11. Sienna #2
We walked in sync to the main building, other guests fluttering past in oranges, pinks, and creams that looked more in line with a sunset than a ridiculously overpriced wedding venue dripping in gold.
Zach babbled on about triceratops and how their brains were roughly the size of limes as Margot and I held his hands on either side, occasionally swinging him with a rowdy giggle.
But I paused when I heard it.
The low hum of voices came from the terrace, just beyond the glass door and down near the beach — no . Not just voices, but men ; the top end of their anger cut off through the glass, leaving nothing but the bitter bass.
I knew both of them.
I slowed near the doors, mostly out of sight with the sun reflecting off the glass, rising up that little bit more on my tiptoes than my heels already had me, and spotted them as Margot and Zach kept on toward the ceremony space. Zach was far too busy babbling to even notice my absence.
I didn’t need to hear the words to know it was tense.
It was there in the muffled sound of their voices, in the sharp gestures and stiff postures, in the way Matt stood with his arms crossed and his suit jacket pulled taut across his shoulder blades, and the way Ryan was pointing angrily in an arbitrary direction with his brows furrowed and his forehead vein bulging.
This was hidden, separate from the guests, removed in a way that clearly sought privacy.
And whatever the conversation was, it wasn’t civil.
I didn’t get closer.
There wasn’t a part of me that wanted to chance being spotted by Ryan, so I shifted, leaning back against the wall opposite the glass door. I slipped my phone from my clutch and shot off a quick text to Matt.
Me:
I’m here. Waiting in the lobby.
I stared at the doors, the twist of adrenaline curling in my stomach.
Arguments between Ryan and Matt were something I’d heard a lot about from Ryan in particular, but from the way Matt had looked—even with his back to me, tense as a rock—I could tell it wasn’t what Matt claimed were the standard I need money arguments.
I counted the seconds. Then the minutes.
Two, then three, then Matt filled the glass frame of the door before he wrenched it open, pausing the moment his eyes met mine over the threshold, his pristinely pressed black suit wrapped around him like a glove, his tie a perfect match for mine, his mostly-grey hair slicked back away from his sharp features.
For a heartbeat, he just looked at me, eyes scanning me from head to heels as if he needed a second to take it in and recover. But he shook his head with a quiet curse under his breath and shut the door behind him.
“God,” he murmured. “You look…” His Adam’s apple bobbed, words dying on his tongue.
I breathed out a chuckle, my cheeks heating. “Should I take your speechlessness as a compliment?”
He scrubbed a hand over his face, swallowing and resetting his jaw. “Yeah,” he huffed. “You fucking should.”
That shouldn’t have flustered me, but Christ, it did . The way he was looking at me, like he wanted to do more than devour me, set my pulse spiking until I could feel it pounding against the inside of my wrist.
He crossed the space between us, calmer now, like whatever storm had been spinning outside had finally snapped shut and he was able to focus on this alone.
His hand found the small of my back, warm through the fabric and boning of the dress, pulling me just an inch closer to him — enough that I could feel the heat rippling off of him, enough that I could smell the hint of whiskey on his breath. He’d already had a drink?
“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low enough that only I could hear as a handful of guests passed behind him.
I swallowed. No , I wanted to say, Ryan’s getting married, and I still don’t know what the hell that dinner was with you last night . But those weren’t what made it out of my mouth. “Yeah,” I breathed.
His brows furrowed almost imperceptibly, his mouth thinning to a hard line, his eyes searching mine. My pulse pounded once, hard, before he leaned in, his breath fanning across my ear. “Think we both need to get a little better at lying if we’re going to survive tonight,” he murmured.
Before I could even form a response, his free hand came up to cup my jaw, his other pulling me just a little closer, enough that my breasts brushed his jacket on an inhale. His lips pressed against my cheek, just gently, just enough to make my breath hitch.
It’s just the act.
His hand lowered gently, his touch soft enough not to smudge my makeup, until he was cupping the curve of the side of my throat, his thumb gently brushing across my jawline.
“Just say if you need a minute. Doesn’t matter when, we’ll just fuck off somewhere private so you can catch your breath. Okay?”
I nodded.
“Words, Sienna.”
Something curled low in my stomach at that. “Okay,” I rasped.
“Good.” He pulled back, his gaze locking with mine, hazel eyes sharp and searing a hole straight through me. “Let’s get this over with.”
I let him lead me toward the ceremony space, his hand heavy on the small of my back, my heels clicking with every step. I told myself I wasn’t leaning into his touch, told myself this wasn’t comfort, that I didn’t need the attention he was paying to me or the way it made me feel.
But I knew I was lying to myself.
By the time the ceremony began, the sky was lit up in deep blues and oranges and pinks, the sun setting over the Yucatan peninsula behind us, the Caribbean lapping at the back steps of Ryan and Lauren’s stupid stage for their vows.
Matt and I sat on the right side of the seating area, a few rows back from the front, because, of course, Ryan didn’t want us anywhere close to him, despite Matt being his closest living family member.
The chairs around me were filled with either people I’d met who knew exactly who I was to Ryan and couldn’t stop glancing at me, or people I’d never met that he’d invited for the status of it all.
Matt took my hand in his the moment we all stood for the bride, a soft squeeze settling my nerves, and I watched in numb silence as Lauren walked down the aisle alone in a stupidly, perfect, strapless dress that I was almost positive was the same one she’d pointed out to me in a magazine six months ago, a giggle crossing her lips as she’d said, “You should wear that one when he finally plucks up the nerve to ask you.”
I squeezed Matt’s hand back. He tucked it in against his stomach, his other hand wrapping around our joined ones, just for added support.
When the vows began, I didn’t hear a word, hardly noticed her veil floating in the wind or the way she grinned at him like he’d hung the moon.
All I could think about was how close I’d come to being her, how much I’d wanted that.
And whether sitting here now, clutching Matt’s hand in mine like I wanted to meld mine into it, made me any different.
————
The reception was a cream-and-gold, over-the-top spectacle.
Long farmhouse tables under chandeliers hanging from the trees like they’d grown right out of them, waiters in all white floating between guests with champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres with literal edible gold, a string quartet mangling a pop song in the name of ‘elegance.’
And Lauren was still shooting daggers at me with her stare from the head table.
I didn’t flinch — not even when she whispered something into Ryan’s ear that made his jaw clench, not when one of her bridesmaids turned to glare at me like I’d committed war crimes by showing up in a dress that fit me like a glove.
“Let them look,” Matt had said simply the first time I’d noticed it when I sat down, his attention half caught between me and Zach’s complaint about the lack of chicken nuggets.
He was right. I could let them look, let them see me as I was. Here, not broken. Better off. And more importantly, for the first time in two months, no longer feeling like the one who lost .
I sipped my champagne, let the annoying string music wind around me, and smiled the next time Lauren’s eyes met mine like I wasn’t imagining destroying their wedding cake before they could even get to it.
The moment the string quartet packed up, the speeches finished, and the DJ got set up, Zach tugged on my hand.
“Are we allowed to dance yet?” he asked, eyes wide and grin fierce like he already knew the answer but just wanted to be told yes .
I glanced at the open-air dance floor. It was empty for now, waiting for someone to break the ice. “Who says we need permission?” I said, grinning back at him.
Zach’s face lit up in an instant.
I met Matt’s gaze as he spoke to Margot, pulling him from the conversation for half a second as he followed Zach’s pleading eyes toward the dance floor and chuckled. “I would love nothing more than for you to make a scene with my son,” he said simply, his lips twitching up at the corner.
That was all the encouragement we needed.
Zach and I marched together onto the floor, hand in hand, my eyes glued to nothing but him.
It was easier when I thought about it less as a bold thing I was doing to get under Ryan and Lauren’s skin and more as something I wanted to do for Zach , and the moment his gaze met mine, I spun him once right as the music started.
And the music was perfect .
The tempo picked right up, something jazzy and old-school, and Zach let loose like he was born for both the dance floor and annoying the bride and groom.
People started watching — not necessarily in a bad way. But he got attention, and I could feel the tension leaking out of me as he giggled and laughed and pulled me out of my uptight bubble that had formed from sheer stress alone.