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I watched from the corner as pictures were snapped in different poses and sets of people, before Laney waved me over. “Come on, get in this one.”
“I don’t think…” I trailed off, my eyes finding Dean’s. He made no motion one way or another, and everyone’s eyes landed on me. My skin heated, knowing the longer I argued and deliberated on how I was not part of the family or wedding party and, therefore, should definitelynotbe included in photos, the more I delayed the proceedings. So, I felt compelled to trudge forward. Laney tucked me in right next to Dean, grinning.
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Thank you, and you look stunning.”
“Thanks.” She fingered the long veil draped behind her shoulders. “I’m anxious to get this all over with, so I can see Ethan.”
I startled when Dean’s hand found my lower back as he leaned behind me to speak softly to his sister. “We could be done with these pictures whenever you say.”
“WheneverIsay?” she said through clenched teeth, her eyes pointedly landing on their mother.
Dean sighed then pulled me closer to him, his mouth by my ear. “Don’t worry. We won’t hang these photos over the mantel or anything.”
I jabbed his side, and he breathed out a laugh that skittered goose bumps along my neck and shoulders. He tightened his fingers on my waist as the two photographers wrapped up and the group started toward the front door. Dean dug into his pocket and held up his car keys.
“Don’t scratch the paint, Novak.”
I accepted them with an open palm. “Screw your paint job. I’m going to Mexico.”
He turned so his back faced Laney and her friends assisting her out the door, making sure her veil didn’t drag on the floor. “Seriously,” he said, “you’re really helping me out. I couldn’t bring my guitar with me, and you driving my car is a big help.”
“I won’t let anything happen to your precious baby.”
He’d told me that he’d had his acoustic guitar since he was a kid, and that it was really special to him because Patrick had drawn some art on the body of it. Dean had brought it to play a song for Ethan and Laney as his gift to them. I told him that he should have gone with a toaster oven instead.
We were the last ones out of the house, and Dean locked the door behind us before he escorted me to his car and opened the driver’s side door. “I’ll see you at the church.”
Even though he didn’t need it, I smoothed my hand over his collar and tie, and Dean held very still at my ministrations, his eyes boring into me.
“Thank you,” he said after a moment, his gaze raking like sandpaper over my skin.
“Couldn’t let you go without making sure you looked perfect. I know how vain you are.”
I felt his smile against my temple. Then he gently nudged me into his car, and after situating myself, I finally peered up at him. His eyes were unwavering on me. “You have to stop staring at me like that. You’re giving me a complex.”
“I didn’t realize your self-esteem was so weak,” he goaded.
“No more than your dick,” I volleyed back.
His lips twitched in amusement even as his eyes narrowed. “Watch your mouth, Novak, or you might not like where I put my dick.”
I forced out a laugh, though it was little more than a puff of air. “I’d like to see you try.”
He bent, squeezing my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t tempt me.”
With a rough flick of his fingers, he straightened and closed the door, sealing me inside his car that smelled of him. I watched him climb into the old-fashioned trolley, where I could see him through the windows, addressing the group like he was the king of the castle. And it wasn’t even his wedding.
What an asshole.
I smiled and turned the ignition over, following my phone’s GPS to the church, where I snagged a program and was ushered to my seat by a clean-cut dark-haired white guy, who looked like he’d have trouble fitting through the doors, his suit doing nothing to mask his muscles. Another guy, who I swear was CJ Cunningham, the famous actor-director, was walking back toward me after helping an elderly woman to her seat, and I had to blink a few times, clearing my eyes to make sure I wasn’t seeing things. The third usher was a tall and drop-dead gorgeous blond man. He escorted a woman to a front pew on the groom’s side, her long, dark hair flowing halfway down her back, her shawl matching her dress, and I flipped through the program, reading their names and making mental connections to who everyone was.
The ushers were married to the bridesmaids. The woman, Marcela, was going to be doing a reading, and I blew out a breath at the sheer length of this wedding.
I wasn’t religious and knew next to nothing about Catholicism, but I suspected the ceremony would take a while. I crossed my legs, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard wooden pew, then resorted to counting all the pink and white flowers that decorated the aisle while the church filled up with more and more people. I spotted some familiar faces seated on the groom’s side. Seth was invited because he attended their monthly poker nights, and there were the two guys who played the keyboards and bass from the Anchormen, but with so many people in attendance, I doubted even Laney and Ethan knew everyone all that well.
A violinist played classical melodies, and at some point, the murmurs quieted. A priest in long robes took his place at the altar, and Ethan and his groomsmen lined up next to him. The first people down the aisle were Ethan’s parents then Dean, accompanying his mother, followed by Gem, Sam, and Bronte, who was already crying. According to the program, Trace, the ring bearer, was Ethan’s nephew, and the little boy appeared as if he might sprint down the aisle if it weren’t for the pretty Black woman holding his hand. She was Trace’s mom and a groomswoman. She wore the same silk dress as the bridesmaids and reached out to squeeze Ethan’s shoulder as she and Trace passed.
