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For a moment, I hang in the doorway and watch her. The rhythmic way her chest rises and falls. The perfect way my dark sheets look against her golden skin. That little smile on her face as she sleeps.
I wonder what she’s dreaming about. I wonder if I’m somewhere inside that pretty head of hers. I wonder how she’ll react when her eyes open up to the real world and she discovers the mess that awaits her.
I amsuchan asshole for taking out my phone, opening up the camera app and snapping a picture of her as she sleeps sweetly. But I don’t care. I capture the moment because this will probably be my only chance. The only morning I’ll ever see her in my bed. The last time she’ll ever be tangled in my sheets.
Dammit.
Nadia stirs again. My balls tuck themselves between my kidneys and I hurry down the stairs, ordering a taxi from my phone as I go.
I sit on my cold concrete steps, under the twinkle of my Christmas lights, and I stare at that picture of Nadia in my bed for a long moment. This whole situation makes my chest ache.
All too soon, the taxi pulls up in the driveway and I jump into the backseat. I’m leaving Nadia behind and I hate this feeling of uncertainty I’m taking with me. I’m not so sure I’m doing the right thing. I’m not sure of anything.
As the little hatchback takes off down the street, my heart is in my throat. I have no clue what happens next.
20
NADIA
Live music plays softly. An ensemble of harps, I think. Even though I can’t tell where the lovely sounds are coming from, I gracefully step forward. Only then do I notice my sparkly Jimmy Choos peeking out from beneath the hem of my poofy white dress.
With a happy sigh, I float down the decorated aisle, admiring the white roses and white daisies and white lilies all bunched together in my oversized bouquet. It’s all picture perfect.
My wedding day.
I glance around the crowded cathedral. My entire family is here, lining the first few pews. My heart stutters when I see my grandmother, wiping at the joyful tears welling in her kind, foggy eyes.
My gaze flits to the altar, right as my groom turns around and meets my gaze.
Harry.
My groom is Harry.
I pause, taken aback, surprised to see him standing there.
But then he smiles. That warm, inviting, genuine smile. And it all comes rushing back to me. That feeling of safety that comes from being in his arms. The way I get lost every time we kiss. The sensations he ignites with just the brush of his fingertips across my skin.
That’s why I’m marrying this man. Because he feels like home.
My heart somersaults. It flips and cartwheels and jumps.
My gosh. He looks so handsome up there, the epitome of sexy confidence, wearing a tux that molds to his body and accents his yummy wide receiver muscles. I proudly march forward, drawing closer to the gorgeous man who makes my soul dance.
At the altar, I join hands with my groom. Harry stares adoringly at me and the minister begins to recite the traditional wedding script. But I’m too captivated by Harry to even hear what the man is saying.
My groom. Myvirgingroom. It gets me kind of hot knowing that no other woman has ever touched this man. And now, he’s all mine.
I feel butterflies flutter to life when the pastor invites Harry to kiss his bride. Me, that’s me, y’all.
My groom gently cups my cheek, leaning toward me, coming in for the kiss.
And the church doors bang open. Luke bursts inside with a haggard, crying Bambi hot on his heels.
My wretched ex hurtles toward the altar, his knobby wrist waving in the air. “I object!”
Goddammit!
My eyes pop open and I jolt awake, sucking in a harsh breath that burns my lungs. Weird post-dream tingles crawl down my arms. Then my shoulders relax at the realization that it was all just a dream. I’m not standing up on display in front of the world, marrying a guy I barely know. My ex isn’t doing his darnedest to cock-block my happy ending. It’s all a dream.
