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I cut her off again. “Mom. Please.”
Maybe it’s the please that convinces her. I’m not sure the last time that word was spoken between us. From my mouth, at least.
“Okay. I’ll ask.” She disappears out into the expanse of the cathedral that’s filled with people preparing for the wedding or guests showing up extra early for good seats.
I’m all alone in here.
The star of the show and the pariah.
I’m nervous. I didn’t think I would be, and it’s the final sign that this is not a business deal. A merger like any other. Maybe it is to Arthur Kensington. To my father. To the rest of Manhattan’s elite, who have all gossiped about the possibility of this day for years. To Crew. But for me, it’s different. Telling myself it isn’t won’t change that fact.
This is mywedding, mymarriage.
It’s personal.
When the door opens again a few minutes later, I know it’s not my mother. I can just tell.
He came.
“You’re not wearing your dress.”
I turn to face him. “You’re not supposed to see me in my dress until I’m down the aisle.”
“I didn’t think you were the superstitious type. Or particularly sentimental.” Crew says the words casually, before slipping his hands in his pockets. He looks relaxed. Completely at ease about what is about to happen between us, and it loosens the tight knot in my chest some.
“I don’t want our first kiss to be out there.” I blurt the statement, which is really more of a request.
Something about today—the dress and the dreaminess and the date itself—has led me to the very real realization today is my wedding. In all likelihood, I’ll never have another. I’ll be married to this man for the rest of my life. And I’ve never evenkissedhim.
Should it bother me? Probably not.
But it does.
Something akin to amusement settles in his face. “Is that so?”
It’s tempting to back down, but I don’t. “Yes.” I study him, trying to get a read on what he’s thinking. Feeling. I come up blank. He’s as effusive as an empty page. “You were basically begging to kiss me a few weeks ago,” I remind him of our moment in the library.
A ghost of a smile flickers across his face, as if that memory is a fond one rather than a frustrating one. “I remember.”
“So?” I’m growing impatient. Annoyed.Why can’t anything between us be straightforward?
“Do you?”
“Do Iwhat?” I’m rapidly regretting this entire idea. He’s right; it’s not like me. Maybe this marriage won’t last, and it’ll never matter anyway.
“Remember.”
My spine straightens like it was just injected with lead as the implication hits. “You can’t be serious.”
Crew tilts his head to the left, showing off the sharp line of his jaw. It tightens as his expression turns daring. “Begme, and I’ll kiss you, Scarlett.”
“You’re…” I search for the right insult and come up short. “I can’t believe you.”
“I warned you, baby.”
“You’re just pissed I hurt your pride.”
Crew doesn’t respond, but a muscle ticks in his jaw.
