked humour. "The drunken night we met, while at the bar hammering tequila, you told me all about your ex's wedding and declared that I was going to escort you, emailed me the invite and even made me pinky promise, for good measure." He lifted his hand and wiggled his pinky for good measure.

Priya squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed an embarrassed groan. Holy fuzzknuckles, kill me now. "You...didn't have to come," she supplied weakly.

"'Course I did. I'm a man of my word." Lifting away from the frame, Hadrian held out a hand, the deep golden green of his eyes sparkling against the warmth of his tanned skin. "C'mon, Tiger. It's not fashionable to be late to a wedding unless you're the bride."

Priya hooked her clutch under her arm. "Cute."

"I thought so."

Despite the size and grandeur of the Chalet Resort, the wedding wasn't hard to find with all the elegant ivory and gold signs reading Bhavin Shah and Courtney Liang Wedding to guide the way.

"Priya Seth, plus one," she said and handed over her monogramed invitation when a white-gloved attendant stopped her. Satisfied she wasn't a crasher, the doors parted and she sucked in an awed breath.

The room, a stunning display of high vaulted ceilings, corniced moulding and gilded trim, had been transformed with swaths of ivory and dangling orbs of white floral arrangements. Petals cascaded gently—from where, she couldn't quite figure out—and on either side of a white runner were gold chiavari chairs and lit tapers adding glow and ambience. At the end of the aisle more ivory draped and hung, flanked by wide, dark windows, and a hundred candles.

It was...ethereal. Elegant. Mesmerizing.

Hadrian steered her towards a row of seating on the groom's side, not too far back but neither too close and nudged her onto the ivory cushion.

"Are you alright?" he asked, hooking an arm around the back of the chair, his breath warm against her skin as he leaned in for discretion.

"Yes, I'm fine. I just hate weddings." Priya swiveled her gaze to him, her grip tight on the clutch in her lap. "They make me uncomfortable," she added at the lift of his brow.

"Funerals are uncomfortable. Weddings are supposed to be joyous."

"Right now I think I'd prefer a funeral," Priya grumbled a little too loudly, and winced apologetically as an older woman spun around with a disapproving glare.

Hadrian chuckled.

"I didn't mean for that sound so morbid."

Bhavin and his groomsmen, smiling and laughing, filed to the head of the aisle, joined by the minister. All wearing pale silver suits, black shoes and ivory ties. His face radiant with a kind of exuberance she'd never seen in him before.

And, admittedly, a part of her softened. Happy to see that he was so completely happy.

"Did you love him?" Hadrian asked, concern in his gaze. And something else. Something she didn't want to examine too closely. A question lurked there, one she preferred not to answer. So Priya looked away.

"Not enough, no. I don't think I believe in love," she said. A hard truth to admit. "Not the kind they tell you about in books and movies. The ever-lasting kind. All that heart-stopping, world-ending, life-affirming nonsense."

His gaze skipped over her, held for a lingering beat of disbelief.

"You don't believe it's possible to experience a connection that links you inextricably to a single person for the whole of your life? Something sharp, visceral and beyond explanation. The kind that sinks beneath the skin and grabs hold of you where you're most vulnerable, but you don't mind, you don't care—because in that moment, it's better to risk it all, the pain and the hurt, to feel the glorious burn of something far greater than anything you've ever felt before?"

"What, like soulmates?"

Hadrian nodded towards the teary-eyed groom as if he were exhibit A.

"No. Something like that can't be real." And not even the expression on Bhavin's face could convince her otherwise.

"Why not?"

"Because loving someone that much would kill you. It's not possible to feel that deeply and survive."

"Says the woman who is deeply in love with five other women."

Priya levelled her gaze. Lips dragged into a thin line. "That's different. My sisterhood is built on something greater and far more substantial."

"I think you're selling this whole true love thing short. Have you ever tried looking for it? Being open to it?"

"Of course. When I was a lot younger and incredibly naïve. As women, we're programmed to believe we need to find our Prince Charming. That there's one guy meant to hold our hearts forever. A love built on the promise of perfection. But perfection is a lie. An impossible ideal." Priya angled her body so she could face him directly, her knee wedged against his thigh. "I simply refuse to be a slave anymore to the senseless pursuit of something that doesn't exist. To give anyone that power. I prefer to deal with facts and reality because getting sucked into dreams and fiction only leads to one thing: constant heartbreak."

Hadrian's laugh was tempered by a soft, bracing sigh. The lines around his mouth and eyes edged with...disappointment. "What happened to you, Priya, to make you so cynical?"

"I'm not cynical. I'm logical."

Before he could answer, or challenge that statement, the music swelled—heralding the arrival of the bride—and the remaining scatter of mingling bodies swooped into their seats.

The doors parted, the music rose in sweet, rising notes, and Courtney appeared at the end of the aisle, her father and step father standing proudly on either side. A vision in antique lace, and her face a gorgeous ruin of tears.

She was so completely overjoyed that even a corner of Priya's disbelieving heart smiled and lifted for a moment.

And wondered...

#

There ceremony was short and sweet, but filled with laughter and emotion as the young couple exchanged their personal vows. And when Hadrian shifted in his seat, she thought to lean in with a ribbing joke only to realize he was dabbing a stray tear from the corner of his eyes.

"Don't think playing the tearing up card back there is gonna get you laid later tonight," she said once the ceremony was over as the guests filed out and into the reception hall.

Hadrian gave a mock scoff and set a hand over his heart. "I'll have you know that was entirely genuine."

Priya rolled her eyes. "Sure."

"Absolutely, and on my honor. They're blissfully in love and it was moving to witness."

"I give it two kids and five years," she said as he dragged out her seat at the round table, currently occupied with a trio of the oldest people she'd ever seen—from the bride's side. Number four, close to the dancefloor and at the furthest edge of the room, away from the main doors. It allowed for an unobstructed sightline of the head table and without a possible escape route for when she planned to duck out unseen.

Great.

"Priya, please try and be slightly less pessimistic." Hadrian sighed with measured annoyance as she sat down and claimed the seat next to her. "At least until after the reception."

"Priyanka, oh darling girl, I thought that was you." A cold fist punched through her chest as a soft hand slid around her shoulder and warm lips found her brow. Rosewater and jasmine floated in a scented cloud of memories, sucking her back four years.

When her eyes fluttered open, Priya gazed up into a kind face, heavily lined around a wide mouth and large eyes—the face of a woman who laughed, loud and often.

"Hello, maami-ji. It's great to see you," Priya said, the old endearment rolling off her tongue without thought or effort, and elected to remain seated. Even in heels, Mrs. Shah was only a hair over five feet but despite her diminutive stature, with the proud lift of her chin she was easily the tallest woman in any room she entered. That was the power of confidence.

"Bhavin said you were coming, but I wasn't sure you'd actually make it out," Mrs. Shah said as she smoothed a hand over the drape of her saree, pale gold with a dazzling array of ivory, silver and gold beads. Her dark hair streaked with pewter. "Such a long trip for a wedding."

"I'm happy to be here for his big day. And I'm sorry I haven't come by to visit."

Mrs. Shah waved a gentle hand. "It was to be expected, I suppose. As unfortunate as these things are. But we're so pleased to have you here and...I don't believe I've been introduced to this handsome young man?"

"Yes. Sorry. Maami-ji, this is Hadrian."

Hadrian accepted her hand, shook warmly. "Pleasure to meet you. It was a beautiful ceremony."

"It was, thank you, and are you both engaged?"

Priya blanched. Hadrian chuckled, all charm.

"Alas, no."

"Well don't be discouraged. You don't look the type to give up easy. Not like my Bhavin," Mrs. Shah added as she tapped his cheek, winked.

Before Priya could die of mortification, the tinkling of glasses chimed and circled the room as the mic opened for speeches. Taking her cue, Mrs. Shah swooped in for more kisses and hugs as she made her way back to rejoin the head table.

"Well, that was humiliating," Priya said as the best man opened his speech with some personal joke she didn't care to pay attention to at the moment, and brought the room to laughter.

Hadrian nudged her with the crook of his elbow. "It's a well-known fact that any available young woman of a certain age is going to get grilled about her martial status at a wedding. Comes with the territory."

"Hence why I dislike weddings."

"Then let's change the subject," he said, filling her glass from the bottle of white set on the table. "How is your friend Shayne's brother?"

Priya's hand jerked on its way to her glass, almost knocking it over. "How'd you know about that?"

"It was all over the news," he said, filling his own glass and set down the bottle between them. "I recognized the name. It was easy enough to connect the dots from there."

"He's alright." Priya slid her napkin off her lap as a server circled around with trays of elegantly plated salad. Arugula with shaved pear, parmesan and a bright, citrus dressing.

He listened intently as she told him all about those tense, emotional weeks filled with uncertainty in the wake of Marco's accident, where the family's private jet malfunction on the tarmac—a small electrical explosion that killed everyone on board. Including the prince's pregnant fiancée. Marco had barely made it out alive. They'd lost him twice on route to the hospital. But by some small miracle, he survived, and now that he was stronger the doctors wanted to move on towards reconstructive therapies—a new and invasive procedure to reduce scarring and promote skin restoration.

A long, exhausting road to recovery was paved with many brutal bumps.

"I'm sorry you all had to go through that," Hadrian said, placing his cutlery down on his empty entrée plate. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

"No kidding." Finished with her halibut, Priya eased her plate aside. "Shayne's handling it all like a champ, but I know the idea of holding down the royal fort while he recovers is stressing her out."

"I can imagine. Being responsible for an entire country on the back of a near tragedy, it's a lot to undertake," he said, thigh brushing against hers beneath the table as he angled around to get a look across the dance floor at the head table where the bride and groom were kissing. "Kinda puts life and everything in it into perspective, though."

Priya murmured her agreement, knowing if anyone understood the transient quality of life, it was Hadrian. Having survived a brush with death at the hands of a shark that almost robbed him of his right leg—and losing his father to a heart attack six short weeks later, in her books, made him somewhat of an expert.

The evening rolled out with a long line of food, speeches and the usual suspects—bouquet and garter toss, various games and a traditional Korean tea ceremony to honour Courtney's heritage.

A beautiful night, to be sure, but otherwise would've been boring and painful as a root canal without Hadrian. She had to give him serious credit. He knew how to work a room. And charmed everyone he met, young and old, with his personality and wit.

"You did not say that to the Justice of the Supreme Court," Priya gasped as they returned to their table, drinks in hand from one of a dozen trips to the open bar. She was double fisting leech martinis, heavy on the vodka and chilled to perfection. Hadrian kept it simple—whiskey, three fingers, neat.

"Don't believe me, check out the video clip on my alma matter website at Oxford. I'll never live it down long as I live."

Hand pressed to her mouth, Priya barely restrained the laughter or the tears. "Oh, Jesus, you're so lucky your father was Aurelio Marek Sr. Anyone else, that've been career suicide."

He raised his glass in cheers to that and kicked back the first in a bracing swallow.

"Still doesn't top me going to my job interview at MNS, hungover and wearing last night's wrinkled post-drunken-hookup outfit—minus my panties."

Hadrian choked back a laugh around a sip of whiskey. "Gave it a valiant effort."

As the winner of 'single most humiliating experience' battle, Priya tapped her martini glass to his tumbler.

The lights dimmed in a sudden sweep around the room, leaving the tapers to warm the space as a soft, rolling melody played. A song Priya didn't recognize but it was beautiful, sentimental and far too intimate.

"Finally. Some music. I was beginning to think it was going to be one of those weddings." He cast Priya a playful wink. "We should dance."

A couple bodies made their way to the dancefloor, but otherwise the room had thinned out considerably as most of the wedding guests were much older couples less inclined to stick it out past cutting the cake. Which had been about the point she'd plan to duck out herself if it hadn't been for Hadrian and his distractions.

"I don't want to."

Half out of his seat, he cast her a reproachful glare. "Other than to head to the bar, you haven't left this table all evening." Tossing down his napkin, Hadrian straightened and held out a waiting hand for her to take.

Priya turned up her nose, edged her second partially-finished martini away. "I don't want to dance. Not to this."

"You have something against slow dancing, Tiger?"

"Yes. It's slow."

He answered that with an I'm-not-taking-no-for-an-answer smirk and a beckoning crook of his hand.

Priya crossed her arms. Resolute.

But something about the heat and humor of his eyes unravelled her resolve, and those stubborn arms fell, her unwilling legs moved. Before she knew what happened, she was out of her seat and with him on the dancefloor. He guided her to a secluded alcove, where the windows spread up and met a domed glass ceiling. The inky black swath of night stretched above them and snow fell like feathers floating in the glimmering darkness.

"I don't know how you do that."

"What?" he asked, sliding into a slow, easy rhythm and guiding her arms over his shoulders while his own circled low on her waist.

"Get me to do things that I don't want to do. It's annoying."

Hadrian chuckled, a low, heady rumble that stirred a longing deep within her belly. His voice always did things to her. The way it deepened and stroked over her nerves, like smoke and velvet against her skin with that goddamn accent. "Then stop fighting me all the damn time and just say yes. Save us both the trouble."

Priya snorted but it was softened with a smile. Maybe it was the music, or the dimness of their surroundings that softened her, like the gently falling nighttime snow.

He gathered her closer, his hand against the small of her back and his chest pressed tight against hers. Trapped with him and the soft, dreamy scent of his cologne. A clean, subtle gathering of notes that made her want to bury herself against the nape of his neck and drink him in.

Saying nothing, Priya closed her eyes and just...drifted. It was so easy, being here in his arms. He had that way about him, making the world disappear. Fade. Until it was nothing but him. That should have scared her. Almost always did whenever they both got too close for comfort, but in this moment, it soothed an ache deep inside of her she hadn't known was there until now.

"Can I ask you something?" she whispered.

"Hm."

"After...what happened..." She tripped over the words. Over the hard truth she'd struggled to come to terms with since he left New York. "How come you never called? Reached out? Something."

He looked down at her, eyes dark and unreadable despite the subtle warmth of candlelight. "Did you want me to?"

Priya chewed on the inner corner of her bottom lip. Shrugged. "Maybe."

"Why didn't you?"

Because pushing you out, betraying your trust and breaking our agreement was a dick move and I thought you hated me. Because I'm an idiot. Because...Priya shook away her dark thoughts, and settled on something less complicated. And honest. "Figured it wasn't my place, all things considered."

"Or maybe you were just too chicken-shit to take the first step," he amended. Cutting straight to the truth, as always.

It wasn't a question, so she didn't bother answering. Or arguing. The truth was obvious enough.

His finger skimmed along the line of her neck, and slipped under the delicate gold chain. Lifting. Until the charm on the end dangled free of the bustline of her dress. A gold-leaf wrapped arrowhead.

The amber of his eyes swelled, almost smothering the green. "You're wearing it."

Always. Priya swallowed the word.

"Why?"

She lifted a shoulder. Mute. The day he'd left she'd put it on. His gift and parting words had stayed with her, every single day, since.

Life is about risk and chance, without it there can be no reward. So, let this stand as a reminder of those words, and of me. Be the arrow, shot from the bow, swift and powerful. Be bold. Be fearless, Priya. Always be fearless.

"Kiss me," he said.

"Why?" The word squeaked out of her, full of surprise.

"Because you want to. Because it feels right. Us, here. Under the light of a thousand stars." Hadrian rolled his teeth over his bottom lip, and her eyes fell there. Held. "C'mon, Priya. Kiss me. Fearless, remember?"

"No."

His smile flashed. "That would've sounded more convincing if you actually meant it."

"I do." Warm. He was so warm and the gentle sway of their bodies lulled her senses—everything else bled away. Disappeared. Leaving only them in this moment. The heat of his body spilled into Priya, and shook her straight to her core.

"You're trembling," he whispered. The brush of his fingers skimmed higher, in slow, lazy circles.

"The alcohol," she answered. "Had too much to drink."

"And you're breathless."

"Tired. Long day."

His lips brushed the side of her cheek. Grazed beneath the lobe of her ear. "Liar."

Drawing back, his eyes found her in the dark. Glowing like the candles scattered about the room. Transfixed, Priya couldn't look away even though something deep inside of her wanted her to. Begged her to. But his gaze, as always, held her spellbound. Mesmerized. And waited until something shifted in her. Acceptance. Agreement. Surrender.

His lips sank. Pressed. And explored.

She sighed into the kiss, and the first taste of him seared in a brilliant flash. Deeper. He took her deeper. A sweep of tongue, a sigh of breath, hands caging and holding her still for the slow, lazy spin as that drugging pull dragged her down. Down...

Burning. God, she was burning. Hot. So hot, and the feeling so thick in her lungs she could scarcely breathe.

"There," he whispered. Thumb skimming the side of her jaw as her eyes fluttered open. "There it is."

"What?"

"Everything." His body eased back. His hands slid away but his smile stayed warm, his eyes locked to hers. Powerful. Compelling. "I'd escort you back to your room, but you and I don't manage so well in elevators."

At a loss, and still slightly off balance, Priya laughed.

Lifting her hand, eyes till burning with desire and restraint, Hadrian pressed his lips to the back. "Good night, Priya. And Merry Christmas."

**AN**

Hello Sisters!!

For those of you begging for a bit more of Priya and Hadrian, here they are.