But the last-minute wedding prep had taken over, and she’d soldiered through—apparently to her detriment. There was only one thing to do.
He toed off his loafers and cuffed his pants.
The water was cold—almost unbearably cold. Chills raced up his bare calves as the water lapped at the bottom of his pants. He set his jaw, reached down, and felt for keys. He came up with three. All silver. He tossed them back, then realized the better approach was to discard the already examined keys onto the side of the fountain so they wouldn’t keep picking up the same ones.
No. The better approach was to find out what exactly was going through that head of hers so they could get out of the fountain and into some dry socks.
He waded toward her. “What are you doing, Bri?”
She shuffled through the keys in her palm. “You know what.”
He gently took her wrist. “How long has their lock been on the fence?”
“It was the first one up.” She rolled in her bottom lip but wouldn’t look at him. The moonlight cast a shiny glow on the top of her damp blonde head.
“Then shouldn’t you leave it there?”
She pulled her hand free of his grip. “It’s a lie.” Her voice shook, and she tossed the rejected keys back into the water before grabbing another handful. When she stood, she straightened so aggressively, he had to step back to avoid her headbutting him.
“Because you think your mom had an affair?”
“You were right all along. Love isn’t real.”
“I never said it wasn’t real.”
“Don’t backpedal now because you want to argue, okay?” She waved her hand. “Your vibe was clear all along. Crystal clear. And you were right.”
His heart clenched. That wasn’t what he’d wanted to do. Bri was light and goodness and faith. He hadn’t meant to let his bitterness snuff out her spark. Those were his issues, his past—not hers. She’d had her mom on such a pedestal—he couldn’t bear to see her knock her down. Not like this. “Bri—”
“Don’t. It’s fine. I just want to take their lock off the gate.” Her voice was level, controlled. Too controlled. A muscle worked in her jaw. “I thought they had a solid relationship, but apparently they didn’t. I thought they were an example, but they weren’t.” Her tone wavered slightly. “I thought they were an inspiration to aspire to, but—”
“Love isn’t a farce.” He interrupted before she could finish her depressing monologue. She was running on straight emotion right now and would probably feel silly tomorrow.
Just like he would for standing in this fountain.
He tried to catch her eye, but she was too busy examining more keys. “Look, just because your parents might or might not have had some issues doesn’t mean their marriage wasn’t genuine.”
“You don’t understand.”
No. He didn’t. He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “Do you even know for sure?”
“There’s a photo.” She moved farther along the circular fountain, reaching for more keys.
He raised his eyebrows. “Of her with someone?”
“No.”
“Then what?” He fought back an annoyed sigh. “I can’t read your mind, Cupcake.”
And it was a really good thing she couldn’t read his. Frustration and confusion warred for first place in his train of thought. But silencing both of those was the acute, almost painful realization of how beautiful Bri looked—smeared makeup, damp dress, ragged hair and all. Her vulnerability from the dance was gone, shut up behind this defensive wall she’d concocted of assumptions and keys.
He wanted to tear it down.
He wanted to light her spark again.
He wanted to fix it.
So he sloshed through the water toward her, grabbed her around the waist, and tugged her hard against his body. Her hands gripped his arms with surprising strength. Keys splashed into the water at their feet. He wasn’t sure whose lips found whose first, but suddenly they were kissing, lips melding into one. She tasted like petit-four frosting and fruity Chapstick.
And hope.
His grip tightened around her as her fingers dug into his biceps. He broke away for a quick breath, and she moaned in the back of her throat before pressing her lips back against his. Heat surged through his chest.
He’d gone for a spark.
And created an inferno.
Shouts rang from the reception. Gerard instinctively jerked backward—or had Bri pulled away first? They looked at the tent, then at each other, as they slowly stepped away. Reality began a slow descent, and the water he’d almost grown numb to crept up his legs with an aching chill.
“I think Casey and Nathan are leaving.” Bri’s gaze flickered from the reception to him, then to her feet. She took a ragged breath before meeting his eyes once more. Her gaze, impossible to read, looked as convoluted as he felt.
Raucous laughter sounded from the party, and a car engine started up. The moment was over, and there was way too much to say. He swallowed hard, wishing he was better at verbal words than written ones.
Bri pulled her skirt from the water and bunched it in one hand. “I guess you should probably go—”
“I guess I should probably go—” He laughed, but it sounded forced to his own ears. “Right. Duty calls.”
He grasped Bri’s arm and helped her out of the fountain, then climbed out beside her, suddenly unsure of everything. Unsure what she was thinking. Unsure how he was supposed to dry off his feet with nothing but leaves for a towel.
Unsure if that kiss had been a mistake—or if the real mistake was in letting Bri walk back to the reception with so much left unsaid.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Bri had kissed Gerard.
She’d kissed him like she was drowning and he was a lifeboat. And she had been drowning—in emotion, in confusion, in anxiety. His kiss had quieted
