Chapter 8
Eight
Mitch
Allison is drop-dead gorgeous in her bridesmaid dress, stealing the show from the bride and the rest of the bridal party.
The other women are objectively pretty, looking like they stepped out of the pages of a bridal magazine, but they’ve got nothing on Allison’s beauty.
She’s all soft curves and skin. A Botticelli masterpiece in a field of mass-produced magazine models. My goddess. My love.
Now that I know what it’s like to be pressed into all that curvy deliciousness, there’s no way I can ever let her go. She’s it for me. I’ve found the one woman that I want to spend my life with. I just have to figure out how to tell her before she ends our fake engagement and walks away forever.
The bride and groom exchange their vows, and I force my gaze away from Allison to watch them. Jude’s eyes brim with tears. I have no idea what the man sees in Delia, but his love for her seems sincere. For his sake, I hope they’ll be happy.
When the wedding is over, I rush to Allison’s side as quickly as possible. “We need to talk,” I whisper.
She grasps my hand. “The bridal party has to take pictures. Come with me?”
So, I do, standing by impatiently as the photographer angles Allison to make her blend in with the thinner bridesmaids. A flash of fury pulses through my body. Allison will never blend in with the other women. She was born to stand out.
When the photographer moves Allison to the back of the group, I blow out a frustrated puff of air. I can’t watch any more of this.
I gesture to Allison to let her know that I’m going into the ballroom where the reception is being held. She nods and mouths, “See you soon.”
Once inside the ballroom, I beeline for the bar. I need a drink in the worst way.
There’s a cutesy sign showcasing the bride and groom’s signature cocktails. They’re boring and unoriginal. When I work at weddings, I always come up with new cocktails that suit the bride and groom’s personalities. Creating signature cocktails is one of my favorite things.
All the liquors are top-shelf, though, and it’d be criminal to mix them in a cocktail, anyway. So, I opt for a nice Kentucky bourbon. Waving down a bartender, I place my order. “Booker’s, neat, please.”
“Nice choice,” the bartender says with a nod of approval.
With my drink in hand, I wander around aimlessly, trying to figure out how to tell Allison that I’ve fallen head over heels in love with her in less than two days’ time. She’s going to think I’m nuts.
But I don’t have time to play it cool. After the wedding, she’s returning to Nashville. I need to lay all my cards on the table before she leaves.
Finally, her hand slips into mine, and I feel like I can breathe again. I pull her into an embrace. “Those pictures took far too long,” I growl.
“I agree.” She melts into my embrace, and I recall how wonderful and warm her naked skin felt last night—and this morning.
I nibble her ear. “How long do we have to stay at the reception?”
She laughs. “We should probably stay long enough for the meal. According to my mother, they spent $100 per plate.”
I stare at her. “You’re kidding?”
A worried expression crosses her face. “Adam requested the steak in his RSVP. I hope that’s okay?”
“That’s fine.” I try to keep the sour note out of my voice, but I can’t help it. I hate being reminded that she was supposed to be here with him. Not me.
In a way, she is here with him. I’m not here as me. I’m just the fool who’s playing the role of Dr. Adam Mitchell.
Suddenly, it occurs to me that telling her how I feel is going to be even more complicated than I’d contemplated. Because if we’re together, really together, her family will find out that I’m not a world-renowned surgeon.
I’m just Mitch, the bartending Santa Claus at the local pizzeria.
Is that a humiliation that Allison will be willing to live with? Her family is already critical of everything she does. If they find out she lied to them, they may never let her live it down.
And they’re guaranteed to disapprove of me.
In fact, Allison may disapprove of me, too. She was dating a surgeon.
She’s too good for me.
I’m going to lose her.
I never really had her to begin with.
“Hey,” Allison says, stroking my jaw. “Are you okay?”
“Of course,” I say, pasting a smile on my face. “Let’s figure out where we’re seated. I can’t wait to eat my $100 steak.”