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Then the music changed to the traditional wedding march, and we all stood. Ethan fixed his glasses on his nose as if he wanted to be able to see everything perfectly and blew out a big breath when Laney appeared on the arm of her father. A rippling gasp swept through the attendees, as if no one could get over how beautiful the bride was, and I peeked over to the altar in time to catch Ethan drag his knuckle over his cheek, wiping away a tear, but I didn’t miss how Dean tugged on his earlobe, his focus on the floor. The softy.
At the end of the aisle, Laney and Ethan held hands, and the priest began with a blessing. For the next hour and a half, there was a lot of sitting and standing and doing what the priest instructed. Poor Trace had trouble sitting still. Then again, I was a grown adult and struggled too.
Dean turned over his shoulder, stretching his neck, his eyes searching. I sat taller, and when our gazes met, he tipped his chin to me, a silent message.We’re almost done.
Though the vows had been exchanged, like, thirty minutes ago, it felt like thirty hours from the way this priest droned on and on. He finally invited the bride and groom back up and said one final blessing before introducing the new Mr. and Mrs. Marrero. They shared a kiss to an excited round of applause and practically danced down the aisle together, followed by their wedding party. When Dean passed me, he winked, and I pretended it didn’t wake up a few butterflies in my stomach.
A short receiving line formed in the vestibule, and I offered Laney and Ethan each a hug. Dean wrapped his hand around my elbow, reintroducing me to Hank and then to Gabe, a groomsman and friend from high school, as well as Justin and Leah, Ethan’s brother and sister-in-law. But I barely had time to exchange a few words with them before we were shepherded outside to see off the happy couple.
This time, Dean and I had no sarcastic comments, only a squeeze of our fingers. I took part in blowing bubbles like the rest of the crowd as the trolley took off down the street, to wherever the bridal party was headed for photos.
I hopped back into Dean’s car and drove to the reception. According to Dean’s instructions, I was to leave everything in the car and head inside to the happy hour. He said he’d take care of everything else. So, I grabbed a glass of red and found my seat. Without knowing anyone, I pretty much kept to myself. Though I did have a short conversation with Seth. He seemed rather suspicious of me and my presence here, but I didn’t give a shit what he thought about me and went back to sipping my very pleasant red blend.
An hour later, the wedding party was introduced, and Laney and Ethan had their first dance to the same song the Anchormen had played at their gig a few weeks ago. Dean appeared at my side.
“Hey, Nov. You having fun?”
“Your sister was right. The wine is delicious.”
“See? I told you it wouldn’t be bad.”
No, it wasn’t bad. Not when I was tucked up against his side, his fingers skirting over my back. I both loved and hated this dress. I loved the way I looked in it. Hated the way Dean had an all-access pass to my skin. Because I was on fire wherever he touched me.
As if he knew, he drew the tip of his finger down my spine, from my neck to my tailbone, and I shivered.
“You cold?” he asked, smirking.
“One of these days, someone is going to come along and smack that cocky smile right off your face.”
He lifted his hand to my neck, curling around it possessively, and that did more for those stupid butterflies in my stomach than anything else he could’ve done to me. Especially when he leaned into me, his nose in my hair, his lips against my ear. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
I couldn’t hold in my laugh and turned into his side. His fingers at my neck tightened ever so slightly, and I tipped my head so we were within kissing distance. He didn’t move. Neither did I. A standoff between a rock and paper.
The song ended as people all around us clapped for the bride and groom, and I blinked back into awareness before taking my seat again, this time next to Dean. We were at a table with Laney’s bridesmaids and their husbands, and the man across from me was mostly definitely CJ Cunningham.
I found my phone in my purse and texted Dean.
\Why is CJ Cunningham here?
When Dean didn’t move, I placed my hand on his thigh. He lurched slightly under my touch but relaxed after a moment and placed his arm on the back of my chair, brows raised.
“Check your phone,” I told him.
“I am not working at my sister’s wedding. Bad form.”
I sent him a bland look, and he removed his phone from his pocket, his thumb scrolling over his screen as he typed a message back to me.
Some Asshole
Married to Bronte.
Are we not supposed to acknowledge he’s famous?
Some Asshole
Never thought you’d be a fangirl.
He was nominated for an Oscar, and he’s just sitting here. Eating a dinner roll.
