Page 21 of The Wrong Groom

“Daddy, you look fancy,” she exclaims.

“Nowhere near as fancy as you,” I tell her. “Your dress is so pretty! Did Grandma do your hair?”

She giggles, kicking her feet. “No, Daddy. Aunt Chloe did it! She put in the braids and ribbons just for today!”

I turn my gaze to Chloe, who is standing a few steps back, her smile wide and proud. “She looks adorable, doesn’t she?” Chloe calls out, waving her phone. “I got some great pictures of her before the ceremony!”

“Absolutely adorable,” I agree, giving Peyton a squeeze before setting her back down on her feet. Her dress sways around her, a flurry of color and energy.

The guests begin to stream out into the hallway. There’s a brief cocktail hour planned before the reception, to give the staff time to transform the botanical garden into a suitable place for a party. Some of our guests pause to congratulate us, but most make a beeline for the refreshments, knowing that their congratulations won’t mean anything, anyway.

My brothers are already laughing and joking with friends, drinks in their hands. Chloe and Ivy shepherd Peyton over to the snack table, where an array of colorful pastries and fruit platters are displayed.

By the time the doors open to allow us back into the arboretum, evening has settled over Los Angeles, and the glass above us is rapidly darkening. Twinkling fairy lights crisscross the vaulted ceiling, draping down over the tree branches. The chairs from the ceremony have been cleared away, replaced by circular tables and an open space for the dance floor.

As the crowd moves into the reception, everything starts to happen at once.

The photographers crowd us, snapping pictures as we step inside, their flashes creating a flurry of bright bursts in the dimly lit space. I try to smile naturally, but I can’t help feeling disoriented. At some point, I lose track of Alexis. I find myself swept up in a whirlwind of toasts and handshakes, and the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses echo around me.

The evening wears on. When I next catch sight of Alexis, she’s sitting on a bench beneath the canopy of a Japanese maple, beside a young man in a gray suit. I don’t recognize him, but then again, I don’t recognize at least a third of the guests at this wedding. Our social circles are vast and constantly shifting.

I watch as they chat, Alexis laughing at something he said. She looks lighthearted and cheerful for the first time all day, the same way she looked on the beach before I descended the dunes to join our photoshoot.

A knot twists in my stomach, a strange feeling that’s something like jealousy.

I remind myself that she has every right to talk to whomever she wants. After all, this is her wedding too. She should be allowed to enjoy herself. But seeing her smile at another man stirs a possessive feeling I didn’t expect.

I wish she smiled like that when I spoke to her. I wish I could be the one making her laugh, the one who has her undivided attention. Instead, I get the version of her that’s careful and cautious, like she’s always checking to see how much of herself she’s allowed to reveal.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they stick. Cling. Multiply. I know I shouldn’t care. I told myself I wouldn’t. This marriage was never supposed to be about feelings. It was supposed to be a contract, a strategic move, nothing more. I’d made peace with that.

Still, this isn’t how I wanted to feel today. I should be celebrating, not fretting over some guy I don’t even know. But the image of Alexis leaning into him, her laughter bright and carefree, keeps replaying in my mind.

I clench my jaw. Is he hitting on her? Who the fuck goes to a wedding to hit on the bride?

Before I can talk myself out of it, I start moving toward them. It’s not a conscious decision. It feels more like a reaction, a compulsion. Like I’ve slipped out of my own skin and someone else has taken over. Someone far less indifferent than I’d like to pretend to be.

Once I’m within earshot, I clear my throat to draw their attention. Both of them start, and Alexis turns to me, her smile fading. Behind her, the other man looks nervous at my expression.

“Am I interrupting?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

Alexis shifts. “Gabriel, this is my cousin, Jeremy.”

Cousin. Thank god. I stifle my relieved exhale before I can make an idiot out of myself.

“Nice to meet you, Jeremy,” I say, forcing a polite smile as I extend my hand. He takes it, his grip firm but slightly shaky, and I can tell he’s caught off guard by my sudden appearance.

“Uh, yeah, nice to meet you too,” he replies, glancing between Alexis and me. I can almost see the gears turning in his head, trying to assess the situation.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” I say, more directly now, “I’d like a dance with my wife.”

The air thickens with tension as Jeremy’s eyes widen in surprise. He glances at Alexis, hesitating. She blinks. She looks thrown. Not unhappy, exactly. Just unsure what to do, how to act. It’s clear that she didn’t expect to be dancing tonight.

“Of course,” Jeremy stammers, stepping back as I take Alexis’s hand. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“Thank you,” I reply, not bothering to mask the firmness in my voice. I lead Alexis away from the bench, feeling her warmth beside me but also the uncertainty radiating off her.

As we reach the dance floor, the music shifts to a slower tempo. I pull her close, feeling strangely awkward—we’re married now, and generally speaking, newlyweds dance with each other at their wedding receptions. Still, though, it’s uncomfortable. Alexis may be my wife, but she’s also basically a stranger.