There’s a moment of silence at our table as we all contemplate the perfection of Scarlet’s marriage. Even Charli has a soft expression on her face that I rarely see there.

And then a low voice breaks the silence.

“Sylvie.”

I freeze at the sound of Bryce’s voice. But I do not turn around. I’m still angry.

A warm hand lands on my shoulder. “Please. I need to apologize.”

The fight seeps out of me. I don’t want to make another scene. So I slide out of the booth and turn around to face him.

A very familiar set of dark blue eyes greets me. And they look worried. “Désolé, Sylvie. I am very sorry for not sending you the same shots that I sent the others. I did not mean to disrespect you.”

“Thank you,” I say stiffly. The hurt is still there, though. I keep attracting the wrong kind of attention from this man, and I don’t know how to break the cycle.

But maybe Bryce does. He takes both my hands in his, and gazes lovingly at me. “I never want to hurt you. I love you. I’m sorry.” Then, just as my heart begins melting into a puddle, he pulls me into a hug. I’m snuggled against his warm chest, and my nose lands at the collar of his shirt, where I get a whiff of the aftershave that he’s always worn.

A soft kiss lands at my temple. “Désolé,” he says one more time.

As apologies go, it’s top notch. And so is this hug. This is the kind man I’ve pined for since I was a girl. Even though it was never mutual.

When his arms relax, I step back. “Did you eat dinner?” he asks. “I was about to order a burger from the bar. I could make it two.”

“I ate,” I admit. “But thank you.”

He flashes me a rare smile. “Then enjoy your evening, mademoiselle.”

“Merci.” I sit back down then, to the questioning eyes of my teammates.

“Okay, that was nice,” Fiona says. “But that boy confuses me.”

“Sing it, sister.” Confusing should be his new middle name.

“Although I might know a way you could unconfuse him.”

“Really? How?” I ask a little too quickly. It’s so obvious that I’ve spent too much time wondering how to do that.

“The black-tie dinner and dance that’s coming up—let’s find you a sexy dress, some killer heels, and smoky eyes.”

I blink. “That’s it? That’s your idea?”

“Never underestimate the power of showing yourself in a new light. Men can be simple, visual creatures. You’d be activating the other definition of bombshell, you know?”

Charli makes a face, like she hates this plan. “Why do we have to put ourselves on display to raise money for charity?”

“You don’t,” I point out. “It’s optional. Although the men have to put on a tux several times a year for these things. Donors plunk down a thousand dollars a head to meet the players and shake their hands.”