52. What Is He Doing?
OLIVIA
I was hoping to intercept the server in the hallway, for obvious reasons.
The obvious reason is the way Cara’s head snaps like lightning at the knock on the door before it creaks open. When the server pops his head in, he looks about as terrified as most of us have been all day. It’s only noon.
“ What ?” Cara barks out.
“I think it’s for me.” My chuckle is not anxious. Also, it’s definitely for me. I can smell it.
I take the tray with a smile and a quiet thank you , then sneak into the bathroom and pry the lid off.
Oh, baby, yes. Come to mama . I might whimper, and I definitely bite my knuckles.
The second my teeth sink into that seven-ounce all-beef patty with American cheese, bacon, and grilled onions, my entire world explodes. My lids flutter closed, and I tip my head back with a moan that rumbles through my entire body.
And then the bathroom door whips open.
“Are you kidding me right now, Liv?”
“I’m so sorry.” It’s half-sincere; Cara’s face tells me she’s not buying it.
“You are not.” The beautiful bride pins her arms across her chest.
“I can’t live off grapefruit slices and water. I need substance.” A cinnamon bun would also be nice, as would a mimosa.
Cara throws her arms in the air, nearly knocking my burger out of my hands. “But I have to eat grapefruit and drink water so I can fit into my dress! You’re supposed to be supporting me!”
“I do support you. But it’s your wedding, not mine.
Plus, you look banging in your dress and you’ve got room to spare.
” I’ve gone to every fitting with her; I know this.
I hold out my burger and wag my brows. As unimpressed as she looks, the temptation is there, twinkling in her eyes.
“I can’t last until cocktail hour to get some real food into me. ”
Cara laughs. It’s the humoring, exasperated kind, and I don’t feel good about it. “Oh, sweet, na?ve Olivia. You think you’ll get to eat at cocktail hour? No, no, no. You’ll be getting your picture taken. No, you won’t be eating ’til dinnertime, babe.”
My entire face falls with this devastating news, and Cara lunges forward, gripping my wrist as she takes a bite half the size of my burger.
“Oh. Fuck. Yes . So good.”
“Don’t you dare ruin your makeup!” The makeup artist rushes into the bathroom, sighing when she spies me. “Your lipstick is all smeared.”
“Sorry.” This apology is definitely insincere.
Cara nudges me in the side. “You’re in such a better mood today. I’m not buying that you didn’t get laid last night.”
“I didn’t,” I insist for at least the fifteenth time.
Cara woke me up at midnight to ask me how good I got dicked.
Her words, not mine. The answer was no dick at all , but twenty-five minutes later, with the lights out, our door opened, and Carter appeared at the foot of my bed.
He didn’t say a word and neither did I, just enjoyed the way he snuggled up behind me, his lips pressed against my neck.
Cara mumbled something about at least having the decency to make the sex silent so she could get her beauty sleep, but I was out minutes later with Carter wrapped around me, and when I woke this morning he was already gone.
So while I didn’t get dicked, what I did get was a decent night’s sleep for the first time in a week. I feel refreshed and mildly hopeful, and that right there does wonderful things for a woman.
Two hours later, my lipstick is no longer smudged, I’m draped in shimmery champagne, and am several more inches off the ground than I’m comfortable with. I watch Cara’s mom fasten the final button on her dress before she stands back, one hand at her mouth while the other flaps at her eyes.
“You look absolutely beautiful, Care,” I whisper.
She’s glowing when she turns around, cheeks rosy, smile bright. She runs her fingers down the delicate satin and inhales a shaky breath. “You think so?”
“I know so.” I wrap her up in a hug, giving her a tender squeeze. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Oh, fuckers.” She dabs at the corner of her eyes. “I’m getting a little teary eyed over here.” She shakes her hands out. “And nervous. I’m nervous. I’m never nervous.”
I still her frantic hands, squeezing. “You have nothing to be nervous about. It’s you and Emmett. You’ve been planning this day since you met. Literally.”
“What if he gets cold feet? What if he backs out?” Her ocean-blue eyes bounce between mine, and at my disapproving look, she giggles, dismissing her own words with the flick of her wrist. “Yeah, you’re right. Who could resist all this?” Her hands flutter over her curves and she pops a hip.
“There’s my girl. Now let’s go catch you a husband.”
* * *
“ Ow .” I whirl around, glowering at Cara. “Would you quit pushing me?”
“I’m sorry. So sorry. I’m nervous. What are they doing? Why aren’t they ready?” She cranes her head around like she’s trying to sneak a peek.
“Stop it. Calm down. They’re just standing around, talking. Emmett probably figured you’d be a half hour late like you are to everything else.”
He’s currently bent over a row of people, laughing without a care in the world, polar opposite of his bride.
I scan the scenery, the trees and mountains a stunning backdrop to this gorgeous blue-sky day.
Adam and Garrett are talking to a handful of their teammates, but I don’t spy Carter anywhere. Not that I’m looking or whatever.
“Will you go tell him we’re ready to start?” Cara shoves me toward the glass doors.
“Only to get you to stop pushing me.” I open the door and she gives me one last push, shoving me out into the garden, and I bounce off a brick wall.
Not a brick wall. My boyfriend. My…Carter.
“Oh. Shit. Sorry.” My fingers curl around his biceps as his find my waist, steadying me on my ridiculous heels.
Carter’s gaze dances with mirth as it dips down my body, that half smirk donning his perfect face. “Did you grow overnight?”
My knees wobble at the sight of him in his black suit, his usually unruly bed-head waves tamed and combed neatly to the side, face freshly shaven, showing off those heart-stopping dimples.
“Four and a half,” tumbles aimlessly from my mouth.
His brows quirk with amusement. “What?”
“Uh, the, my…” I lift a leg and hike up my dress, giving my foot a wiggle. “Four and a half. Heels. Tall.” Well, folks, it’s been grand. I’m heading home .
Carter’s face detonates with a cheek-splitting grin. “You are absolutely stunning, Miss Parker.”
“Thank you. Thanks. You too.” Why am I like this? “Your hair is…your face…Cara wants Emmett to know she’s ready.”
Carter chuckles, bending and pressing his lips to my cheek. “I’ll tell him.”
Cara’s arm whips out, pulling me back inside. “I heard more than I’d like to admit. Have I not taught you anything about playing it cool? You are a lost fucking cause, woman.”
I can’t say I disagree, so I line myself up behind the rest of the bridesmaids as the music starts, and when it’s my turn to head down the aisle, my gaze lands on the only person I want to see.
Carter’s wearing a goofy smile as he watches me try to keep count with the steps in my head—the coordinator said I walk too fast, which I find ironic, because, you know, I’m short as hell.
He stacks his shoulders, standing taller, and his grin grows wider as I step up below the archway and take my place.
He gives me a wink as the music changes, and everybody turns back as the glass doors open and Cara steps outside with her dad at her side.
She floats down the aisle like the queen she is, beaming, nose wrinkling while she tries to fight off tears. Emmett is losing his battle, silent tears streaming down his handsome face, and Carter hands him the pocket square from his jacket.
I’m lost in their heartfelt vows, the words they whisper, the promises they make to love and support each other for always, and Carter’s eyes remain locked on me, smiling at the way I keep swiping at my tears.
Nearly five hundred people jump to their feet and go wild as Cara and Emmett kiss for the first time as husband and wife before she leaps onto his back and he tows her right down the aisle and out of sight.
Carter steps up to me, offering me his arm. “Shall we, princess?”
I grin at him through my tears. “We shall.”
* * *
“You gonna finish that?”
I glance at Carter, the way he’s pointing at the remainder of my prime rib with his knife, eyes wide with question. The moment I sigh, he grins, stabbing my beef and shifting it to his plate.
“I’m starting to think you only requested to sit beside me so you could clean my plate.”
“Nah. I requested to sit beside you because I’m fucking obsessed with you.
” He wipes his mouth with his napkin. “And so I can do this whenever I want.” His hand lands on my thigh, slipping below the slit, warming my skin, luring that heartbeat down, down, down.
Bracketing my chin between his fingers, he angles his mouth above mine.
He kisses one corner of my mouth first, then the other. My bottom lip next, followed by the bow in the top. And when his mouth finally covers mine, my lips part, eager for him, to feel him, to taste him, to give him every single part of me he desires.
Each moment of this day has been perfection, and I’m only mildly horrified when I return from a trip to the bathroom after dinner to find Carter talking to my brother in one corner of the ballroom.
And then the oddest thing happens. Jeremy laughs, they shake hands, and then they…hug.
What. The. Fuck.
I watch Alannah tear across the room, flinging her arms around Carter’s legs, and he hugs her tightly before taking her out on the dance floor for a spin.
Jeremy sidles up next to me, tugging on my earlobe. “What, did you think I was gonna kill him or something?”
I slap his hand away. “It crossed my mind, yes.”
“Nah, Carter’s a good guy.”
My brows rocket up my forehead. “Never have those words ever left your mouth.”
He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I can admit when I was wrong.”