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What was I supposed to say? That I’m falling in love with her, too? It’s true I’m beginning to feel something for her, but I’m not quite where she is. We’re reading the same book, but she’s a few chapters ahead. Lying to her would only be a disservice. It’d be unfair to string her along when I’m not ready. I’m more than aware of the irony, that marriage is the biggest commitment of all, but I can’t tell her what she wants to hear. Not yet anyways.
I head out to John Ackerman’s wedding alone. The drive to the venue takes an eternity, especially when all I can do is stew in my own silence in the backseat. Regret claws through me. Maybe I should have canceled. I shouldn’t have left Alina alone at home. I was trying to be courteous and give her some space, but I’m wondering if the decision was a mistake. Nothing pains me more than the thought of her cooped up in her bedroom, crying after she so bravely put her heart out on the line.
I grit my teeth.Fuck, I’m such an asshole. What kind of dickhead leaves his crying wife at home? How could I do that to her? I have half a mind to tell my driver to turn back, but my destination comes into view.
It’s an outdoor reception at a spacious park. The warm weather makes it the perfect location for an evening party, surrounded by luscious trees and flowers in bloom. The occasional twinkle of passing fireflies adds to the ambiance, the silver glow of the moon bright and full in the sky.
The reception is well underway, a live band playing lively tune after tune. A portable dance floor has been laid out over the grass, giving guests ample space to dance and mingle. Four tall posts hold up a soft white canopy of cotton, a string of warm white light bulbs hanging from the underside to add to the romantic atmosphere.
I get out of the car and tell my driver to keep the engine running. This is going to be a quick visit. An in-and-out sort of deal. I’ll shake a few hands, leave a good, friendly impression, and then…
And then I’ll go back home and do what I should have done for the start—comfort my wife.
John Ackerman is dressed sharply in a black tuxedo, complete with spiffy bowtie. It’s been a hot minute since I saw him last, but I easily recognize his lopsided smile and chestnut brown hair. When he sees me, his smile widens as he throws out his arms to greet me with a hug.
“As I live and breathe!” he says with a friendly laugh. “Pyotr Antonov, in the flesh. I didn’t think you’d make it, old friend.”
“Apologies for the late reply to your invitation.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it. I know you’re a busy man.”
“Congratulations,” I tell him, slipping him an envelope with a check inside for five thousand dollars. “A little something for you and the missus.”
John claps me on the shoulder. “Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.” He turns and waves a woman over, his bride, dressed in a stunning white dress that hugs her hips. She’s practically glowing. “Pyotr, this is Michelle.”
I shake her hand. “Congratulations, Michelle.”
“Thank you so much,” she replies around a giggle. Her cheeks are pink and rosy, her hair done up in perfect waves. “You attended business school with John, right? He talks about you a lot.”
“Does he?”
“Oh, yes. He’s always going on and on about how his old college buddy went on to become the CEO of CyberFort. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he idolizes you.”
John chuckles. “Come on, babe, you’re embarrassing me.”
“That’s very flattering, but John was the one to admire. Always hardworking and top of his class. He was the one I aspired to beat.”
Michelle grins at her new husband, resting her head lovingly on his shoulder. Seeing them together like this stirs something strange within me. Their joy is almost infectious, the love clear in their eyes. I take in my surroundings with an bittersweet air. I never got this. Alina and I didn’t get a wedding. No party, no pretty wedding dress, no cake. Seeing how happy John and Michelle are together makes my heart twist in jealousy.
Alina deserved so much more.Deservesso much more.
“So, how did you two meet?” I ask, making friendly conversation.
“We met through a friend of a friend,” Michelle says sweetly. “I think it was at some charity gala a few years ago.”
“I saw her from across the room,” John says, no longer looking at me, but at his darling wife. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a man more in love. “She had a whole line of guys waiting to ask her to dance, but I sauntered up and skipped the queue.”
Michelle laughs. “He kept asking me for dance after dance so nobody else could ask me. And before we knew it, the night was over. I haven’t been able to get rid of him ever since.”
John kisses her cheek. “You’re the only dancing partner I need, babe.”
“Oh, stop it. Why are you always such a sap?” Michelle winks at me. “You’re more than welcome to stick around, if you’d like. There’s an open bar and everything thanks to my Uncle Richard.”
At first, her comment goes straight over my head. Plenty of people are named Richard. It’s a very common name. But then I see him from the other side of the reception.
RichardEaton Jones.
Fuck, what are the chances?
