The Wedding Crush

Chapter Eleven

Stefano

Aweek later, the wedding party erupts in applause as I enter the private wine-tasting room at Il Sapore.

“Ayyy! There he is. The man, the myth…” Dante, up off his chair, and striding toward me, beams like I’m the man of the hour as he slaps a heavy-handed arm over my shoulder and fist-pumps the air “…the legend!”

More cheers.

It’s a bit much, if you ask me, but I play along.

For the past twenty minutes, I’ve been circling the block looking for parking. Not surprising, I’ve learned my lesson that arriving last means I’ll be in the spotlight.

“Thank you for the warm welcome.” I chuckle, waving to the group as I scan the white-clothed twelve-seater table for the only empty chair.

I’m placed beside Avery. Initially, the seating arrangement doesn’t strike me as odd.

Starting at the head of the table closest to the door, Chiara is next to her paired groomsmen Jameson at her left. Beside him, Seneca and Mike. Then Valerie and Everett. Dante’s at the opposite end of the table, with Morgan at his left, followed by Avery, which leaves me between Marcello and Monica to round out the group.

Makes perfect sense.

But then Marcello, my loudest, most opinionated—craves the center of attention—younger brother shoots me a quick glance before tearing his focus away.

Now, I’ve seen this you’ve done it this time expression too many times. It’s his best and worst quality because his face tells on him.

So, when Dante obnoxiously announces, “Let the Champagne Sip begin!” I amble down the right side of the table, muttering hellos, and squeeze Marcello’s shoulder before I settle in between him and Avery.

Only, this time, he wordlessly tips his chin to me.

My face contorts.

Whatever is bothering him, it’s much worse than I initially thought.

Naturally, it’s this moment that Dante throws his head back, laughing loudly, at the other end of the table.

When I turn, Avery nudges my shoulder with hers. Reluctantly, I hazard a look at her.

“Hey. Good to see you,” she whispers.

“You too. You too,” I repeat, nervously as her eyes rake appreciatively over me. “I tell you, parking in this city is brutal.” I flash her a small smile, still wary how we’re going to get this runaway lust train back on the track after that tongue tango.

But this is a great start.

Suffice to say, I’m hoping for an easy, casual, slow getting to know each other period. Even if, unbidden, images of Avery in my arms, my lips pressed to hers, insist on filling my head.

I scratch at my beard scruff.

“Oh, I meant to tell you, we got the magazine feature.” She squeals.

Excitement zips through me.

“Wow, that’s amazing.”

“Yeah, Vines + Vineyards is going to do a full-page spread.” She nods. “Blissful Bride and Northern Living agreed to list it in their spring issues next year, too.”

At her side, Morgan elbows her.

“Oh, one sec,” she says.

As soon as she turns away, though, I steal another quick glance at Marcello. But I don’t get the chance to lean in and chat. No, because this is an Avery Ellis event.

On cue, she clinks her water glass with a fork to stop the chatter.

“Now, that everyone is here, I’m thrilled to kick off The Fortemani-Forster Champagne Sip.” Immediately, she deep-dives into the night’s agenda. Of course, there’s a structured plan for how this evening is going to go.

I suppress a laugh.

Over the next ten minutes, she outlines the plan. First, we’ll enjoy a variety of champagne (graciously, she’s requested the Fortemani brand sparkling wine) and light fare (flatbreads, cheese, and meat charcuterie boards). Responsibly, she pauses to highlight the availability of local rideshare options afterward for safe driving. Then she bullet points mixing and music in breakout pairs, giving us a chance to introduce ourselves, discuss wedding attire and theme, as well as—and I suspect this is the ulterior motive—the ceremony entrance dances.

“Now, Stefano and I’ve got this in the bag…” She giggles. “But we welcome your best efforts in this dance-off.”

Laughter lifts the room.

“We’ll see about that.” Chiara elbows Jameson.

My sister was on dance teams from elementary to college. Their “team” is likely our biggest competition, so I know she’ll be gunning for us.

“Nothing like starting off a life together with a little competitive spirit,” Seneca quips.

As I glance over to Dante to see his reaction, I’m surprised he isn’t laughing.

Nor is Morgan.

In fact, they’re not even paying attention. He and Morgan are huddled close, whispering.

Shit.

Surveying Marcello in my periphery, I have a feeling my brothers know something I don’t.

Just then, the door to our private room opens and a line of servers festively file in, setting the food, champagne flutes, and chilled bottles along the center of the table. A server pops the champagne, and suddenly there’s music and the hum of excited chatter, jumpstarting the party. An upbeat, soulful classic buzzes on low while the group picks and grazes from the boards and platters. Me? I’m reading the liveliness of the room, wondering why my brothers’ distracted demeanors don’t match.

“Oh my God, everything looks amazing,” Avery hums.

She twists to chat with the manager beside her, going on and on about how gorgeous the place is and how much she loves the idea of music and good company coupled with great wine and food.

She’ll be talking for five minutes, bare minimum.

It feels like my opening.

Except, as I angle my body toward Marcello, he beats me to the chase. With his attention centered across the table on Mike, he shifts slightly in my direction.

Out of the side of his mouth, he discreetly, quietly asks, “Are you good?”

I almost laugh. He looks like he’s just declared self-imposed celibacy, and he’s asking if I’m all right?

“Yeah, of course. I’m the best man, right?” I snort, tossing him another searching glance. “I ended up parking two blocks away but at least I doubled my step goal.”

This is his chance.

If nothing is wrong, Marcello should relax. He’ll slouch into the bend of his chair, sigh, then pop a cheesy bruschetta bite into his mouth. He’ll pour himself a generous glass of champagne and brush off his worries because that’s what my unaffected thirty-two-year-old brother would do.

But Marcello crinkles his brow.

His posture is ramrod straight as he scrapes a hand over his mouth and slowly drags it down his neck.

Aw, hell.

A toxic combination of curiosity and worry get the best of me, and I’m forced to take the bait.

“Why wouldn’t I be good?” I counter.

I notice Avery’s attention dart between Marcello to me, and I hedge my body toward him, leaning closer.

What’s going on?I mouth.

Almost like he doesn’t want to draw any attention to us, he slightly averts his gaze. In the back of my mind, I’m banking on this being about something low-energy fixable. A girl who rejected him, or Mother still not trusting him to take on clients without Dante’s or my help. He’s been vying for more responsibility since he was born.

Neither would be out of the ordinary.

But then he scans the room, slides his phone off the table and opens Instagram to Carina’s profile. Then he drops his voice a notch.

“Read the caption,” he says.

Then I do.

Like bile, hurt and shame lodge in my throat.

Painstakingly slow, I guide my thumb over a picture of my ex-wife’s hand curved to the mural of faint stretch marks adorning her fleshy stomach.

This is joy.

#Newlife #Comingsoon

My cheeks burn with humiliation as Avery stands beside me.

“Okay, it’s time for breakouts. You can stay here or go out to the main restaurant. Wherever you want but take your time. Ask the hard questions like what music do they like? What sort of person are they? Should you stare longingly into each other’s eyes as you sashay down the aisle?” She giggles. “Make it your own, but make it work!”

Panic rushes over me as the room stirs.

As soon as the others move to find a corner to talk, I scoot back my chair, nearly tipping it over.

“Is everything okay?” Avery’s attention flits to my phone.

My heart pounds in my ears.

I don’t have the resolve to quietly grin and bear it in front of a room full of people, though.

“Uh, I…I just need a minute,” I say, standing and rushing the door.

Hanging a left out of the private room, away from the restaurant’s main seating area, I hurry toward the employee exit at the end of the hall.

A manic energy races through me as I burst through the door into the alley.

My fingers twitch around the cool, tempered glass of my phone. Then I unlock the screen.

For so long, I stare at Carina’s photo.

It’s not that I’m jealous or that I want her back. This has nothing to do with her new relationship, or even, God willing, a baby. As much as it hurts feeling like my dream of love and family is out of reach, this right now, has everything to do with me.

Why haven’t I felt ready to move on?

Why have I been holding back like it’s too soon after the divorce?

Clearly, she’s got no qualms about it.

At the core, though, I hate not knowing how to start over. There’s no book or instruction manual for this. I’m struggling just to kiss another woman, who’s gorgeous and fun-loving, and who clearly wanted me as much as I wanted her, and for what? Some arbitrary emotional hump that I need to get over? Because my ego is bruised by the optics?

I hold my breath.

Twelve years of marriage plus three more dating, now we’re divorced and she’s pregnant with another man’s child. Meanwhile, I’m putting in hours at the gym and the winery, living the only life I’ve known? Anticipating more disappointment when I find someone new?

“Dammit.”

My stare is fixed on my phone, preparing to block Carina, so I flinch when Avery barges through the door looking like a beautiful flame.

Fire burns in her blazing brown eyes. Her chest swells with steam as she grimaces, taking in the dark, narrow space, bricked in on either side of us.

Then her focus crashes onto me.

“Why are you like this, Stefano Fortemani?” She’s fuming mad, but her voice wavers.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“God, I don’t know why I even care.” She scoffs and flicks her gaze upward. “I guess, I just want to understand all the mixed signals. Obviously, you’re just regaining your footing after the divorce. That part, I get. But one second, we’re at each other’s throats nonstop, then you kissed me… I figured, even if it was baby steps then—”

I clear my throat.

I don’t want to invalidate her feelings, but I don’t want to hear the rest of that wholly untrue, conditional statement.

“Avery, this isn’t about you,” I say, sharply.

“Oh, well, in that case, please continue confusing the hell out of me.” She releases a scornful laugh. “Yes, let’s play tug-o-war with my emotions since this is all a game to you, and you’re the only one involved with feelings.”

She arches an eyebrow.

Still, I inch closer.

“Please don’t deny it.” She frowns. “I saw the looks you and Dante exchanged, and the whispering with Marcello. You’ve barely strung together two words to talk to me. Even now, it’s killing you being alone with me out here.”

Her shoulders relax.

Every cell on my body tingles with the urge to tell her how wrong she is. How the last time we were together, I had to physically restrain myself from reaching for her because how could something that felt so right, be wrong? How could I say I loved my ex-wife, then jump so quickly, willingly into another woman’s arms?

But I don’t say any of that.

Avery shakes her head, disappointment underscoring her sigh.

“Not that it matters to you, but I knew from the second you pulled back…” She breaks off, emotion steeping her silence. “When I left, I called my girls, and the first thing Monica said was to take my cues from you. Well, I’ve been paying attention. All the signs are telling me not to care. Not to make excuses. I should be running…”

But she doesn’t run.

Like her feet are rooted to the ground, she’s completely still, and I’m the one moved.

Strangely, my world shifts into focus.

Something I’ve done upset her. Affected her. Shouldn’t I be paying attention to the people, the person, fighting for space in my life?

Hell, I’ve been giving Dante shit about delaying his engagement, but maybe he’s got the right idea. Maybe, I should just screw all the podcasts telling me not to rush into a relationship. Maybe, time, maturity, age, none of it matters.

I tuck my phone away, step closer, and take her hand in mine, lifting it to my chest, so she can feel what she does to me.

“Don’t run,” I plead, quietly.

Avery looks like she’s going to protest then thinks better of it. Her eyes brighten to a firework display of ambers and golden browns as she slowly registers the undeniable, racing evidence of my nerves.

Surveying me with caution, she softly asks, “Why?”

My voice, gruff with desperation, cuts against my own ears.

“Because I’d be a fool not to tear down every emotional and physical barrier for you, Avery Ellis. Because it’s been a while, and I’m learning how to start over. Because I’d be the luckiest man alive to have the chance to try with you…if you’re willing to be patient with a grumpy silver fox with ‘Big Prick Energy’.”

“You know that little cactus is the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.” Avery giggles.

“Hey, people say we’ve got a lot in common.”

She smiles sweetly. “Are you ever going to let me live the silver-fox thing down?”

“Not a chance, Pollyanna.”

Tracing her teeth over her lower lip, she crawls her fingers over the taut slopes of my chest, like fuel, driving me wild.

“You should know that name has a very ‘yes, daddy, I’ve been a bad, bad girl,’ feel to it.” Avery giggles again, like she didn’t, with a single sentence, harden every muscle in my body.

My Adam’s apple bobs. “I’m sorry. I’m a little out of practice.”

“Oh, don’t go selling yourself short. If you play your cards right, I might let you bend me over your knee…”

Is she for real?

Almost like she hears the questions flashing across my mind, Avery tugs me down by my tie, holding me a breath apart. Scanning the empty alley, she lowers her voice. “How bad do you want me, Stefano?”

Damn.

All the humor ebbs, before a tidal wave of desire flows over me.

Carefully, wordlessly and with purpose, I cradle her beautiful face in my hands. My breaths come fast and shallow as I let my mouth collide with hers. With her needy hands skating over the tense muscles of my back. With each brush of our lips, I inhale deeply, sinking into the soft swell of her lips until she clings to me.

But then she stumbles back, guiding me toward the arch of the boarded-off doorframe neighboring Il Sapore.

Her back to the wall, she tilts her pelvis into me, and instantly I know I don’t stand a chance of going slow.

Closing my eyes against the sudden, insatiable, carnal need to feel her flesh to flesh, I deepen the kiss. I let my body absorb the feel of her round breasts pressing into me.

Again, she mouths into the kiss, “How bad do you want me, Stefano?”

Fire sears my back beneath her fingertips as she trembles and wilts in my arms.

Except, Carina’s photo flashes in my head, making me feel like I’m being reactionary.

If Avery and I do this, I need to know it’s intentional. I need to ensure we both want this for the right reasons.

Breaking the kiss, I withdraw just enough to see search her eyes. “Avery, what are you saying?”

She drags my fingertips up her thigh until her dress rides up. “Tear down the physical barrier,” she says, confusing me by the turn of phrase. Until I realize they’re my words applied seamlessly, interchangeably to us. “Start over with me. Try with me.” Make me feel wanted again.

And that’s what we do.

In the most uninhibited, unguarded and vulnerable way, we kiss deliberately, coaxing whimpers and moans from each other, the way I imagine we’ve long yearned for from a lover. As I drag up her dress hem and tear away her panties, she unfastens my pants, dipping her warm fingers over the waistband. With my full length hardening in her hands, and my mouth trailing along her neck, down to the curves of her breasts, her hip, hooked over mine, we edge further.

I’m aching to be inside her. I’ve never wanted anything so bad in my life.

Shit.

“I don’t have anything.” Condoms, I mean, which in hindsight, maybe it would’ve been smarter to mention this earlier. I swallow. “We should stop now…”

But Avery, continues working me in long, fast strokes, readying me. Then she presses her body flush to my chest, and it feels too good. And it’s been too damn long.

“Uh, my last test…” She pants, giggling at my tongue in her ear. “It was three years ago, but it was clear, and as you can tell, I haven’t been with anyone.”

“Mine was a year ago.” I huff out a laugh. “Clear here, too.”

“I remember.” Her lips curve, and heats swarm my cheeks, remembering that first ChatVideo log-in when I’d unknowingly announced how long it’s been since I had sex. “So, pull-out, then?” Avery cringes.

I drop my head on her chest, amused and horrified that I’m single again, weighing the trustworthiness of the pull-out method and the dire need to bed a woman who has my knees weak for her.

We both burst out laughing.

“What?” Avery giggles again. “My boob is on your forehead and your hand is dangerously close to my inner thigh. My very bare inner goods are out here because my panties are tattered and on the ground. And if you think you’re getting this wooden log back into those pants…”

“A log?”

Her eyes sparkle with amusement. “Neither one of us should go back in there without getting this out of our systems.”

“So, we’re really doing this?” I ask, my desperation indirectly growing with my waning restraint.

“Preferably, quickly,” she quips. “Let’s have fun until it isn’t anymore.”

Now, we’re both laughing uncontrollably as we refocus our stroking and kissing. I lift her by the waist, and she centers my erection between her very bare thighs.

Opening for me, Avery arches, slowly taking me whole.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

She’s clinging to me, her body molded to mine. “Um, you’re…a little bigger than I’m used to.”

“Do you want to stop?”

Avery shakes her head. She wants more.

So, I take it slow, careful not to hurt her as she arches again, meeting my first thrust. We move like this, easy with long strokes until she’s used to me. Soon, we wilt into the fit and feel, relishing the mind-numbing pleasure.

“Jesus, it’s been so long,” I groan.

Every breath on her neck and gasp in my ear. Every touch. We’re synchronized, tailored for each other. We’re lighthearted and heady while we cling to each other, inching toward ecstasy, and it’s perfectly us. Clashing, delicious friction, joy, vulnerably kissing and pleasing one another, in—this falsely secluded—public, no less…

My God, I want to try this, and so much more with Avery Ellis.

That’s what scares me, though.

I’m the one who advised my brother against rushing in. I know the glaring danger signs ahead, and I don’t care.