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I thank the stylists again before offering Willow my elbow to escort her to the indoor ceremony. The grand staircase of the historic hotel will act as the altar before guests are ushered into the nearby ballroom for the reception. By the time we enter the throng of well-dressed, well-heeled attendees, hotel employees are encouraging people to take their seats.

Am I being a little dramatic by positioning us toward the back and near the exit? Maybe. Do I consider this necessary strategic planning? Absolutely.

Willow grips my suit sleeve, leaning to whisper in my ear. “Is that a senator?”

“Probably,” I grumble, not even looking up. “Dad likes to stay connected, not just within hockey.”

It’s another way I’ve always failed my father, because I’d rather have my teeth extracted than network.

“She’s wearing the heck out of that dress.”

I meet Willow’s eye. “No one here is as stunning as you.”

Her cheeks flush the sweetest shade of pink before we quiet as the processional starts.

By the time my brother and his teammates align themselves on the stairs, Dustin is swaying noticeably. His best man tries to steady him as the bridesmaids file in one by one. Finally, the officiant asks everyone to stand. As Dustin’s bride, Layla, walks down the aisle with her unsmiling father, Willow releases a wistful sigh.

Though Layla looks beautiful, there’s so much wrong about this wedding—from how the groomsmen can’t stop shoving each other to Dustin’s audible belch as Layla arrives at his side. I can’t stop thinking about what I’d do differently if I got the chance to marry Willow again.

I’m so lost in thought—in the realization that I’d like nothing more than to shift our mutually beneficial arrangement turned fledgling relationship into something permanent—that I stop paying attention.

I’m aware that, legally, we’re already solidified.

But I want us to acknowledge it publicly.

I want to say handwritten vows while looking into Willow’s eyes so she knows I mean every word. I want Michelle there, standing beside her incredible daughter. And Delilah and Adam. Piper would make the cutest flower girl. And for my side…if I could have the entire Waves lineup beside me, that would be—

A chorus of gasps draws my attention back to the room just in time to catch my brother leaning away from their first kiss. Instead of pressing his lips to his new bride’s, Dustin jerks back, shoving his fist over his mouth and stumbling down a few stairs toward an oversized planter.

Chapter 32

Willow

“That was so sad,” I say, feeling like a broken record for repeating myself. “Layla deserved better.”

“She did.” Though Shane’s words are growly, his lips gently brush my temple.

He’s been incredibly affectionate, keeping me tucked close with a hand on my waist or between my shoulder blades. It’s like we’re at home—alone—not in a room filled with three hundred wedding guests.

When a server comes by with a tray of cocktails, we both politely decline.

“I think your brother has drunk enough for the rest of us.”

Shane grunts in agreement.

I spin into him, smiling and tugging on his closed jacket. “This is good because things can only go up from here.”

He winces. “Did you have to say that out loud? That feels like tempting fate.”

“Mr. Grumpypus Mafia Boss believes in fate?”

Shane’s gaze grows impossibly soft as he brushes my bangs out of my eyes. “I didn’t used to.”

My throat suddenly feels drier than an overworked paintbrush.

Fortunately, I’m saved by another stranger. Over the last twenty minutes, a variety of who’s whos in sports have come to say hello to Shane. He introduces me, nods along with whatever they have to say, allows me to monopolize the conversation, and then steers us in a different direction after a few minutes. At this point, we’ve explored all the nooks and crannies of this elaborately decorated ballroom.

“You’re running out of places to hide,” I tease.