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I try to lean away from him as he comes close. Too close. Suddenly, he takes my hand and plants a kiss on it.
“Finally, I meet the famous Triss,” he says to me as I gape in surprise. “And I think I understand now why Antonio can’t stop talking about you.”
What?
“Shut up,” Antonio scolds his friend.
Ned ignores him. “He’s been so worried about you, even though as it turns out, there’s nothing to worry about.”
My eyes narrow. Nothing to worry about? What does he mean?
“I said shut up.” Antonio pulls Ned back and turns to me. “Don’t mind him, Triss. You remember what I told you about him, don’t you?”
What else did Antonio tell me? Oh, right. That Ned thinks of himself as a lady killer.
“You…” Ned glares at Antonio. “What have you been saying about me?”
Antonio shrugs. “Nothing. Just the truth.”
Ned gives a sheepish grin as he strokes his mustache. “You want to keep her to yourself that badly?”
To my surprise, Antonio’s cheeks take on a sheen. Is he… blushing?
“Shut up,” he tells Ned again, this time in a playful tone and with a nudge to the arm.
Ned turns to me with his grin. “Don’t believe anything this man tells you.”
“Really?” Antonio crosses his arms over his chest. “Even though I told her you could be trusted?”
Ned looks at him with wide eyes. “You said that?”
Antonio doesn’t answer.
“That’s right,” Ned tells me. “You can trust me, Triss.”
“Just not enough to be alone with him for more than a few minutes,” Antonio adds.
“Hey,” Ned complains with another glare.
Antonio just grins. So do I. I’ve never seen two men get along so well. I thought Antonio was alone, but I guess he’s not really. I’m glad. This way, I can leave him behind without worrying about him.
Hold on. I’m worried about him?
“Everyone, please take your seats,” the man on the stage calls over the microphone. “Our newlyweds are already outside – I guess they’re done making out in the car…”
Laughter erupts.
“So we will begin our program shortly.”
Ned puts his hands on my shoulders. “Enjoy.”
Then he walks away. Antonio sits next to me.
“What he said.” He leans towards me and squeezes my hand. “Just relax and have fun, okay?”
I nod. “I’ll try.”
As the music starts playing and he turns his head towards the doors, I stare at Antonio. He really looks good in his black four-piece suit. In fact, for some reason, he looks even more muscular in it than he did in his sleeveless shirt. Also, he trimmed his beard, which allows me to appreciate how sharp his jaw is. His hair is combed back, too, the strands held in place by just the right amount of gel. Like this, he looks more like a businessman, a powerful CEO, than a country doctor.
My lips curve into a smile. I’m still not sure if I should be at this wedding, but just seeing him like this makes me glad I came. As long as he’s with me, I think I’ll make it through the evening.
~
I made it, I think to myself as I follow Antonio to the truck in my crutches.
After two hours, the wedding reception is over. I have to admit it was fun, too. The MC was entertaining. Diane and Bernie’s duet was great. The speeches were moving and funny. The food was delicious. I even got to talk to the couple and some of the guests and they were all nice. The music was good as well. I found myself tapping my fingers on the table a few times, though I don’t regret not being able to dance. I don’t dance. I’d just look silly among the people of Summerset, many of whom are actually great dancers and just a joy to watch. Some of them asked Antonio to join in, but he kept refusing. Too bad. I would have wanted to see his moves.
“Is something wrong?” Antonio asks me as we reach the truck.
I shake my head. “No. Everything’s fine.”
“Sure?” He takes his hand off the door handle. “Because you look like you don’t want to leave the party.”
I snort. “Why would I want to stay?”
“So you could dance. I saw you tapping your fingers on the table earlier.”
“So?”
“So you wanted to dance, right?”
“No,” I tell him. “And even if I wanted to, I can’t move one of my feet. Forget having two left feet. I have only one left foot.”
Antonio pauses, a serious look on his face as he stares at my injured foot and rubs his chin. Then he grins.
“Who said you need feet to dance?”
“What?”
In the next moment, Antonio whisks me off my feet and into his arms. My crutch falls to the ground.
“What are you doing?” I ask him with furrowed eyebrows.
“Dancing with you,” he answers nonchalantly.
I frown. “If you wanted to dance, you could have done it earlier. A lot of people asked you to.”
