She shrugs, and my gaze lands on her seductive shoulder wrapped in vintage lace. I follow the undulating line of lace down the deep V of her bodice. When I saw her for the first time today, down the grassy aisle on Ramon’s arm, the daring neckline had me wheezing for breath.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more star-struck.
“You could have warned me,”I’d whispered after Ramon had placed her hand in mine and I’d tugged her beside me.
She’d giggled.“And missed that rabid stare on your face?”
Iris looked proud of herself. Confident and proud. And ridiculously happy.
“I just don’t want to make a fool of myself,” she says to me now, that confidence shaken by the prospect of what’s coming.
I hold out my hand to her. “Then let’s do this now.”
Her eyes widen before darting around the room. “But people are still eating. The dancing isn’t supposed to start until eight.”
I glance at my watch, “That’s in ten minutes. In ten minutes, you’ll be a nervous wreck.”
She brings her tense gaze back to me. My wife—I love that word—takes a deep breath and blows it through pursed lips.
“You’re right. Let’s do this.”
I take her by the hand, rise, and give a nod to the band leader who nods back and signals for his players to wrap up their rendition of “Rewind” by Riley Pearce.
We’re in the middle of the parquet floor before most of the guests even look up from their dinner conversations.
I settle my left hand on Iris’s waist and clutch her trembling fingers in my right.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the band leader croons. “Let’s hear it for Iris and Beau.”
Panic stiffens Iris’s muscles under my touch as our guests applaud. She flits her nervous gaze around the room, and I can just see her tallying the pairs of eyes watching us.
“Just look at me,” I tell her softly.
She brings her wide eyes to mine.
“This is for us. Thisisus. Everyone here loves you, but none more than me,” I pledge. Her gaze softens and her chest rises in a full breath. The music starts and we’re off.
We entertained other options, but nothing else felt right. The Bonsoir Catin song will always be ours.
I’d like to feel like this at home.
Well, I do.
The lovers in the song may not have been able to work through their obstacles, but we have. At least, we’re working on them. Not giving up.
We have our hard days.
Moira’s suits against Iris are still an unresolved nuisance. Moira and her attorney put out a press release the week Iris’s showCouch Surfinglaunched. It spawned some bad press and a few days of the paparazzi practically on our fucking front lawn.
Laird earned a raise that week. And the day Mica snapped his jaws at a photographer, who shoved his camera into Iris’s face when we came home from a jog, I cooked him a steak.
Yeah, a whole ribeye.
And a couple of weeks ago, Moira somehow found out the date of the wedding and posted a Tik Tok, begging Iris for forgiveness, asking to reconcile, and pleading to be invited to the wedding.
Manipulative bitch.
She didn’t reach out to Iris’s attorney—as any sane person would if they wanted to reconcile. She didn’t drop the wrongful termination and breach of contract suits. She went to the social media platform where most of Iris’s fans reside. Just to make her life harder. And try to somehow ruin this day for us.
