Chapter 6 #2
She nods toward the garden. “Looks like the bar’s open. Let’s get a drink, then we’ll circulate. Don’t worry, we’ve got this.”
I take in the freckles over her golden skin, the soft shine of her lips. Dressed for a wedding, she’s…someone else. Confident. Grounded. A far cry from the shell-shocked woman in a ruined wedding dress I met days ago.
If I had my way, I’d turn the car around and take her somewhere quiet. Just the two of us. Somewhere without curious eyes and small-town gossip.
But the group walking toward my car has other plans.
“Ryan! Hey man!”
I swallow hard. “Here we go.”
The first few introductions go well, and by the time we reach the bar and order ourselves the signature cocktail, some kind of fruity berry thing that Sloane seems to like, my shoulders have relaxed slightly and my jaw’s no longer clenched so hard it could crush gravel.
Sloane is friendly, gracious, and despite the situation, exactly the kind of woman I need at my side at this event. There’s still tension in the air, but Sloane has a diffusing effect.
I glance over as she listens to my cousin Ariana drone on about some kind of wellness retreat she’d taken in Tucson over the summer, where they did daily chakra readings and guests were expected to participate in meal prep.
Sloane nods with interest and asks follow-up questions about the menus and the kinds of treatments available.
Her hair is moving gently in the breeze.
I find myself wanting to reach out and tuck a strand behind her ear.
But aside from the moment I’d helped her up on the beach, back when she was soaked to the bone in her wedding dress, and when she grabbed my arm on our walk, we haven’t touched.
Just the thought sends an unexpected current of desire through my core.
Luckily, or not so luckily, Calista’s mom approaches, with a flute of champagne in hand and the look of a woman filled with pride at the spectacle she likely had a big hand in orchestrating.
“Well hello, Ryan!” she exclaims, all equanimity and relief that Calista hadn’t chosen me.
She had bigger things in mind for her daughter than a marine biologist. She shifts her gaze to Sloane. “And this is…”
I brace myself. Lois Morris is practiced in the art of the backhanded compliment, the perfectly executed passive aggressive slight.
“Sloane,” Sloane says, grinning widely enough that I can tell she senses an enemy approaching.
“Well, that’s just a stunning dress,” Lois says. “A showstopper!”
Sloane’s smile stays plastered on her face despite the insinuation that she’s working to upstage the bride. In truth, Sloane could be wearing a paper sack and she’d still be the most beautiful woman in the room. At least, to me. “Congratulations,” she says. “This is a big day for your family.”
“For the whole family,” Lois says, turning back to me with a mix of pride and pity in her eyes.
I take a long sip of my drink. I don’t make it a habit to drink too much, especially at events like this, but Lois is a special kind of grating.
“Cheers,” I say, and without thinking, I slip my arm around Sloane’s waist, and my mouth lands on the soft skin of her neck, planting a light kiss.
She starts, and I pull back quickly, but not enough for Lois to suspect what’s really going on here.
She raises an eyebrow and glances toward the inn. “Well, I’ve got business inside!” she says, practically tripping over herself to leave.
I want to make a joke, or fill Sloane in on the many ways Lois was a total eye roll, but my lips are still tingling with the feeling of her smooth skin, the light scent of my soap on her.
When I look up, Sloane has a funny look on her face. Surprise, yes, but something more. Curiosity. “Okay then,” she says quietly.
“I’m sorry,” I say. But I’m not sorry at all. That lightest of touch, that briefest of kisses has me hungry for more.
So when her hand finds mine and her fingers lace through mine, I know she’s not upset. Her thumb traces a light circle on my palm, sending a series of sparks across my skin. Does she have any idea what she’s doing to me?
“You okay?” she asks, and I realize she’s referencing the awkward run-in, and not the inconvenient and uncontrollable situation I need to hide.
“You okay here for a sec?” I ask, scanning desperately for a washroom. I spot it beside the bar. “Let me get you another drink.”
I retreat to the washroom, and rearrange things to wedding-appropriate, then take a moment in the quiet space to take a deep breath. Sloane coming as my date was meant to make the day easier, not add a thick layer of complication.
***
SLOANE
While Ryan escapes to the washroom, I scan the lawn, where guests are mingling.
The collection of wedding attendees is…eclectic, at best. A handful of ranchers in bolo ties, a few tech bros in too-tight jackets, a majestic spread of Clancy women in floral prints and statement jewelry, and one man in cargo shorts who absolutely missed the memo.
Ryan’s grandfather, the one he pointed out earlier, is unabashedly taking sips from a flask even though the open bar is fully operational. Iconic.
I take in a slow breath, steadying myself, trying to act casual because I know there are more than a few glances coming my way. I don’t want everyone to know that Ryan’s kiss has left me floating. Tingling. Intoxicated.
I’d expected curiosity, given the situation.
A few raised eyebrows, maybe a whispered Who’s she?
But this is not curiosity. This is full-on, head-swivelling, patio-crossing fascination.
People have been introducing themselves like I’m the main attraction, not the bride who still hasn’t emerged from her ocean-view suite.
According to the wedding planner’s announcement over the DJ’s microphone, we’ve got fifteen minutes before the big reveal.
I can’t help but think about the moment that was meant to happen only days ago.
The classic notes of Canon in D would play as my bridesmaids walked down the aisle with practiced steps, slow enough for the photographer to get the money shots and for guests to admire their dresses, and fast enough to get to the main event. Me.
I’d played the moment over so many times in my mind leading up the wedding.
And every time, it was like I was watching a movie where I was the actress, playing someone else.
Someone happy. Someone with visions of the perfect life in her mind as she spotted her groom in the distance.
Eyes locked. Certain of the choice they were making.
Visualizing is a technique of many a professional athlete. I’d thought that it might help me execute the moment with the expected perfection.
I draw in a long breath and exhale, heaving away a mixture of relief and dread.
When Ryan returns, I’m about to ask if he wants a drink before the ceremony only to see a gray-haired woman in a tailored navy pantsuit making a determined beeline for us.
“Hi, honey,” she says, stretching up in her heels to wrap Ryan in a hug.
“Mom,” Ryan says.
Ah. So this is Mom.
She turns to me and does a slow, unapologetic once-over, the kind that somehow manages to assess, approve, and intimidate all at the same time.
“When I heard that Ryan had a date I knew I’d have to see you with my own eyes to believe it,” she says. “I’m Alicia.”
“Sloane.” I take her hand. My stomach does something strange, nerves and excitement and dread all tangled together. There is absolutely no reason for me to feel like I’m being evaluated as potential daughter-in-law material, and yet…here we are.
Alicia dips her chin. “I’m sure Ryan’s filled you in on this story,” she says, casting an eye toward the arbor where the ceremony is supposed to happen. “I love my nephew, but I have to tell you I’m beyond relieved it’s him and not my son waiting at the end of the aisle today.”
“Mom,” Ryan says, warning thick in his tone.
She waves him off and leans in a little further. “I thought she was a phony the minute I laid eyes on her. I’m a good read of people.” Then she pauses and looks at me. Like really looks. “But I like the looks of you.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Well then.
She turns to Ryan and gives a little approving nod. “Glad to see you’re putting yourself out there again, sweetheart.” Then to both of us, she says, “I’d go check on your Aunt Noreen. The dress she bought is at least two sizes too small. It took nearly the whole Clancy family to cram her into it.”
“Good luck,” I say.
Alicia huffs a laugh and heads off.
I turn to Ryan, who’s shaking his head. “And that’s…my mom.”
“She seems great, actually,” I say, and I mean it. She’s a lot, but she’s honest. And warm.
The music cuts out, replaced by the minister’s voice over the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’ll invite you to take your seats. The ceremony will begin momentarily.”
We find a seat six rows back on the groom’s side, just behind an uncomfortable-looking aunt Nora and her adult children.
I smooth my dress, inhale, and try to remember the role I agreed to play.
Except nothing about this feels like a role anymore.
Ryan is an attentive date. Good social graces. Genuine.
And that suit…suits him perfectly. I can’t let my mind wander to where it’s trying to tug me. To a place where this is a real date. And that kiss I know he planted on me for the sake of Calista’s mother still feels like electric remnants on my neck.
I need water.
I excuse myself to the bar, where two guys are discussing the merits of the best place to fly fish in Montana, and I give the bartender a light wave. I order a water and take two long gulps.
And probably out of habit, I open the phone Ryan gave me and tap on the email app to see if Kerry-Anne has messaged. My stomach bottoms out when I see the first email in my inbox, and without thinking, I tap on it.
If I don’t hear back from you in the next twenty-four hours, Sloane, dear, the message reads, I’m calling the police.