Thayer
The music switches, and normally I don’t turn around.
I like watching the groom. Is he crying?
Is there any emotion in his eyes at all?
Did the bastard sleep with his mistress last night?
But not today. First off, the groom Miles Pennington is marrying far out of his league.
And he knows it. It’s not her father’s money.
Actually, it’s not her father’s money at all but her mother’s.
Either way, that’s not the point. Whitney Ashcroft could have had any man on the planet—well, almost any.
I’m not interested, but I’m one of the few.
Ford modeling offered her a contract, and she turned it down to work on a fresh water project in Africa.
She’s already a VP in her mother’s company and she earned her way there.
Unlike my father, there was no nepotism with the elder Ashcroft.
But that’s not why I’m not looking at Miles, who I’m sure is crying tears of joy.
I can feel Emily in the back of the room.
Her gaze on the back of my neck is enough to make my dick twitch in my tuxedo pants.
Being in a room with Em? I’m a hawk who could pick her out a mile away.
And she’s the little mouse watching what I’m doing.
She’s clinging to Lilith, who pounced on Emily the second she came through the door.
I have no doubt what they were talking about in the girl’s room.
The way Lilith glared at me while Emily couldn’t look at me?
It might be fucking sixteen years since I walked the halls of Pine Green Academy with Emily, Lilith, and Whitney, but some things haven’t changed.
Skipping this wedding would have been the best thing to do.
But when you’re the one who introduced the bride and groom?
It’s bad form to not show up at the wedding.
If I’d been anyone else, I’d be standing up there next to Miles––even if he only has one groomsman.
But I’m not, and he would never have asked, anyway.
The Zambrano name currently has more stains on it than normal.
Even so, Miles’s mother asked me to sit behind them.
I would never say no to a lady. She’s sniffling over my left shoulder as Whitney comes down the aisle.
I’m sure Whitney’s lovely, but I’m too busy soaking in Emily watching Whitney.
The bride and her father pause at my shoulder.
In my peripheral vision they hug or something adorable as the surrounding crowd is aw-ing.
But my attention is glued to the blonde with the streaks of summer strawberries in her hair.
When I go without seeing her for a while, I convince myself my memory has created a false interpretation.
But then bam, every time, I’m transported back to the few short months she was mine.
And there’s nothing wrong with my memory. It sets me back, each and every time.
Her hair’s in an updo on the crown of her head. The pale blue dress scoops around her neck and pulls tight to her waist. Her eyes flick to mine, and from fifty feet away, I can hear her breath hitch.
Fuck me, there’s a tightening in my chest. But it’s only for a moment before those lovely blues of hers turn to disdain.
She gives me her profile as she says something to Lilith.
I’m the only one looking at the back of the room.
Or for the bride’s sake, I hope I am. Lilith shoots me the middle finger.
I smirk and face the adoring couple at the makeshift altar.
Emily and Whitney are a lot alike, only Whitney brings an assistant with a camera pointed at her while she’s doing good deeds. Better for social media. Emily’s are all done in silence behind closed doors.
“What a good-looking couple,” Miles’s uncle whispers to me and I force myself to turn back and focus on the bride and groom already saying their vows—standing underneath an arbor of a thousand pale peach roses.
Miles said it was going to be a quick ceremony.
Exactly twenty minutes later, the couple are back down the aisle, and there’s the slow slog of people exiting back into the lobby.
I’ve got my eyes focused on Emily’s head, but when she steps out of the room, there’s little I can do.
I’m not going to trample the senior citizens taking up the space between me and her.
“Thayer Zambrano, damn good to see you,” a voice says behind me. I shake hands with and listen to the man go on about his business for ten minutes––he’s the father of a college friend.
“Nice to see you again. Excuse me, I’m going to get a drink.” I nod to him and his wife and make my way to the cocktail hour room. A wave of florals hits me when I cross the threshold. This space has even more flowers than the ceremonial room.
I’m stopped again by a trio of guys from high school, all of them named Josh. “Good to see you guys. I’m heading to the bar.”
“Always the same Thayer,” Josh Marlow says. And they all follow me.
“Who are you here with?” Josh Anderson asks.
“Solo.” I wave to the bartender who’s helping an older woman who’s pointing at every bottle of liquor behind him before she says, “No, not that one.” That’s going to take a while.
I turn back to the semi-circle of Joshes I’ve acquired.
I give the room a quick scan over their heads, but I don’t see Emily.
Anderson cranes his neck and turns back to me, nodding. “My wife’s around here somewhere. Let me find her. I want to introduce you.” He vanishes into the crowd.
“He’s so whipped,” Josh Perch says and laughs.
I glare at him. “Or he just loves his wife.”
“Whoa, Thayer.” Perch throws his hand over his heart.
“Excuse me,” I say to Marlow and weave through the crowd to the other bar—ignoring the signature cocktails the servers are pushing.
I wave the bartender over. “Neat scotch.” I put a large bill in his tip jar.
One drink tonight will be enough. More conversations find me as I walk away from the bar.
Small talk with people from college or high school.
Other than the bride and groom, I probably know more people in this room than anyone.
Heck maybe even more than the two of them.
And I hate it. Hate every minute. All the while, I’m searching the sea of heads in the room for Emily’s smooth hair. I stop in the corner of the room.
“Do you get back to New York often?” the redhead asks me.
Out of the five hundred people here, she’s one of the few under forty that I don’t know.
She’s told me her name, but I have no idea what it is as I am not in the remotest bit listening.
Which is unlike me. The woman standing in front of me is exactly the kind of woman I like to take home.
She’s got her own wealth and clearly wants nothing other than to get in my pants.
“Not often. I’m in London and Thailand mostly,” I say, searching over her head.
She turns around. “Who are you looking for?”
“No one.”
She laughs and raises her champagne glass next to her face. Holding her free hand under her elbow of the arm holding the champagne. Her limbs are so thin she might need the extra support.
My back’s against the wall. She pivots and stands next to me. “Bullshit. Who is she? And what does she have that I don't?”
“History.” It flies out of me.
“Well, if it’s history you want, I have a BA in Greek Studies. But I’m guessing it’s the other type. You don’t seem like the kind of guy who gives second chances.”
“I’m not.”
“Hmm, oh, she broke your heart. That’s adorable. Right, let Elena help,” Elena says. “What’s she wearing?”
“I’m not doing this.”
“But you already are. And I’m bored, so don’t make me make a scene. Trust me, I know how to make a scene.”
“Blackmail? You’re something, Elena.” And a lot like my dad.
“I’m also damn good in bed. But that’s not going to happen now, is it?”
“No.”
“Right, so let me have my fun. Color of the dress, or haven’t you seen her yet?”
“Light blue, blonde hair with a touch of strawberry, blue eyes, about as tall as you.”
“Ah, now we’re talking. She sounds lovely. And a name?”
I glare at Elena. But I’ve opened my mouth more than I should have. I toss back the rest of what I’ve promised myself will be one drink and place the glass on the empty tray of a passing server.
“Hmm, is that her over there?” Elena laughs.
“That’s Whitney’s grandmother, founder of Tritech. While I do admire her, she’s not who I’m looking for.”
“Look at you with your connections. So, a little younger.”
“Are you here for the bride or the groom?” I frown at her, because I have the sneaking suspicion I’m going to have to do damage control with Elena later.
“Both. I’m their neighbor. But I told you that already. This mystery woman is quite imprinted on your brain. Or is it your dick? No, I think it’s both. Most definitely your ears.”
“Like I said, we have history.”
“I have history with half the Upper West Side and I’m not searching the room for them.”
“Touché.” I nod at Elena.
“Right, is that her over there?” She points to the far door.
And damn it I need to get my nerves under control because my heart jumps. The wave of the back of Emily’s dress is enough for me to not be me.
“Oh, that’s a clear yes, if I ever saw one. What are you waiting for, tiger? Go get her.” Elena playfully slaps at my sleeve.
“There you are,” Josh Anderson says, his presumed wife on his arm. “I want you to meet—”
A bell rings, and the doors to the dinner room open. The crowd meanders forward.
“Nice to meet you. We’ll have to chat after dinner.” I nod to Josh, his wife, and Elena. I don’t mean a word of it. I’m leaving as soon as I politely can.
I’m seated near the front table, which also means my table mates are mostly aunts and uncles and one wide-eyed cousin, I’m guessing. Just like Whitney to not trust me with a tableful of her friends. She wouldn’t be wrong though, I suppose.
I’ve put my napkin on my lap and given my drink order to the server when there’s a tap on my shoulder.
“There you are.” Elena smiles down at me. “I need you to do me a favor.”
“Oh,” I say, raising one eyebrow. “And what sort of favor would that be?”