Page 58 of I Wish He Would

Mrs. Vanderbilt’s lips pinch, making her look like she smelled something rotten. It was probably just her shriveled heart, since she clearly doesn’t have one. “And how long have you two been…together?”

Alyssa’s mom looks between us with a raised brow, but she doesn’t say anything. Although, I’m sure she’ll have questions for her daughter later.

“I’m sure your son already told you everything.” I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of answering. She stares me down like she’s trying to give me the stink eye, but she just looks constipated since her eyebrows don’t move a centimeter. I’m definitely not going to be intimidated by a middle-aged woman with enough work done to her face that it barely moves.

“He did,” Mrs. Vanderbilt admits. “But it’s always wise to check with the original source.”

We’re a couple, not a business deal. A fake one, but I hope that’s not the case by the end of this week. Not that she deserves to know any of that.

I glance at Alyssa as a swarm of feelings hits me. Ones I can’t say out loud to her ex’s mom. Not when I haven’t even figured out how to share them with her yet. So I settle for something that hopefully sets the record straight without revealing too much. “Alyssa has made the past three years in Louisville feel like home.”

“That’s nice.” Her tone is full of condescension.

I hate the way she’s speaking about Alyssa. The way she tries to make her feel small. So, I go to bat for her.

“Did you know that Alyssa is consistently booked out months at a time at the salon? I couldn’t be more proud of her.” I move my hand to Alyssa’s waist and squeeze, hoping she doesn’t think I’m saying this all for show. “Most of the wives and girlfriends of guys on my team are her clients. After they went to her once, they said they never wanted to go to another stylist.”

Mrs. Vanderbilt tilts her pointy chin up haughtily. “How wonderful.”

The sound of a knife clinking on a glass draws our attention to the small stage set up near the pool.

“That’s our cue. This has been…enlightening.” Mrs. Vanderbilt loops her hand through her husband’s waiting arm and heads toward the small stage.

“I don’t like to speak ill of other people,” Jen whispers, coming to stand at her daughter’s other side. “But that woman is as horrible as ever.” She leans forward, shooting me a grateful smile. “Thank you for standing up for my girl.”

“Happy to,” I say. “I wish I could’ve said more.”

“You were perfect.” Alyssa wraps her arms around my waist, resting her head on my chest. “I’m glad you’re here.”

I melt into her touch, pressing my cheek to the top of her head and holding her close.

The spell of the moment is broken when there’s a tapping sound over the speaker system.

“Is this thing on?” Bradley’s voice grates through the microphone.

“We’ll talk more later.” Jen gives Alyssa a pointed look before rejoining her husband, who sips on a drink and looks completely oblivious to everything that just went down.

I move my gaze back to center stage, where Bradley and Bianca are standing in front of a large arch covered in white florals. The flowers match the bouquets atop the tall pillars around the pool in between small cabanas that provide covered seating still open to the warm Caribbean air. I don’t want to know how much they’re spending on this wedding if this is just their welcome party.

“Hello, everyone. Thank you all so much for coming to celebrate the event of the year,” Bradley says into the mic. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing at the insanity. “We look forward to reveling with you all week leading up to our big day.” He turns and smiles stiffly at Bianca. “I can’t wait to marry you, Baby Cakes.”

“Thursday can’t come fast enough, Shnookums,” Bianca coos.

They finish their welcome speech, and the majority of guests do a golf clap.

I lean down and whisper in Alyssa’s ear. “I guess they still haven’t moved past those nauseating nicknames.”

She lets out a small laugh. “Obviously not, Pooh Bear.”

I squeeze her hip, making her squirm. “You couldn’t have come up with anything more masculine than Pooh Bear?”

Alyssa shivers. “Says the guy who called me Sugar Lips.”

Her voice is a little husky. Maybe this game plan the guys came up with actually has some merit.

“Do you think they caught on that we were making fun of them?” she asks.

“They’re too stuck in their own world to realize that.” My thumb grazes her hip bone, and I accidentally brush her warm, smooth skin exposed by her crop top. My body tenses, suddenly on high alert from how soft and perfect she is.