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And my fingers met soft, bare skin.
The dress was basically backless; how had I missed that?
“Sorry,” I muttered, and dropped my hand, but even as I flexed and unflexed it, I could still feel the warmth of Sophie’s skin on my fingertips.
“Are you ready?” she said quietly, looking up at me as we waited to be seated. “You good?”
Was I good? No. But was I ready for the task? Hell, yes.
The bride—Ashley—was twenty-one years old, and her groom was forty.I wasn’t one to judge, but that fact alone felt suspect. However, the reason why my old friend’s cousin’s bridesmaid’s aunt had reached out was because Ashley had proof he was cheating and he was also a controlling asshole (persuaded her to drop out of college because he didn’t want any “wife of his” to work outside the home) who would make her life hell if she embarrassed him by calling off the wedding.
So I was great with what I was about to do.
“I’m good,” I said, and we followed the usher to the seats we’d requested in the back of the church.
The music started, and Evan, the groom, filed out of the back with his groomsmen and stood with a smirk, arms crossed in front of him. They looked like a bunch of middle-aged stockbrokers, giving each otherhey, brogrins as the harpist started the accompaniment for the bridesmaids’ procession.
It was surreal, watching girls who looked like they belonged at a sorority party walk toward well-dressed men who looked like they could be their uncles. I heard a sound—was that agrowl?—from Sophie and knew without looking at her exactly how she felt about this wedding.
When the bride reached the front of the church and the groom took her arm, Sophie tugged on my sleeve.
I lowered my head, and she whispered into my ear, “Thank you for doing this.”
I looked down at her face, at those long-lashed amber eyes, and gave her a nod before straightening back up.
We sat, and the minister launched into his love sermon. At this wedding, my cue to object was a little further into the ceremony, so we were subjected to the man’s poetic lesson on lifetime love before we’d be able to leave.
I glanced over at Soph, and she literally rolled her eyes when he said the wordstrue love. Watching her was hilarious, actually, because she fidgeted, sighed, and even shook her head with squinted eyes when he mentioned soulmates.
She genuinely didn’t believe in love.
A lot of people said things like that, either to be funny or because they were jaded, but Sophie Steinbeck thought love was no different than Santa Claus. Sophie truly believed that the concept of romantic love was a brain trick.
I was a cynic who had no interest in trying to find The One, but Sophie wasn’t a cynic at all.
She was a nonbeliever.
“If anyone here knows of any reason these two should not—”
“I do,” I said, standing. My face was hot—happened every time—but I powered through. “Evan has been, and still is, unfaithful to Ashley, and was even with another woman two days ago.”
Ashley gasped, as did half the church, but Evan looked unconcerned.
Hell, the guy didn’t even look mad as he met my eye. He said, “Are you an invited guest, sir?”
Fucking ballsy.
“He is not,” Sophie yelled, standing and grabbing my hand. “And neither am I.”
I looked down at her animated face and wanted to laugh, even as I wondered what the fuck she was doing.
“Well, then, I think it’s time for security to escort you to the door,” Evan said calmly, even looking amused.
“Evan,” Ashley said quietly. “What is he talking about?”
“We have proof,” Sophie said, “that I think everyone here would be interested in seeing. Not only that, but if Evan will just let Ashley look at his phone—”
“I’m sorry, friends,” Evan said to the crowd, cutting off Sophie. “But it appears there is going to be a slight delay while we take care of these interlopers. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves or grab a mimosa from the vestibule while my bride and I deal with the uninvited.”
