Chapter 4 #3
“Okay, everyone!” She clapped her hands. “Thanks for being here. This should be quick. We’re just walking through positions and timing so tomorrow runs smoothly. Ford”—she gestured at the groom-to-be, who was standing off to the side—“you’ll be here. And the groomsmen along the side.”
Ford’s brother Tate took the best man’s spot beside him. Then the rest of the Marshall boys, in order—Reuben, Knox, Wyatt—and West at the end of the line. A teammate had arrived during the day, a man named Trini. West guessed it might be a nickname, given his accent—the lilt of the islands.
Ham stood at the end.
“Perfect,” Angel said. “The officiant will be centered. Music will start”—she nodded at the sound system being setting up nearby—“and the wedding party will process in in pairs. Then Scarlett. Simple, right?”
“Simple,” Ford agreed. He looked stupidly happy.
West was genuinely glad for him.
“Let’s run through it once,” Angel said. “So everyone knows their cues.”
The wedding party assembled. Ham with Signe.
Then Trini with a woman named Noemi, who’d shown up today with her husband—Ranger Kingston, who stood with the rest of the plus-ones.
Then Wyatt and Coco, Knox and Kelsey, Reuben, his wife Gilly and their kids, and his sister RJ and her kids, and finally Tate and Glo.
They’d all clean up nice tomorrow, but right now everyone was in beach casual—sundresses and linen pants and the relaxed energy of people who’d traveled to paradise for a celebration.
No band, but Angel had produced a portable speaker with the right lineup of songs. The pairs started processing down the aisle to “A Thousand Years.”
West watched from his place on the side. Tried not to scan the crowd for—
And…there she was.
She stood in the back, holding the hand of one of the kids. Coral sundress that matched the wedding colors. Hair down, catching the breeze. Standing next to Selah, laughing at something.
She looked genuinely happy. Not performing, not hiding, just…present.
Stop staring. Her detail was somewhere in the palm trees doing their job. He should do his and just be a normal person at a wedding rehearsal.
West forced his attention back to the front. Scarlett was walking now, alone, practicing her entrance. Ford watched her with an expression that suggested he’d already forgotten anyone else existed.
Yeah. West was happy for them.
The music stopped. Scarlett reached the front.
“Okay!” Angel said. “That’s the basics. Tomorrow we’ll have the actual ceremony, but you all know where to stand now. Questions?”
“What time tomorrow?” someone asked.
“Ceremony at five. Sunset should be around six fifteen, so we’ll have golden hour for photos. Reception immediately following.” Angel consulted her clipboard. “Transportation to the yacht leaves at five thirty.”
The yacht. Right. Tonight was the rehearsal-dinner cruise. Sunset tour around the island, dinner on the water, the whole romantic destination-wedding experience Ford and Scarlett had planned.
West should be looking forward to it.
Yes, of course he was looking forward to it.
Mostly.
“That’s it!” Angel dismissed them with a wave. “Go relax. Enjoy the resort. See everyone tonight at the dock. Five thirty sharp—the yacht won’t wait!”
The group dispersed. Some heading back to their rooms. Others toward the tiki bar. A few couples walking down to the water.
Britta passed him on the path, still holding the kid’s hand—one of the Marshall crew, sticky with something orange. “Nice standing,” she said. “Very tactical.”
“Years of training.”
“It shows.” And then she was gone, towed away toward the cottages, and West was smiling at nothing.
“Deep thoughts?” Ham appeared beside West, two water bottles in hand. He offered one.
“Just thinking about tomorrow.”
“Really.” Ham’s gaze tracked to Britta.
“Stop.” West took a long drink. “I’m not—it’s not like that.”
“It’s exactly like that. You looked at her approximately every thirty seconds during that rehearsal.”
West said nothing.
“You know I don’t tell you how to live your life,” Ham said, quieter now.
“But that woman is dealing with everything you walked away from—Secret Service, protocols, being owned by duty. From where I’m sitting, you’re falling for someone whose entire existence is the opposite of the freedom you value. ”
West watched a couple of the groomsmen folding chairs at the water’s edge. “There’s nothing happening here. Two days, and she goes back to her life.”
Ham let it go. Clapped him on the shoulder. “Her detail’s on her, by the way. Guy near the palm trees, two agents I don’t recognize by the tiki bar and the main path. She’s covered. You can relax.”
Yeah, that was so not what this was about, but he smiled at Ham anyway. “Yep,” West said. “I’m going back to my room. See you at the dock.”
He headed down the path toward his cottage.
It was cool and dark when he stepped inside. West changed into fresh clothes—still casual, but a little more upscale. The kind of thing appropriate for a sunset dinner cruise that wasn’t too formal but wasn’t beach-bum either.
He headed to the dock. Golden hour bathed the beach, and the whole resort glowed. Music drifted from the tiki hut.
Peace. Paradise. Perfection.
Yep. Calm down.
West walked toward the dock. Early, but he’d rather wait there than pace his cottage overthinking things.
The yacht was already docked—sleek, white, luxury written all over it. Big enough for the wedding party plus close family and friends. The crew was prepping, moving around the deck with practiced efficiency.
West counted them automatically. Six visible. Probably two more below deck. Standard for a vessel this size doing sunset cruises.
Stop. You’re not on a mission. You’re going to dinner.
He forced himself to stop assessing and just…look. The sunset was going to be spectacular. Tonight would be fun.
He could do fun.
People started arriving. The Marshall brothers—loud and enthusiastic as always. RJ and York, Selah and North, Coco and Wyatt. The Jones, Inc., team and their partners filtering in. Ford’s mom looking delighted, on the arm of her husband.
And then Britta.
She walked down the dock wearing a different dress—something flowy and white that caught the breeze. Hair still down. That same relaxed energy from the rehearsal.
Martinez followed at a distance. Professional. Unobtrusive. Doing his job.
West made himself look away. Caught up with Ham and Signe and their daughter.
“Nice boat,” Ham said.
Indeed. The yacht sprawled over a hundred feet, a massive open deck, covered seating areas, a bar, tables already set for dinner. Music played from speakers—Sinatra.
Ford and Scarlett stood at the bow, greeting people as they boarded. West hung back, letting them have their moment.
“Beautiful evening,” someone said beside him.
He turned. Britta. Standing close enough that he could smell whatever perfume she was wearing—something light and floral that definitely wasn’t helping his determination to stay uninvolved.
“Yeah,” he managed. “Perfect for a sunset cruise.”
“Scarlett said it was her dream to have a party on a yacht. They wanted to do it right.”
The yacht’s horn sounded. Time to join everyone else onboard. The crew started casting off lines.
“We should—” Britta gestured toward the deck.
“Yeah.”
They boarded and the yacht pulled away from the dock. Key West glowed in the late light, the harbor busy with returning boats.
West leaned on the railing and let himself breathe.
The appetizers were frozen shrimp and shucked oysters, with chilled drinks with umbrellas. He grabbed one for Britta and they stood together watching the sunset, not talking.
On deck, the music changed to slow blues, and he glanced over and spotted Ford and Scarlett slow dancing.
Sweet.
Ham pulled Signe to the dance floor, and North and Selah joined them.
West glanced at Britta. She was watching too. That wistful expression of wanting something but not asking for it.
Her security detail was giving them space. Martinez was near the stern, positioned to observe but not intrude. Giving her space like they’d agreed.
She was accessible. Unguarded in a way she probably rarely got to be.
West made a decision.
He turned to face her. Held out his hand.
“Dance with me?”