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“Get the fuck out of here,” I demand. “Now.”
“I’m a guest of the bride’s—” he starts and I bellow in murderous rage, ready to kick the shit out of him when I feel an arm band around my middle, strong as steel.
“He’s not worth it,” Winston mutters in my ear as he holds me back from the taunting fucker. “Let security take care of him.”
Out of nowhere two burly bald dudes appear, dressed in matching black suits and with sunglasses covering their eyes, despite the party being indoors. They each grab hold of Seamus’s upper arms and jerk him into a standing position.
I glare at him, Winston still holding me back, noting the trickle of blood at the corner of Seamus’s mouth. My knuckles throb from the intensity of the punch and I wish I’d done more noticeable damage. It would’ve given me great satisfaction, to see him hurt. Suffering.
“Escort him out, please,” Winston snaps at the bodyguards and Seamus chuckles, shaking his head as the two men turn him around, supporting him like a sack of potatoes as they lead him toward the exit.
“Did she tell you about me? Did she?” Seamus calls out, still chuckling as the bodyguards drag him away.
I don’t answer him. Neither does Winston. Within seconds, the man I assume is Seamus McTiernan is gone, and Winston is loosening his grip on me. I shake off his hands, glancing around at everyone watching us with shocked expressions on their faces. The entire room is silent, enthralled with our little performance, and I can literally feel Charlotte’s gaze boring into my back. I’m sure she’s…what?
Disappointed? I made a fucking scene at our wedding reception, but what else was I supposed to do?
Maybe she was glad to see that asshole show up. Maybe she planned all of this and hoped he’d make a public spectacle to make me look like the asshole.
Fuck, I can barely stand the idea of that. Earlier today I was so hyper focused on the woman I spent time with last night. She was all I could think about. The woman I took to bed, who I fucked. Thoroughly. God, she’d been vulnerable and so damn sexy I blew my wad way too quickly, like a fucking novice.
I’d fully planned on having a wild night of sex with my bride later this evening, where I could linger over her delectable body. I would’ve taken my time with her. Make her come again and again until she was begging for it.
Begging for me.
We deserve a night like that. After everything we’ve put up with and been through over the last six weeks. We’re compatible. Last night more than proved that.
But then this morning had to happen and threw everything off. The panic in her voice when she called me still sends a spike of ice-cold fear spreading through my gut just thinking about it.
This dick actually showing up on my goddamn wedding day has complicated matters considerably. And that’s an understatement.
“Jesus,” I hear Winston mutter before he signals to the DJ. The music starts back up, a fast number to get everyone onto the dance floor, which works.
“Well, that was certainly unexpected,” Reggie Lancaster mutters as he walks off, abandoning Charlotte completely.
Typical.
My gaze finds hers and she watches me, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, those clear blue eyes now shrouded with worry. Without hesitation I go to her, startled when I get close enough that she grabs my hand, the one I socked Seamus in the mouth with, and she does the craziest fuckin’ thing.
She brings my hand up to her mouth and presses a gentle kiss to my throbbing knuckles. Then another one. And yet another one, her hands gently cradling mine, her gaze never straying from me.
The apology is there in her eyes and I refuse to start an argument with my wife in the middle of our wedding reception. I pull her into my arms and dip my head, kissing her soundly, pleased to hear the hoots and hollers of our wedding guests as they voice their approval.
“Guess it’s not a real party until there’s a fight, am I right?” asks the DJ.
The crowd cheers in answer as they spill onto the dance floor.
I take Charlotte’s hand and lead her off. Away from the crowds, until I find a dark spot in the farthest corner of the ballroom, away from everyone and everything else. It’s just the two of us tucked away where no one can see us. The music is loud and I press her against the wall, my face nuzzling hers as I whisper in her ear.
“That was him, wasn’t it?” I pause, letting my words sink in. “The man you were with in Paris. The one who broke your heart.”
She’s hesitant for a moment before she slowly nods, her hair brushing against my cheek. “I wanted to explain everything but didn’t know how, especially now. During the reception. And the wedding. It was never the appropriate time.”
Valid point. When is there ever an appropriate time to bring up your former lover making an appearance on your wedding day?
“You knew he’d be here.” It’s a statement, not a question because I believe she knew all along he’d show his face here.
I do.
