Wild Side (Rose Hill #3)

17. Tabitha

CHAPTER 17

TABITHA

Rhys:

What type of flowers do you want for your bouquet?

Tabby:

Are there any that you’re allergic to?

Rhys:

Charming. But no.

Tabby:

Maybe I should just carry Cleocatra down the aisle? I don’t need a bouquet.

I rub my damp palms together nervously in the small back room of the church.

My dad, Paul, doesn’t miss it, but he doesn’t jump to conclusions. Instead of assuming I’m antsy and dreading walking down the aisle today, he smiles at me kindly. “Excited, aren’t ya, kiddo?”

Since Rhys and I told my parents about the wedding, and they met him for the very first time , they haven’t shown a single shred of suspicion over the entire thing. Which would seem strange, except it’s clear as day to me they need something happy in their lives. They need this wedding to be a joyous, happy occasion. They need it so badly that they can’t bear to look any closer.

Yeah, my parents are thrilled I’m getting married to Rhys, even though they don’t know him from Adam.

“Yeah, Dad.” I smile back. “I’m excited.”

Excited to get this over with .

I still tried to bring up a quick trip down to the courthouse, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew it wouldn’t work. There’s no chance people like Rosie, or Skylar, or West, or Bash would believe that I married Rhys for real if we did that. And I suppose that’s why they’re all in attendance today.

In the name of keeping things simple, Rosie is my maid of honor, and Bash is Rhys’s best man. I don’t know how or when, but he and Rhys seem to have hit it off beyond the bowling team. Best man and security system enforcer. Their friendship makes perfect sense and also baffles me.

“You look so beautiful.” My father’s gaze goes watery as he takes me in, and I fight the urge to squirm.

“Thanks, Dad.”

I drop his gaze and adjust the spaghetti straps of my simple, backless, lace sheath dress. They hold it securely, a necessity because my small boobs couldn’t support anything strapless. This dress was also easily hemmed to accommodate my vertical challenges as well as our short timeline.

My mom, Lisa, had fussed over me finding exactly what I wanted and had lamented that it was impossible with so little time to plan. I’d said something cheesy like, Sorry, Mom. The heart wants what the heart wants.

But the truth is, this dress is what I’d choose on a longer timeline. Feminine, but not too frilly. Hell, I could have this hemmed shorter next week and wear it with a cute pair of cowboy boots for a night out.

“The perfect glowing bride. I’m so proud of you, Tabby Cat. I just wish…”

I nod, my eyes swimming with tears, because I know what he was about to say— I just wish Erika were here . And so do I, though I still feel conflicted about how she’d be reacting. I’m not oblivious to the fact that Rhys’s and my stories don’t match up where my sister is concerned. I just haven’t let myself dig into why. It hurts too badly.

Still, the dishonesty of the day sits heavy in my stomach. The deception of it all has kept me up the last few nights, along with the knowledge that my husband-to-be is sleeping down in a dank concrete basement.

He’s never once complained. And yet, it bothers me more than it ever has. At first, I felt as though Rhys belonged down there, but now…now I’m not so sure.

Rhys was quiet, agreeable, and steady as a rock as we rushed to plan the wedding. We divided and conquered as though we were a real couple and not solely a business arrangement. I took charge of the food, music, and reception dinner at the bistro, while Rhys handled the ceremony itself and booked the small church just off Main Street. He designed invites, printed them, and handwrote names on the front in the most meticulous cursive.

I had stood at the kitchen counter on hold with the food supplier, phone wedged between my ear and my shoulder. My eyes stayed fixed on him as he made our invites with a level of care I never expected. His hands seemed too big for the pen or for the elegant script that he drew on each envelope. It had looked downright ridiculous when he carefully folded down the flap of the envelope.

But it was the way his eyes flashed to mine as he trailed his tongue over the edge of that flap that had me flushing and leaving the kitchen in a flustered huff.

Marrying Rhys for legal purposes is one thing, but letting myself stare at him like I might enjoy consummating said marriage is a recipe for disaster.

And we both know it. It’s an unspoken commitment between us. We’re both mature enough to understand that Milo is at the center of this jumbled mess, and we don’t need to make it any messier.

Basically, we’d both do anything for him. Including keeping our hands the hell off each other.

That mutual dedication breeds a grudging respect between us. I take solace in reminding myself that marriages have been founded on less.

And when I hear the click of the door and Milo’s excited squeal, I take solace in knowing I’m making the right decision for him too.

Rosie is holding his hand as she saunters in, eyes roaming, head nodding. “Yes, girl. You look stunning .”

“Thank you, thank you.” I drop a small curtsy that’s received with giggles from everyone.

This morning, the Skylar Stone played beauty salon with me, curling my hair and applying my makeup with a level of expertise that I just do not possess. I suppose years in the spotlight have taught her a thing or two about primping. And when I told her she could do it professionally, she didn’t laugh me off. Instead, her head tilted, and she met my eyes in the mirror with a soft, You think so?

“Here.” Rosie holds out a bouquet I don’t recognize. Jagged green leaves top long, ribbon-wrapped stems. The white flowers that top those stems are small and delicate, but not as delicate as the slender threadlike petals that shoot out from them.

“Rhys told me to tell you he tracked down your favorite flowers.”

I quirk a brow at my friend. “Oh he did, did he?”

“Yeah. Apparently, Cat Whiskers are not a common bridal choice, and he had to have them shipped in by special order.”

I blink. “I’m sorry?”

Rosie nods eagerly. “I know. Isn’t that sweet? Leave it to you to love something so obscure.”

I look down at the bouquet in my hand and bark out a laugh.

Fucking Cat Whiskers. What a man.

I’m grinning like a loon and shaking my head in disbelief when Rosie lays a hand on my arm.

“You ready?” Rosie asks, eyeing me carefully. She wasn’t quite the easy sell that my parents were. I know the feeling. Sometimes love and hate are two sides of the same coin , she’d said, and I’d nodded along even though the way she and Ford feel about each other is nothing like Rhys and me. She didn’t hesitate to accept her role in the wedding party, though. And I took that as a win.

Because as much as there’s a part of me that wanted to tell her this whole thing is a sham, I felt like I owed it to Rhys not to. It may be a sham. But it’s our sham. And for better or for worse, we’re in this together.

So today I smile shyly, grateful that Rosie is here as my maid of honor and that Skylar is sitting in a pew. Over the past several weeks, they’ve been the closest things I’ve had to friends in a long time. We don’t work together, and they don’t need anything from me—they’re just happy to spend time with me. Hell, they make me happy too, and at a time like this, that’s special.

Rhys and I don’t make each other happy. But I’m here, about to walk down the aisle to him anyway. Because, like always, I do what needs to be done.

“Ready,” I respond with a firm nod. “How about you, Milo?” I turn and crouch before him.

“I’ll be the best flower boy,” he gushes, eyes bright and cheeks flushed.

Even though I can tell he’s nervous, his excitement is palpable. I can’t help but reach forward and hug him. Seeking comfort in him—in knowing I’m doing the right thing. And when his tiny arms wrap around my neck, all my nerves disappear.

The music starts to play as I straighten, and my stomach flips. Rhys is on the other side of those doors, standing in front of a small group of people he doesn’t know at all, like nothing about this entire thing is weird. I casually asked him about inviting some of his friends and family. And in response, I’d gotten a grunt and a “No, that’s fine.”

I tried not to take it personally. Told myself that it made sense. After all, we’re selling this to my family. I know we don’t need to overcomplicate it with more people and more lies, but it left me wishing my future husband felt some semblance of pride about me.

Dad links my arm through his, pulling me out of my internal pity party. He puffs his chest as we wait, every bit the proud father waiting to walk his daughter down the aisle.

Bash slips out through the double doors, face impassive. His gray suit is immaculate, highlighting the silver flecks in the salt-and-pepper hair near his temples.

“We’re up,” he says matter-of-factly and ushers a jittery Milo forward. He crouches down to check on him. Bash’s son is grown now, so his days of talking to small children have passed, but he still softens for my nephew.

“You ready, pal?” Bash asks him.

Milo nods and takes a deep breath.

“Of course you are. You’re gonna fuckin’ rock th—” Bash’s eyes flash to mine right as Milo gasps and bursts out laughing. Bash grimaces with a grumbled, “Shit, sorry.”

Okay, maybe he isn’t completely adjusted to three-year-olds. But he’s trying.

My lips twitch and then flatten so I don’t laugh too.

That’s what I focus on as I watch Bash send Milo in first before taking Rosie’s arm. In what feels like mere seconds, their backs disappear through the double doors leading into the nave.

And so my wedding begins.