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His fingertips smoothed over my cheek. "I've gathered that much, love. All the more reason why you should have let me come with you."
"No, because it was supposed to be us girls--" I snapped my mouth shut. That wasn't true. I didn’t invite Jacob because I’d made a pact with myself. I'd decided to shut it all down. I was finally going to be honest about the wedding I wanted. I could handle their flabbergasted response, but Jacob's would have cut like a knife.
I swallowed hard. "That's not true."
His forehead wrinkled as he frowned. "It wasn't a girls thing?"
I shook my head. "It was, kinda. But that's not why I didn't want you to come."
"Why didn't you want me to come, Leila?"
"Because it meant admitting I've been lying to you." When his expression hardened, I tried to soften the blow. "It's nothing hardcore. I mean, it is serious--"
"Just tell me what's going on," he said, cutting through my jumbled confession. He tucked a curl behind my ear. "Serious or not, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
I brought a hand up and covered his. He's not going anywhere. I didn't realize in that moment that some ludicrous part of me had been worried about that as well.
"I was worried about finally coming clean about the wedding," I said gingerly. "After all your mom has done to give us this amazing ceremony, I was worried about hurting her feelings, your feelings, by admitting that I didn't want a big ceremony."
His hold slackened, blue eyes slowly drifting over my face. "What?"
I sucked in air, feeling the heat of shame pricking my face. Was he really going to make me say it again?
He waited. Yes, he is.
"I don't want a big wedding,” I repeated, my voice soft and guilty.
He released me altogether, digesting what I said. "You don't want a big wedding?"
I shook my head slowly. "No, I don't."
He raked a hand through his dark, wavy locks, his expression unreadable.
Crap, I thought, burning with frustration. Not the mask, not now.
He turned away from me altogether, crossing his arms against his chest, muscles rippling beneath his button down shirt.
I felt like my throat was on fire. I didn’t want to move before I got some sort of reaction, but I needed something to sooth the irritation. Steel me. I found my glass and chugged the water. Naturally, it did nothing to dull the burn or loosen the tightness in my chest. I wasn't sure how I expected him to respond, but I knew silence wasn't it. I couldn’t handle this deadening quiet.
His confusion made sense. Who was I? The Leila he fell in love with had a voice. She spoke up, even when it was inappropriate. And how could I have just settled for my own wedding? What happened to my backbone?
But he said nothing.
And it was driving me insane.
I slammed my glass on the counter, wheeling to face him. "Go ahead. Tell me how crazy I've been for just going along with this. Tell me how disappointed you are in me."
He looked at me, eyes quiet, lips parted. "I'm not going to yell at you or beat you up about this.”
My fingers trembled, my glass almost crashing to the floor. “You’re not?”
“I’m not,” he answered. “It's pretty clear that you've been beating yourself up for awhile now. Probably since our first conversation with my mother when she started talking about how she'd put on the perfect Whitmore wedding."
All this time I’d been hesitant to be honest, worried about how he’d respond to me chickening out time and time again. Every time Alicia shared some new item and I feigned excitement.
I slumped my shoulders, a mixture of relief and frustration flooding me. "I should have spoken up."
He nodded, but there wasn't anger or disappointment in his voice. "Yes."
