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Lana’s lips part in a wide smile. “Well, Tucker got a little carried away with the minutiae.” Then the maid of honor eyes me appraisingly once again. “If we could average out his fastidiousness and your devil-may-care attitude, we’d have two perfectly balanced groomsmen.”
I link my arm with hers and steer Lana out of the meeting room. “I think we’ll get along just fine. Any task regarding the best man and maid of honor specifically?”
She looks up at me. “Only walking down the aisle together, and joining the bride and groom on the dance floor for the first dance. Can you dance?”
I let go of her elbow, take her hand and guide Lana in a pirouette, saying, “I’m the master of the dance floor.”
She chuckles. “Oh my gosh, Winter was right, you’re such a flirt.”
I wink. “Don’t worry, I don’t interfere with other people’s relationships.”
“Oh, I’m not worried.”
I lead her down the hall. “So, when is the famous boyfriend going to join us?”
“Why? You want to ask for an autograph?”
“After the conversation we just had? He must be a fan already; he’ll probably ask for mine.”
“Why? What did you tell him?”
I grin from ear to ear. “Nothing at all.”
We stop in the hotel lobby and Lana glowers at me. “I’d better call Christian back. See you later.”
I give a mock military salute and watch her disappear down a corridor, her flowery dress billowing behind her in soft waves of fabric. Once Lana is gone, I turn to the concierge to check in.
Minutes later, I jingle the key to room 452, my lair for the next week, and turn toward the elevators the receptionist has directed me to. But before I can take a step forward, all the air gets sucked out of my lungs as I catch sight of Winter standing in the middle of the entrance hall, head bent as she checks her phone. Only, the bride-to-be is no longer the goofy, messy person I’m used to. She looks all put together in a skintight black dress with a low neckline. The hem of the dress reaches just above her knees, leaving the bottom half of her long, lean legs exposed. Even more outside her character, she’s wearing a pair of black leather pumps with stiletto heels so high and thin… they’re a kick right in my gut. But it’s not just the shoes; her hair, usually a tangled mass of soft waves, is straightened to a silken golden-white curtain that hangs down to her waist.
Logan, my friend, you lucky bastard.
For the first time, the snake of jealousy coils in my chest and stands to attention for the woman before me. Yes, I made a pass at Winter when we first met, the same way I’d do with any attractive woman. But I never regretted our relationship turning into a solid friendship or her choosing Logan over me… at least until now. It’s a primal, irrational instinct.
I shake my head.
Get a grip, pal.
How can I be jealous of my best friend for getting married when it’s the last thing I ever want to do? Logan is about to give up his freedom; I sure as hell don’t envy him that. He must be crazy to voluntarily put metaphorical shackles on his wrists. Because that’s what the rings in my pocket are—handcuffs. But staring at the woman before me, I can’t help but wonder… Is he really crazy?
Yeah-ha, dude. Come on.
No matter how formidable the bride, getting married in this day and age is folly. It has been since the certificate was no longer needed to have sex.
Conclusion made, I plaster a cocksure grin on my face and go greet the bride-to-be.
“Snowflake,” I call.
She stares up at me, eyes widening, but before she can say anything, I’m crushing her into a bear hug. And I swear I didn’t smell her hair, which might or might not have the most delicious coconut scent.
Instead of returning the hug, Winter tries to pull away. “Excuse me? What are you doing? I don’t know you.” Her hands land on my chest, pushing. “Let me go,” she orders.
I obey, and take in her angry face, which is almost an exact replica of Winter’s.Almostbeing the keyword here. This version has a slightly pointier chin and a narrower nose. Small, imperceptible distinctions, but that could make all the difference in the world and open an ocean of possibilities. And also explain my gut reaction to her.
“You’re not Winter,” I say. “You’re her ev—er… twin.”
SummerKnowles’ eyes narrow. “Were you about to sayeviltwin?”
“No.” I make big, innocent eyes.
