7. Gabriel #2
The photographers crowd us, snapping pictures as we step inside, their flashes creating a flurry of bright bursts in the dimly lit space.
I try to smile naturally, but I can’t help feeling disoriented.
At some point, I lose track of Alexis. I find myself swept up in a whirlwind of toasts and handshakes, and the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses echo around me.
The evening wears on. When I next catch sight of Alexis, she’s sitting on a bench beneath the canopy of a Japanese maple, beside a young man in a gray suit.
I don’t recognize him, but then again, I don’t recognize at least a third of the guests at this wedding.
Our social circles are vast and constantly shifting.
I watch as they chat, Alexis laughing at something he said. She looks lighthearted and cheerful for the first time all day, the same way she looked on the beach before I descended the dunes to join our photoshoot.
A knot twists in my stomach, a strange feeling that’s something like jealousy.
I remind myself that she has every right to talk to whomever she wants. After all, this is her wedding too. She should be allowed to enjoy herself. But seeing her smile at another man stirs a possessive feeling I didn’t expect.
I wish she smiled like that when I spoke to her. I wish I could be the one making her laugh, the one who has her undivided attention. Instead, I get the version of her that’s careful and cautious, like she’s always checking to see how much of herself she’s allowed to reveal.
I shake my head, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they stick. Cling. Multiply. I know I shouldn’t care. I told myself I wouldn’t. This marriage was never supposed to be about feelings. It was supposed to be a contract, a strategic move, nothing more. I’d made peace with that.
Still, this isn’t how I wanted to feel today. I should be celebrating, not fretting over some guy I don’t even know. But the image of Alexis leaning into him, her laughter bright and carefree, keeps replaying in my mind.
I clench my jaw. Is he hitting on her? Who the fuck goes to a wedding to hit on the bride?
Before I can talk myself out of it, I start moving toward them. It’s not a conscious decision. It feels more like a reaction, a compulsion. Like I’ve slipped out of my own skin and someone else has taken over. Someone far less indifferent than I’d like to pretend to be.
Once I’m within earshot, I clear my throat to draw their attention. Both of them start, and Alexis turns to me, her smile fading. Behind her, the other man looks nervous at my expression.
“Am I interrupting?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
Alexis shifts. “Gabriel, this is my cousin, Jeremy.”
Cousin. Thank god. I stifle my relieved exhale before I can make an idiot out of myself.
“Nice to meet you, Jeremy,” I say, forcing a polite smile as I extend my hand. He takes it, his grip firm but slightly shaky, and I can tell he’s caught off guard by my sudden appearance.
“Uh, yeah, nice to meet you too,” he replies, glancing between Alexis and me. I can almost see the gears turning in his head, trying to assess the situation.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” I say, more directly now, “I’d like a dance with my wife.”
The air thickens with tension as Jeremy’s eyes widen in surprise. He glances at Alexis, hesitating. She blinks. She looks thrown. Not unhappy, exactly. Just unsure what to do, how to act. It’s clear that she didn’t expect to be dancing tonight.
“Of course,” Jeremy stammers, stepping back as I take Alexis’s hand. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“Thank you,” I reply, not bothering to mask the firmness in my voice. I lead Alexis away from the bench, feeling her warmth beside me but also the uncertainty radiating off her.
As we reach the dance floor, the music shifts to a slower tempo.
I pull her close, feeling strangely awkward—we’re married now, and generally speaking, newlyweds dance with each other at their wedding receptions.
Still, though, it’s uncomfortable. Alexis may be my wife, but she’s also basically a stranger.
I become aware that other people have pulled back to give us space on the dance floor.
There was no script for our first dance.
This was one moment of the performance we weren’t required to have.
But now here we are, swaying in the center of the room, surrounded by the diffuse glow of fairy lights and the watchful eyes of our guests.
I guide Alexis in a slow circle, and she looks up at me, confusion darkening her gaze. “I thought we weren’t going to have a dance.”
I shrug. “Decided we might as well.” I keep my voice nonchalant, as if I haven’t been watching her all night, as if I haven’t been haunted by the image of her laughter with someone else.
Her lips tighten. My mind races, trying to figure out what she’s thinking. I’m intimately aware of the way her body moves, of our closeness. How can I feel so connected and so distant all at once?
“You look beautiful,” I tell her, desperate to break the silence that has settled between us. “The dress is impressive.”
In a quiet voice, she replies, “Thank you.” There’s a pause. I can feel her thoughts churning behind that composed expression of hers. She hesitates, then glances up at me through her lashes, her voice barely audible. “This dress isn’t exactly my style, to be honest.”
“It’s not?” I hold out my arm, allowing her to twirl. The ivory skirts flare outwards as she moves. “I thought your family’s company designed it.”
She makes a face as she spins back into my arms. “Yeah, well. Vérité and I have… conflicting fashion opinions.”
That raises my eyebrows. “Conflicting, huh?”
“Most of the time,” she says. She shrugs slightly, and I can tell by the way her shoulders lift that there’s more beneath those words. More she hasn’t shared, more opinions she’s used to keeping to herself.
Before I can ask her to elaborate, the delicate strains of the song end on a long, vibrating cello note. I drop my arms, and Alexis steps away from me.
As she does, it hits me for the first time just how vastly my life has changed.
The woman in front of me isn’t just a temptation that I shouldn’t be drawn to. She’s not just an enigma, a mystery that draws me in with every word while I try to resist.
She’s my wife.