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His arms tighten around my waist. “I love you, too.”
When the song ends, we head back to the table, but I frown realizing Jonathan isn’t there.
“Did Jonathan go to the bathroom?” I ask Jet.
His lips pressed together in a firm line, he shakes his head.
I frown. He has that look like he’s holding something back. “Where is he?”
Jet points and my gaze follows until it hits Jonathan’s back. He’s descending the steps of the back patio, heading toward the beach with two girls, his arms slung around their waists.
“Where is he going?”
“Back to their room,” Jet says apologetically.
My jaw drops. “He’sditchingus?”
I can only see the girls from behind, but there’s something familiar about them.
Then I realize I recognize the bikini top one of them is wearing, and the bouncy brown pony tail of the other one.
They’re the girls we passed on the beach a little bit ago. The ones who saw us wearing bride and groom attire and still made googly eyes at Jonathan.
“This is bullshit,” I state.
Milo has already sat back down, but I’m still standing and I’m pissed.
“I’m going to get him.”
Since no one objects, I pick up the bottom of my long dress so I can hustle to catch up before they disappear down the dark beach and I can’t find them again.
“Hey!” I call out as they hit the beach.
My “hey” isn’t specific, but Jonathan knows it’s for him and turns to look over his shoulder.
His steps slow. The girls look back curiously. I ignore them and narrow my eyes at him, but as I approach, I hear the blonde one ask, “That’s not your wife, is it?”
Planting my hands on my hips, I storm up to Jonathan. He releases the girls and they scamper back a few steps in case Iamhis wife and I’m here to slap him silly, I guess.
“Are you seriously leaving?” I demand.
“That was the plan,” Jonathan says.
“No, it wasn’t,” I state. “We all agreed to have a celebratory dinner together. This is basically our wedding reception. That’s why your dadflew you here, remember? To celebrate with us. Not to hook up with some bimbos.”
“Hey,” says the blonde one with a frown.
“You had to ask if I was his wife,” I snap right back. “You don’t get to be offended.”
“He’s not wearing a ring,” the brunette points out.
I’m not sure my anger is entirely justified, but I want to grab both girls by the hair and smack their heads together.
Before I explode with rage at their daring to talk back to me, Jonathan glances between them and tells them to give him a minute.
I’m grateful because being in their presence infuriates me.
Once they’re several yards away from us on the beach, my blood stops boiling.
