“Then what is it?”
He hesitates, toying with something to tell me. I know from the way he pokes his tongue at the edge of his mouth. It’s effortlessly sexy, but so is any glimpse of his tongue. He had an ice cream once, when I was sixteen, and I had to excuse myself to “fix the situation” in private, and don’t even get me started on Freddie with a banana in his mouth.
“A little bit that,” he admits. “Not the planning in itself, just . . . some awkward questions.”
“Like how many cake tiers is too many?” I muse. “Anything above twenty I’d say is excessive.”
“But nineteen is fine?”
“Nineteen is perfect. It’s my lucky number.” I nudge him with my elbow.
It’s so difficult not to touch him, but I keep it brief.
“Your lucky number is three,” he says as he nudges me back.
And he’s right, it is three. Three is anawesomenumber. Lose theaweand it’s the perfect number combination.
“I’m warning you in advance that Keegan wants Ben as one of the groomsmen.”
I scrunch my nose up. Ben is Keegan’s stepbrother. I’ve only met him once, and he spent the whole time leering—not at me, but at Keegan.
“And she keeps bringing up my dad.”
I stiffen, then check Liam’s progress at the bar. It’s best we talk about this out of earshot of my brother, or else he’ll think of a reason to hunt Freddie’s dad down and arrest him. Neither of us like the guy—in fact we hate him—but I’m more rational than Liam. You can’t plant evidence in a man’s house to have him sent to prison no matter how much you loathe that person and all the hurt they caused.
“You’ve told her about him—”
“I’ve told her under no circumstances is he coming to my wedding.”
“Good.”
Freddie’s face drops. “She thinks it’ll make our pictures look weird, though . . .” He taps a beat on his glass with his thumb. “Do you think your parents would stand in for him?”
My parents would love to; I don’t need to ask. They’ve seen Freddie as part of the family since he first stayed the night at our place. Every time we speak to them, they ask about him like he’s their third son, which is all kinds of messed up considering what Liam and I want to do to him.
“I know it’ll be weird to have my best men and their parents in the photos, but you know how much I appreciate what they did for me growing up . . .”
Our door was always open to Freddie, any day, any time, and I hate how often he had to use it. Hate the night he came knocking in the rain, soaked through and without shoes. He was shaking.His bottom lip trembled. Although we all asked him what had happened, he wouldn’t say, which was the norm. He didn’t like to talk about it, still doesn’t, but we saw suspicious bruises on his skin. Not a lot, they were just singular, perfect circles Liam and I have speculated about over the years. We have a theory, but we’ve never voiced it to Freddie.
“I know,” I whisper. “And if you ask them, they’ll say yes.”
Freddie beams and lifts his drink towards me before taking a sip. That momentary bliss at pleasing him is not worth it. It’s made everything more complicated, more awkward. We were meeting with Freddie to decline his best men offer, and in the first few minutes I’ve made it ten times worse by including my parents.
Liam comes over to the table with two beers and sets one down in front of me. He sits opposite Freddie who smiles brightly at him.
“You’re tired,” Liam states.
Freddie snorts. “Hello to you too.”
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
Again, Freddie hesitates. I’m not imagining it, I’m sure.
“Wedding stuff,” he says.
I frown, because that’s not what he said earlier. He said it waspartof the stress, not all of it.
“I’m going to ask your parents to be part of my big day.” Freddie glances at me for reassurance.
