Chapter 6 #3
I feel heat rise to my face. Surely Kerry-Anne’s let everyone know I’m fine. I read on.
That necklace is worth over a hundred thousand dollars. This is theft.
I let out a mixture of a laugh and a choking noise.
Of course Vivienne knows very well I’m no thief.
But she can’t resist. And I have no doubt in my mind that she’ll follow through on this threat.
I check the time of the email. It came through this morning, likely while she sat at her dining room table where she likes to carry out her correspondence over a cortado prepared for her by Elise, one of her housekeeping team.
I take a deep breath before responding. I’ll get it back to you next week, I type, then pause. As much as the necklace feels like a leash around my neck, it was a gift. And the only person I’ll discuss its return with is Jack.
I tap the phone to delete the email, relief washing over me at the light defiance I’ve just executed. Only days before, the idea of pushing back even lightly against Jack’s mother would have felt like a tactical error that I’d never recover from. Now it’s a thrill.
I slide my phone into the purse from Dandelion and note what a quality product the bag is.
No obnoxious brand name logo, no “premium” leather or stitching that apparently justifies the outrageous price—just a nice purse that does what it needs to do: hold my phone hostage while I turn my attention back to the reason I’m here today.
Ryan.
I reenter the party just as a voice comes over the speakers, requesting that any guest who hasn’t taken their seat do so now. The ceremony is about to begin.
I find Ryan in the crowd, and his eyes find me. They stay locked on me, as though he was waiting for me. It’s at once familiar and brand-new. How is it that someone I’ve known for only a few days feels like a home base in the midst of this ridiculous situation we’ve both found ourselves in?
I smooth my dress down as I sidestep two towheaded children dressed in matching seersucker outfits chasing each other, and rejoin Ryan.
God, he looks handsome, lightly perspiring, maybe from the weather, maybe from the company. I take my seat next time him as his eyes flit over my dress and settle, connecting to mine. “You okay?” he asks, and suddenly I’m desperate to tell him about the email that just came through.
But that would be making this moment about me, when clearly, it needs to be about him. “I’m great,” I say, flashing him my winningest smile. But the flurry of activity, the sounds of the string instruments—it all suddenly feels like a lot.
Ryan leans in lightly and places a hand on my forearm. The touch feels grounding. “You don’t look great.” I can smell his aftershave. The warmth of his touch shouldn’t feel this good. “I mean, you look great,” he says, hesitating. “But you seem off.”
The fact that he’s that in tune with me is too much to bear.
I mentally shuffle through the plethora of times when I was decidedly not okay over the last few years, and am unsure if it was that Jack didn’t pick up on it, like we weren’t tuned to the same wavelength, or it was just more convenient for him not to recognize it.
I look straight into Ryan’s eyes and take a deep breath. “It’s weird for me to be at a wedding right now,” I say, the words lessening the burden of truth. “But I’m mostly just glad it’s not mine. And I’m happy to be here with you.”
“I’m happy to hear that,” he says. “If it’s too much, we can leave.”
I shake my head. Just saying it out loud makes me feel so much better, and the fact that I had an out it the release valve I needed.
A draw a sharp breath in when the trio strikes up Canon in D. What had I been expecting? It’s a wedding standard. But it still feels like an affront.
The bridesmaids execute their duties perfectly. Smiling, attentive, beautiful but not upstagingly so.
They take their places at the makeshift altar and then the music shifts to Ave Maria, and there’s an audible murmur of admiration as Calista appears at the end of the aisle, eyes gleaming and hands clutching at the elbow of her father, whose emotions are getting the better of him.
At least it’s authentic. I’ve only known Ryan for a week and have some sense of the dynamics behind this wedding.
What had people been saying about mine? Was there the same backchannel chatter?
Did people see right through our impending nuptials, did everyone have something critical to say about our partnership? Something accurate?
Probably.
The bride looks positively glowing as she walks the aisle, and unlike me, she seems confident in her choice. I steal a sideways glance at Ryan and his strong jawline is noticeably clenched. This is hard for him.
I reach over and return the favor he’d given me minutes earlier and squeeze his hand. He clasps onto mine and doesn’t let go.
It’s just two hands together, fingers laced, but somehow, it’s one of the most sensual things I’ve ever felt.
I know I should pay attention to the ceremony unfolding before us, the minister’s words, the picture-perfect waves in the distance that justify the high price of the venue, but all I can focus on is how perfectly our hands fit together, like a Rubik’s Cube locked in the right spot.
I want to take his other hand in mine, complete the circle. I want all of him pressed against me. I want more.
The ceremony goes by without incident, and it’s not long before the happy couple is parading back down the aisle to Celebration by Kool & the Gang, the guests now ready to return to the cocktail bar, the light buzz of the welcome drinks faded and the promise of the rest of the night’s events now on them.
“Family photo!” one of the aunts calls, and Ryan turns his head sharply to me. “Let’s get out of here,” he says, and I can’t help the laugh that escapes from my mouth.
I can tell Ryan’s doing his best to avoid making eye contact with anyone as I trail behind him, two escape artists in a sea of his family and friends.
It seems to be a theme in my life in the past week.
As soon as we enter the air-conditioned main floor of the inn, Ryan turns to me, a mischievous expression I’ve never seen before on his face.
“Phew,” he says. Maybe he gets off on this kind of behavior, because suddenly my hand is in his again, and he’s pulling it up to his mouth, planting a delicious kiss right below my wrist.