28. Nate
twenty-eight
Nate
My wife is beautiful. I can’t help but smile as she walks down the aisle in a pale blue dress with her golden hair curled and pulled away from her face.
It’s too easy to remember her in a white dress, not so long ago.
Her deep blue eyes meet mine across the room, and her soft smile has my heart thudding wildly in my chest.
But I have to remind myself that it’s all for show.
She hardly makes eye contact with me at home.
If she does, she averts her gaze quickly and her cheeks tint pink as she stumbles over her words or stops talking altogether.
It makes me sick to my stomach that she’s so uncomfortable with me at home.
I’ve made every excuse I can to get Lucy and Quinn out of the house when I’m off work, because when we’re in public, she relaxes.
She leans into my touch, holds my hand, meets my gaze, and smiles with ease.
When we’re in public, it feels like we’re a real couple.
When we’re at home, it feels like I’m the last person on earth she wants to share space with.
The music builds, and the crowd in the auditorium stands.
When the doors open, Henry Burke leads Sloane down the aisle with giant smiles plastered on their faces.
My gaze swings back to Lucy to find her already looking at me.
I raise a brow at her. She smirks and shakes her head softly, turning back to watch as her father gives her sister away.
As Abram Foster begins the ceremony, my eyes find Lucy again, and my mind wanders back to our wedding almost a month ago.
In some ways, it feels like we’ve been married much longer than that.
But it also feels as though we’re not truly married.
I know Lucy better than I know anyone else on the planet.
If degrees could be awarded for how much you knew about someone, I’d have a master’s degree in Lucy Jane Walker.
But for all I know about her, I can’t figure out why being alone with me makes her so uncomfortable.
I’ve done everything I can to give her what she needs, and I’ve tried to be respectful of our arrangement, even though there have been several times that I want to forget my promise not to touch her and kiss her senseless.
But it seems like she’d rather be anywhere else than with me—except when we’re in public.
Sloane’s voice trembles with emotion as she recites her vows to Aiden.
I take a small step to the side to get a better view of Lucy’s face around the couple.
Her eyes meet mine, and that familiar, beautiful blush colors her cheeks.
I keep my gaze locked on hers, silently repeating the vows I spoke to her at our wedding in my mind, hoping she knows I meant every word.
We may not have started this marriage head-over-heels in love, but I can’t deny that something is growing between us—for me at least. Her eyes turn glassy as Aiden’s voice echoes through the room, promising to love and cherish Sloane for the rest of his days, and I wonder if something might be growing for her as well.
But that’s a dangerous thought, and I need to squash the notion before it takes root. I can’t expect that from her. That’s not what we agreed to.
Healthcare and childcare.
Nothing more.
My phone chimes in my pocket as I stand in line with the other groomsmen for a photo.
The photographers split up the wedding party.
One of them took the girls outside for some photos, and the other has us lined up on the small stage at the front of the church auditorium now.
When she snaps a few photos and lowers her camera, I slide my phone out of my pocket to check the notification.
My eyes widen and my heart thuds. It’s Lucy’s CGM alerting me that her blood sugar is dropping.
Caleb frowns. “Everything okay?”
I meet his gaze, forcing my features into a more neutral expression. “Yeah, fine.”
I step off the stage and stand next to the photographer. “Are you finished with me for a bit? There’s something I need to take care of.”
She frowns and pulls a small piece of paper from her pocket, checking her list of poses Sloane asked for. “We just have individual photos with the groom left on the list. If it’s urgent, we can do yours last.”
I nod. “Perfect. I’ll be back.”
It takes all my self-control to walk calmly from the auditorium instead of sprinting to find Lucy.
My mind conjures up memories of that night after Quinn’s party when her sugar tanked, and she was so weak.
As I walk down the stairs to the fellowship hall, I pray that this dip won’t be as severe as that night and that I’ll be able to help her before she crashes.
I slip through the crowd gathered around the snacks as they wait for the wedding party to finish taking pictures.
I duck into the kitchen, planning to grab a juice box or a can of soda from the refrigerator, and slip back out again.
But I seem to have stumbled into an unofficial meeting of the ladies’ sewing group.
“Oh, Nate. You’re just the person we need to see.”
I frown at Marjorie, hoping my impatience isn’t showing. “What can I do for you?”
She crosses the kitchen and pats my arm as the other ladies smile mischievously. “We were talking about how beautiful the wedding was.”
I nod, not seeing how I factor into that, when Doris pipes in, “But some of us believe that your wedding was more beautiful.”
Some of the women nod and mumble agreement, while others shake their heads and shrug.
I clear my throat. “Well, I don’t know if I can help you. I’m a little biased.”
Ruth Carter smiles and nods. “True. But I’ll tell you one thing—you looked just as smitten with Lucy tonight as you did on your wedding day.”
This opinion seems unanimous, as all the women nod. I scratch the back of my head and shrug. “What can I say? I’m a lucky man.”
Ruth chuckles and nods. “That you are. The three of you make a beautiful family.”
My heart aches in my chest, and I swallow around the feeling building there—something akin to craving.
But I clear my throat and push the thought away.
I nod as my phone chimes again, reminding me why I came here in the first place.
“Thank you. If you ladies will excuse me, I’m going to grab a drink for Lucy and get out of your hair. ”
I weave through the women to the refrigerator, grab the first sugary drink I can find, and duck out of the kitchen.
Once I’m outside, I scan the space for a group of women in blue dresses but find nothing.
I check my phone as I walk around the building looking for the girls.
Lucy’s number is steadily dropping. If I don’t find her soon, it could be bad.
As I walk by a group of men gathered at the back of the building—most likely avoiding the crowd inside—I call, “Has anyone seen the bridesmaids?”
Abram Foster nods and points. “I think they’re at the pavilion.”
I thank him and pick up my pace, checking Lucy’s blood sugar on my phone again.
My stomach drops along with her number, and I feel panic building in my chest. It eases a bit when I see the clump of blue dresses in the pavilion, but it creeps back in as I realize Lucy’s head of golden-blonde hair isn’t among them.
I frown as I approach, trying to keep my worry in check. “Where’s my wife?”
Emerson’s pale blue eyes, nearly the same shade as her dress, swing to me and narrow. “She went to the bathroom.”
Skylar purses her lips and leans closer, speaking quietly. “She looked a little pale.”
Reese’s eyes dart to the drink in my hand and back to my face. “Her sugar is dropping, isn’t it?”
I nod and back away, ready to find Lucy. Skylar takes a step toward me. “Do you need any help?”
I shake my head, knowing Lucy would hate all the attention. “I’ve got her.”
I hustle across the parking lot and into the church building. I have a hunch that she only told Emerson that she was going to the bathroom as an excuse to escape. So, I wander down the hall to the classroom that the girls used as their dressing room for the day.
I push the door open and find Lucy fumbling through her canvas bag and drawing shaky breaths. I close the door behind me, and her head snaps up as I cross the room to her and set my hand on her arm.
She swallows. “I’m crashing.”
I nod and open the drink, handing it to her as I guide her into a chair. “I know.”
As she sits, I kneel in front of her, staying close. She takes a sip and closes her eyes. “I hate this feeling.”
I run my hand up and down her arm and set the other one on her knee. “I’m sorry. I tried to find you sooner, but I kept getting caught up.”
She shakes her head and sets a hand over mine on her knee as she takes another sip. I flip my hand over and fold my fingers around her palm.
The tremors I can feel in her fingers have worry fluttering in my chest, but her steady voice eases me. “How did you know I was dropping?”
I slide my phone out of my pocket and show her the CGM app I’ve been watching. “I got an alert. Where’s your phone?”
She points to the bag she was digging through and sighs. “In there. This dress doesn’t have pockets.”
She rolls her eyes as if the idea is absurd, and I smile, relieved that she’s feeling well enough to be sassy. “The audacity.”
Her eyes meet mine, and she smiles. “It’s definitely not a diabetes-friendly dress. No pockets, and the only place I could put my pump and CGM was on my leg.”
I brush a stray hair from her face, taking comfort in the color slowly returning to her cheeks. “You could have put them on your arm.”
Her eyes meet mine with a vulnerability so fragile I have the sudden urge to scoop her up and carry her home to keep her safe. “I’m not brave enough for that yet.”
I smile and run my hand down her arm. “That’s okay. Maybe someday.”
She nods and takes another sip of the drink. I check her number and release a long breath as I see it starting to come back up. “How are you feeling?”
“A little better.”
I reach behind me and grab her bag. “Are your glucose tablets in here?”
She nods. “In the pink case.”