Wild Side (Rose Hill #3)

19. Tabitha

CHAPTER 19

TABITHA

I recite my vows back over the lump lodged in my throat. There’s something about the way Rhys is looking at me, his dark eyes so intense on mine that everyone else in the room seems to fade away.

It makes saying these vows out loud a little bit easier. And the way his thumb brushes over the top of my hand any time I get hung up makes it a little bit easier to breathe. Somehow, having Rhys here at all makes the pressure of the day more bearable.

And that confuses the hell out of me. I’m torn in a million directions when it comes to him. We clash, but we also work together. My mind constantly contradicts itself with Rhys.

He’s trying to take Milo from me.

He’s doing everything in his power to keep us together.

He’s turned everything upside down.

He keeps showing up and trying to make everything right.

I hate that he’s here at all.

Having him here makes my life better.

As I mull this over, I miss the rest of what Doris says. I desperately hope it’s not about huge dicks. I chose Doris because she was already a licensed officiant, and I thought she’d keep things blunt and to the point. I didn’t expect her to turn into a romance author over our fucking vows.

Bash steps forward and hands Rhys one of the simple gold bands we agreed upon.

Rhys was dead set on being the one to buy the rings, and I was too tired to fight him. I told him to keep it as cheap as possible and that mine needed to be low-profile for the kitchen.

He takes my hand and murmurs Doris’s words back to me. “I give you this ring as a sign of my love and devotion.” The metal is warm, but I shiver as I watch him slip it over my knuckle and reverently slide it up my finger.

I clear my throat and peek up at him. He looks so fucking handsome. Chin-length hair slicked back, stubble trimmed tight, shoulders impossibly wide. I suppose at the very minimum, we’re attracted to each other, and that’s not an awful place to start.

When Rosie steps up to hand me Rhys’s ring, I startle, shaken from lusting over my almost-husband. She smiles as she passes me the ring, and my hand trembles when it lands in my palm. As I stare down at it, my stomach goes diving off a cliff. That free-fall feeling that wakes you up in a dream before you hit the ground. That bone-deep, what-the-fuck-am-I-doing feeling.

But Rhys is there to steady me. His big, warm palm slides under my wrist, fingers curling gently around my forearm. Without me asking, he’s still supporting. I can’t even turn my face up to his because I know what I’ll see. Furrowed brow, concern, and care. It’ll be that day I got the world’s mildest burn on my hand all over again. The one when he demanded I let him take care of me.

Sometimes he makes it really hard to hate him.

I take his calloused hand in my trembling grip. “I give you this ring as a sign of my love and devotion,” I say in a thick voice, my words brimming with more affection than I intended as I slip the gold band onto his finger.

The sight immobilizes me. The finality of it. The realization that we just went all in on this whole charade. My heart pounds, and I can’t look away from Rhys’s hands. Big and tan. Strong and gentle. Mine and yet… not mine at all.

For a flash, I wonder how they’d feel elsewhere on my body. In my hair. Running over my back. Between my?—

My train of thought comes to a screeching halt as Doris’s scratchy voice blasts into my head. “You may now kiss the bride.”

My stomach falls again, and sparks shoot through my chest. We haven’t talked about this part of the ceremony. We’re two grown-ass adults—we don’t need to plan out a kiss. It’s just a kiss. I’ve kissed plenty of men, so this will be no different. And despite whatever my body is doing right now, it’s just for show.

The facts don’t stop my cheeks from flushing, and they don’t stop us from drawing closer to each other either. He takes one step, and I take one step, neither of us resisting the pull.

My breath stutters when one of his masculine hands slips over my hip with a level of familiarity that doesn’t match our situation at all. His palm burns hot and firm against my bare lower back, and suddenly I don’t have to imagine what it would feel like for him to touch me there. Now I know .

My tongue darts out over my lips as I crane my neck, turning my face up to his. Dark eyes scour my features as though searching for something before his fingers trail through my hair gently as he hooks a loose lock behind my ear with heartrending tenderness. His palm cradles my skull, and my lips part on a shaky breath.

He towers over me. All I can see is him. All I can smell is him. All I can hear is the blood pounding through my veins. And all I can feel is his breath against the shell of my ear as he bends down close and whispers, “Are you still sure?”

A shiver races down my spine. From the corner of my eye, I can see his lips moving. So close and yet so far away. Deep down, I know that if I told him this wasn’t okay, he’d put an end to it all immediately.

“Yes,” I reply in a hushed whisper, tilting my head to line us up.

And that one word is all it takes for Rhys to close the few inches between us. The first press of our lips borders on chaste, but heat suffuses every limb. The pressure recedes ever so slightly, and then I kiss him back.

Our lips move in perfect synchronicity, with more urgency than I expected and less fervor than I crave. His stubble tickles my face, and I can taste his minty breath. His hands pulse where they hold me, and I hear the deep groan that rumbles in his throat—I feel it in my jaw. It twinges between my shoulders, twists in my hips, and curls my toes.

I can’t help but match his vibration with an impulsive whimper of my own. My hands slide up over the lapels of his rented tuxedo, my fingers gripping and pulling him closer.

Just a little bit more .

A loud hoot from the crowd that sounds an awful lot like West draws us back into reality. Our lips part and our foreheads press together for a beat, as though we both need a moment to recover.

There was no tongue, and it didn’t last long, but something about the kiss rattles me in a way I can’t make sense of.

Doris’s simple “I now pronounce you husband and wife” pulls us back a respectable distance from each other. Cheers, whistles, and applause ring out from the small number of attendees.

But I barely notice. I’m too busy staring at my husband . The man with dark furrowed brows, rosy cheeks, and a menacing glare.

I’m not sure what’s got him looking so surly. Maybe he just realized he’s officially stuck with me, and a three-year-old, and a cat I adopted mostly just to piss him off.

Still, I can’t help but wonder if he’s as confused by this ceremony as I am.

Because yes, I’ve kissed plenty of men.

But none of them have felt like that .