I have never given less than a shit about what people think.
My hand grazes the flat plane of her belly over stiff lace as she pulls away from me, mind whirling over the possibilities. Up until now, all of this felt like playing pretend.
Now, it’s real.
We have about five minutes to enjoy congratulations before Zaya is being whisked away again by the wedding planner. Apparently, she has another dress to change into for the reception, because this hasn’t already been enough of a circus.
She casts me an apologetic smile as her hand slips out of mine. I still feel the heat of her against my palm even once she disappears from sight. I take a glass from a passing waiter to calm my damn nerves.
I try to mingle without looking like the only place I want to be is upstairs and between my wife’s legs. My friends have already claimed their bridesmaids and have melted away to seal the deal. Nothing unwads panties like a wedding reception. The stink of marital bliss must be some sort of aphrodisiac.
I check my watch again, shocked to find that less than a minute has passed since the last time I looked at it.
Someone bumps hard into me from behind, and champagne splashes my suit.
“Looks like you do always do get what you want.”
I turn to see Jake Tully of all people, looking like he has spent the better part of the day drowning in hard liquor. The sour smell of it wafts off of him. My gaze takes in his wrinkled suit and bloodshot eyes. “Someone has been taking advantage of the open bar, I see.”
“Fuck off, Cortland.” He swipes the sleeve of his suit jacket against his runny nose, leaving a trail of snot on the fabric. Hopefully, that shit isn’t a rental. “And congratulations, for now at least. Something tells me I’ll eventually end up with your leftovers again. Third’s time the charm.”
The anger on his voice is for more than the ass beating he got on the first day of school or whatever happened at the Founder’s Ball. It only takes a minute of mulling it over before something clicks into place for me. “You and Sophia.”
“She came running to me after you dumped her, probably thinking that it would make you jealous or some shit. I wanted to get back at you, too, so it seemed like a fun time. A few more times after that just for fun, and now my life is over.” Jake gropes for my glass, and I let him take it. Hopefully, a few more gulps of champagne will be enough to get him to pass out somewhere. “You know, I didn’t believe it when people said getting in your way would only mess me up. Guess this is what I get for not listening. Whatever demon owns your soul definitely puts in long hours.”
I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. Nobody told him to stick his dick where it doesn’t belong. “Just because Sophia is pregnant, doesn’t mean she’ll stay that way.”
“With the way my luck is going, I’m not taking bets.” He eyes me over the rim of the champagne flute as he drains it, tipping the glass upside down for the last few drops. “But maybe I’m not the only one whose luck has run out.”
Something in his tone makes me wonder if the guy is as drunk as he seems. He looks at me like he would like nothing better than to pound me into the dirt, even if he knows better than to try.
I resist the urge to shove him away when Jake stumbles past me. This is my wedding, after all, it wouldn’t look good if I got into a fistfight during the reception with a guy drunk off his ass. He can be as pissed off as he wants to be, I’m the one who just married the girl he wants.
But something about his last words leave me cold. Misery loves company, and he has enough of it to drag us both to the bottom of the ocean.
Thirty-Five
I’m alone with Amelia in the dressing room. She is the only addition to the proceedings that I insisted on. Giselle hung around long enough to insist that I change into the pale blue dress she left hanging over the door. My bridesmaids are long gone — apparently, whatever she bribed them with wasn’t enough to get more than the ceremony.
“I can’t believe you’re married,” Amelia says as she collapses into a plush chair.
Giselle wouldn’t let her be a bridesmaid if she wore a homemade dress and her parents wouldn’t let her out in public in anything as scandalous as silk and chiffon. I’d seen the Makepeace’s in the last row of seats during the ceremony, dressed like they were ready for a barn-raising. Getting married made me slightly less of a Godless jezebel in their eyes, which is probably the only reason they allowed Amelia to attend in the first place.
She managed to slip away from her parents’ watchful eye when they struck up a conversation with Father Mackerly about mortal sin. Perfectly appropriate conversation for a wedding.
There hasn’t been anyone else that I can tell the entire truth. Grandpa’s dementia has gotten so bad the he barely knows what day it is, and Zion has already been transported to his diversion program, which won’t let me so much as contact him for the first year. I’ve had to sit here with only the voice in my head to remind me I’m not going completely insane.
“It’s all fake.”
Amelia’s eyes widen into saucers as I tell the whole sordid story. Her mouth falls open when I mention the part about Vin
