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“I’m just helping Evan out tonight.” He nodded at his girlfriend. “Her assistant was unavailable.”
Martine turned a beaming smile Evan’s way.
“Evan,” Andre said, searching for the right words. “This is Martine Velasquez. We—”
“Were engaged a few years ago,” Martine said, holding her hand out to Evan. “Before he decided he liked boys instead and broke it off.”
Well, then. Martine had never been one to be tactful.
Evan’s lips rolled inward, her gaze sliding to his. When he gave her a go-ahead nod, she smiled and he sensed a bit of predator in it. “I’m Evan Kennedy, Andre’s girlfriend.”
Martine blinked, her smile freezing on her face. She turned to Andre. “Your girlfriend?”
Andre sighed. He saw the flash of hurt there and didn’t relish it. Martine had always been a good woman—beautiful, smart, kind. At one point, he’d thought he loved her. But he’d been struggling with his sexuality on a daily basis back then, both his attraction to men and his burgeoning interest in dominance and submission. He hadn’t been able to share any of that with her. She’d been after the perfect life—husband, kids, house in the suburbs, and being active in the local Catholic church.
And part of him had wanted to give that to her. But a few weeks before the wedding, he’d gone to a kink club to exorcise his demons. Instead, it had opened Pandora’s box inside him. He’d only planned to observe that night, but he’d found himself on the verge of cheating. He hadn’t during that visit, but he’d broken it off with Martine a few days later. He’d told her he thought he could be gay even though he knew that wasn’t quite it. Gay had been something she couldn’t argue with, though.
She’d been devastated, he’d felt lost, and his family had freaked out—even though they’d never known the real reason for the breakup—because they’d loved Martine. He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “Yes, my girlfriend.”
“But—”
“I also have a boyfriend,” he said with a shrug.
Lines appeared between her brows. “So, like, you’re dating around?”
“He is not,” Evan said, a bite to her tone, which was so un-Evan-like that Andre knew Martine was pushing buttons. “We’re all in a committed relationship.”
Martine’s dark eyes rounded. “You’re all . . .”
Andre touched her arm. “It was nice to see you, Martine. I’m glad you’re doing well. But Evan’s working, and I don’t want her to miss any important shots.”
“But—”
He put his hand on Evan’s lower back and steered her toward the crowd that was forming as the bride and groom got ready to make their exit to the limo. “Come on, bella. Got to get the parting shot.”
She glanced over at him, frustration clear in the set of her mouth. “I’d like to get the parting shot with Ms. Old Flame back there. She was looking at you like she had some right to you. You never told me you were engaged.”
“Ancient history.”
“She looks like a freaking swimsuit model,” Evan said under her breath.
“And you look like a goddess,” he said, curving his hand around her side. “Don’t give her another thought.”
But the scowl on Evan’s face said she was going to think about whatever she damn well pleased.
They finished up the wedding without talking much more. There was too much to do, and Evan flipped into focused work mode. Andre held the camera bag, staying out of the way, and watched the happy couple wave their good-byes. The guests were blowing bubbles instead of throwing rice, and the bride and groom were smiling in that blissed-out way that only comes when everything feels right in the world and you see nothing but sunshine in your future. Andre didn’t realize he’d sighed until he heard the voice next to him.
“I second that sigh. There’s nothing like a wedding to make me both happy and sad at the same time.”
He tensed and turned to find Martine giving him an abashed smile.
“I mean, I know it’s been a long time, but I still think about it sometimes. What our wedding would’ve looked like. What our life would’ve been like.”
He took a deep breath. This conversation was making him more than a little uncomfortable, but he had to remember that he was the one who’d screwed this woman over. She hadn’t done anything wrong. It really had been a case of “it’s not you, it’s me.” And waiting until a few weeks before the wedding to figure that out had been a dick move. “It would’ve been a mistake, Marti. I’m sorry for how long it took me to figure that out, but we wouldn’t have worked.”
She let her gaze follow the bride and groom’s progress instead of looking at him. “You don’t know that. Yes, if you’d really been gay, it wouldn’t have worked. But”—she nodded toward Evan, who was vigorously snapping away with her camera, her back to them—“clearly you’re not opposed to women.”
He wasn’t going to stand there and talk about kink and his preferences and why the bisexual thing would’ve been the least of their incompatibilities. It wasn’t the appropriate place, and it wasn’t Martine’s business. “Are we really going to do this right now?”
