Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
AIDAN
My gaze is focused on the moon gate while a string quartet just in front of it plays the opening notes of a song, and I focus on not letting any emotions seep into my expression.
I know myself well enough to know that the resting bitch face comes out if I’m not careful, and the last thing I need is to ruin the wedding pictures by looking pissed off during the ceremony.
There is absolutely no doubt that I do not want to be here. My stepdad knows this; I can tell it by the way he puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. I glance over at him, giving him a nod and hoping it conveys that I’m here for him, while hiding that I don’t want to be.
It’s not that I don’t want to see him happy. That’s actually all I want. But I want that happiness to come with someone who doesn’t look like my mom. I want him to settle down with that person because he loves her, not because he’s still in love with the woman she looks like.
I don’t want him to forget my mom and the years they shared together. But I do want him to move on, so he can be happy in the present.
I glance back toward the moon gate, and my gaze travels up to the bar that’s perched at the edge of the cliff. God, I wish I could rewind time and go back to last night when I sat down next to “Amy.”
I’d give anything to relive last night. To spend hours exploring her body, to relish being with a woman for the first time in so long. Even knowing I’d still end up here, where I very much do not want to be.
Even though we went into it knowing it was a one-time thing, last night was anything but casual sex. There was a connection there I haven’t felt since Hayley. My teeth involuntarily clench as I try to clear my thoughts. She is the last person I want to think about right now.
At the top of the hill I notice two women standing on the deck that surrounds the bar.
One is in a dark blue dress, her hair pulled back off her face, with a clipboard in her hand.
The other is in a white knee-length, form-fitting dress with a short veil attached to her blonde hair, blowing in the gentle breeze.
Something about this whole wedding feels off.
Max normally introduces me to the women he’s dating well before he actually proposes.
This time though, he proposed within months of them going on their first date.
If their flight hadn’t been cancelled, last night would have been the first time I met her—in person, at least. I don’t really count the few video calls with Max, where Anne popped into the frame to say hello, as “meeting” her.
If she wasn’t standing there in a white dress and a veil, I wouldn’t even have recognized her. That’s how little time I’ve spent talking to her.
My mind goes, again, back to the woman from last night.
I wonder if I can get out of the post-wedding dinner early and find her?
I know what her room number is, but I’m not quite desperate enough to go knock on her door.
Accidentally running into her would be perfect.
Maybe I can park myself in the lobby with my phone, pretending like I’m waiting for someone, and run into her there.
I’m so engrossed in the memory of her, and the way it feels like she’s possessed my thoughts, that when I catch a glimpse of strawberry blonde hair just above the hibiscus flowers and beyond the moon gate, I almost think I’ve conjured her out of thin air.
It can’t be her, though. That wouldn’t make any sense.
The curve of her hip, clothed in flowing pink fabric, comes into view, followed by a perfect pair of breasts squeezed together in the low-cut dress above a small cluster of flowers held at her waist. It’s then I realize I’d know that body anywhere—in the darkness, in the light . . . maybe even if I was blind.
What the hell is she doing here?
And then the pieces fall into place. Our parents’ cancelled flight, us both ending up at the bar alone.
Going back to my hotel room together, the way my bed still smelled like her this morning.
Those flowers in her hand as she steps beneath the stone archway, the smile that freezes on her face as she glances toward us, the absolute panic in her eyes.
Oh fuck, did I just sleep with my stepsister?
The ceremony goes by in a blur. Aside from remembering to hand Max the rings, I’m not sure I process any part of what happens, because I’m way too focused on her.
I know her name is Morgan, but I just want her to be Amy.
I want her to stop avoiding eye contact.
I want to know if she’s freaking out like I am.
I want to know if she’s filled with regret right now.
I should be filled with regret, but honestly, the memories of us together last night that are flashing through my mind don’t lead me anywhere near regret . . . they fill me with longing. Which is absolutely the last thing I should be feeling right now.
I watch as our parents finally kiss at the end of the ceremony, and my gaze slips past them to Morgan, whose cheeks turn pink as her eyes meet mine. She glances away so quickly I can’t read her expression, and I wonder for a moment what she saw in mine.
But then the recessional music starts up, and the officiant congratulates our parents. Max turns to shake my hand, and then Anne turns and gives me a hug while Max hugs Morgan.
We didn’t talk about this part—about whether the ceremony would just end here, or whether I was supposed to walk my stepsister back up the walkway to the hotel. Desperate to have a few moments to talk to her without our parents around, I opt for the latter, hoping she follows my lead.
Stepping forward, I hold my elbow out, lifting my eyebrows at her to indicate we’re about to exit together. Like a dutiful bridesmaid, she steps up next to me, sets her hand in the crook of my elbow, and we step away from my parents.
“What. The. Fuck?” she whispers, with added emphasis on each individual word.
I can’t help but chuckle at the way her thoughts mirror my own. But instead of lightening the mood, my chuckle has her fingers curling and her nails digging into my arm.
“Did you know who I was when you sat down next to me at the bar last night?” Her words are an angry stream as she glances up at me.
“Why the fuck would I have hit on you if I knew you were going to be my stepsister?” I keep my words low so we can’t be heard over the music, but they come out sounding gruff like I’m annoyed. I’m not annoyed, I’m enthralled.
“Who knows why guys do half the perverted shit they do?” She shakes her head. Her lips part, and I’m anxious to hear what she’ll say next, but from behind us, Max’s amused voice rings out.
“Hey kiddos, you don’t have to run to dinner. They’ll hold the table for us.”
I groan, thinking how painfully awkward this night is about to get.