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“No, no, no,” I groaned as he pulled me through the ballroom to the dancefloor. “Please don’t.”
With a laugh, he tugged me against him and wrapped one arm around my waist, taking my hand with his free one. “Come on. One dance. Is it going to kill you?”
“Maybe,” I muttered, resting my hand on his shoulder. “You don’t know.”
“So dramatic for someone so pretty,” he said into my hair. “Don’t let me forget to call the BAFTAs for you.”
“It is nice that you’re remaking The Lady and The Tramp. It’s a classic.”
William’s whole body shook with his laughter, and he released me for a second to twirl me out and back in against him, and our bodies collided with a little, “Oomph,” from me.
“Admit it. You’re enjoying this, as much as you’re pretending otherwise,” he said after a second. “The fanciness, the pomp, being around people who get you…”
“Enjoying is a strong word,” I replied, glancing around. “And it’s a wedding. They’re all fancy and pompous, if we’re being honest, but I’ll admit that it’s nice to see friends again.”
“Good.”
“I’m still not changing my mind about leaving.”
“I think you already have. You just don’t want to admit it.”
“What makes you say that?”
Again, he twirled me out and back in, this time with a huge grin on his face. “I just have a feeling.”
“That’s hardly an answer.”
The song petered out, and the cringey noise of a mic being tapped made me wince.
“Oops, sorry about that, folks,” the DJ said. “The bride has requested that everyone make their way outside to the front of the castle and for all single ladies to form an orderly circle for the bouquet toss.”
I looked at William. “I’m not doing that.”
“You have to.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and lowered his lips to my ear as we walked. “Just get somewhere in the middle and pretend to catch it. My relatives will think it’s weird if you don’t, or that we’re already engaged. You’ll have to suck it up.”
“I’m going to kill you,” I ground out as the entire party made its way outside.
It was barely light out there, and before I knew it, I was being shuffled into a crowd of single women with Gabriella’s hand attached firmly to mine as she shot me panicked looks.
“If we hold hands, there’s less chance we’ll catch it, right?” she whispered.
“I don’t know. There’s about twenty of us. The odds are sort of in our favour,” I whispered right back.
The photographer stepped up onto a small stepladder and got our attention. After she gave us a few directions for the best possible photos of the moment, she waved for someone to do the countdown.
“Three, two, one!” everyone shouted.
Freya threw her small bouquet over her head, behind her, right at us. It sailed through the air until it got closer and closer and closer.
And smacked me in the nose.
My hands acted before my brain did, grabbing the bouquet before it could fall to the ground, and I froze.
Shit.
I was a walking cliché.
Freya turned and grinned at me, and I justknewshe’d deliberately thrown it in my direction. Don’t ask me how, but I knew, and that was confirmed when she walked up to me and hugged me, then whispered, “Nice catch,” in my ear.
