That… doesn't feel right.
“Morning,” I say carefully, stepping past him toward the kitchen.
“Morning.”
That’s it.
I pause, standing there with my headache and my dry mouth and my sudden, creeping unease while he lifts his phone to his ear and speaks tightly with who I can only assume is Halsey, asking her how Penelope was last night and telling her when he can pick her up tomorrow morning.
He has to be irritated about last night.I got too drunk. I made a mess of myself. He had to come get me. He’s probably embarrassed, or annoyed, or both.
It’s the only explanation.
* * *
The church is beautiful in that aggressively tasteful Colorado way — stone walls, dark polished wood, huge flower arrangements that cost more than I know Aaron or Sarah can afford. Everything smells like roses and expensive candles, and as people murmur and shuffle into pews, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other without wincing at every sound.
Grayson keeps a hand on my back as we walk in, the perfect attentive boyfriend for anyone who happens to be watching despite barely talking to me since he insisted we drive separately in case Halsey kicks up a fuss about keeping Penny for another night. He even leans down once to ask if I need water.
To everyone else, it probably looks sweet.To me, it feels rehearsed.
We sit, and I smooth my dress over my knees just to have something to do with my hands. The organ music drifts through the church. Somewhere up front, one of Aaron’s relatives laughs too loudly.
“Are you okay?” I whisper, looking up at Gray’s tense jaw.
He keeps his eyes forward, but his hand still holds mine. “Fine.”
“You don’t seem fine.”
That makes him look at me at last, and there’s something shuttered in his face that makes my stomach dip.“Let’s just get through this,” he says quietly. “That’s what you want, right?”
I blink at him.
What?
Before I can ask what the hell that means, movement at the front of the church pulls everyone’s attention up. Aaron appears in his suit, grinning and smug, and Grayson releases my hand, his arm settling along the back of the pew behind me.
I tell myself again that he’s just upset about last night.
I tell myself we’ll talk after.
I tell myself a lot of things.
By the time the ceremony ends and everyone migrates over to the reception venue, my headache has receded just enough to let anxiety take center stage.
The reception is all soft lighting and champagne and too many round tables dressed in white linen. A live band plays something jazzy in the corner, and waiters glide around with trays of drinks I don’t even want to look at.
I stick to water.
Grayson acts too normal.He keeps close, touching my waist, glances down at me when he speaks to someone who knows exactly who he is, smiles at all the right moments. Anyone watching us would think we’re disgustingly happy.
By the time we’re standing near the edge of the room while people drift toward the dance floor, I feel like I’m losing my mind.
I turn to him. “Can you stop?”
His gaze drops to me. “Stop what?”
“Acting like everything’s fine when it clearly isn’t.” I lower my voice. “If you’re mad at me about last night, just say that.”
