A Wedding One Christmas

by Therese Beharrie

  Damn if that didn’t suck.

  ‘She, er—’ He cleared his throat as again, he prepared to tell Angie a measure of the truth. ‘She was the fantasy. She was beautiful, smart. A doctor and the daughter of my parents’ friends.’

  ‘That’s important? That she was a part of your social circle?’

  ‘My family’s circle,’ he corrected.

  ‘Oh, yes. Right. The cult.’ She nodded, as if she actually believed his family was a cult. ‘And that fantasy lasted for the full seven years?’ she asked quietly. ‘You had no idea it wouldn’t work out for all that time?’

  ‘I don’t really know,’ he said after a long pause. ‘I didn’t give myself a chance to think about it. Now...’ He thought about it. ‘I don’t think I cared. At least not for the first four, maybe five, years. But then she wanted to open her own practice in Grahamstown. Wanted the quaint small-town experience, she told me.’ He paused. ‘I think I became a little more aware of the reality then.’

  ‘You moved,’ she said. ‘Away from the cult—’ she gave him a slight smile ‘—and away from where all those alluring qualities had been at their shiniest. What stopped you from seeing it then?’

  ‘Man, you really like going deep, don’t you?’

  She lifted an eyebrow, and suddenly he heard his words and shook his head. Hoped it would shake away the blush he could feel creeping up his neck, too.

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Yes.’ Seconds ticked by. ‘Unfortunately.’ She winked at him, and blood rushed to places that it shouldn’t have considering what they were talking about. ‘Sorry,’ she said after a moment. ‘I’ve distracted you. You were about to answer why you didn’t see through the fantasy after you’d moved?’

  ‘Right.’ He sucked in a breath. Frowned. ‘You don’t actually know whether I was going to answer that.’

  ‘Neither do you.’ She grinned.

  He laughed. ‘Touché.’ He waited for his blood to cool and the amusement to waver before he continued. ‘I made excuses. Told myself it was the stress of moving. Of starting a new job, and for her, a new practice.’ He paused. ‘When things didn’t change after we settled into a routine, I thought maybe she was hoping for a greater commitment from me. So I proposed.’

  ‘And she said no.’

  ‘And she said no.’

  He could still picture her staggering back, lowering to the couch they’d bought together and shaking her head.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘You. This. Why would you do this?’

  ‘We’ve been together for seven years. What did you think would happen?’

  ‘How could I have known you wanted to get married?’

  He shook his own head now. Took a breath. Hoped the scene that played on repeat whenever it found a suitable moment would fade.

  ‘The next day I came home from work and all of her things were gone.’ The pain of it still twisted in his chest. ‘I couldn’t get a hold of her. Her phone was off. She hadn’t been to her office. In fact, they told me she was on leave. When I called her parents, they said they hadn’t heard from her either. A lie, likely.’ He shrugged. ‘That was that.’

  ‘She just left?’ The disbelief in Angie’s tone soothed some of the pain.

  ‘We said what we needed to the day before.’ He’d realised that now, but it didn’t change the truth of the words.

  ‘Still selfish,’ she said in disgust. ‘She could have at least told you she was safe. You must have been worried.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  It no longer surprised him that she could see through to more than what he told her. Worried him, yes, but there was no more surprise. Which told him he needed to prepare himself for when she saw how much of a disappointment he really was.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ez.’

  She squeezed the hand he’d almost forgotten held hers. He looked down, frowned. How he’d had all his realisations—how had he told her about one of his most embarrassing experiences—while holding her hand?

  ‘Don’t be sorry,’ he told her, his eyes lifting to hers. ‘This, you, have helped me to process it more than I’ve been able to in the past nine months.’

  ‘Really?’ she asked softly. ‘Then why do I feel like there’s more?’

  He swallowed, though he’d known it would come. ‘Look, I—’

  ‘No,’ she interrupted him. ‘You don’t have to tell me. We’ve done enough confessing for today.’ She offered him a smile. ‘Besides, you’ve helped me, too. I’m not still crying and shaking behind this tree.’

  ‘Speaking of which...’

  He used his free hand to hand her the handkerchief he retrieved from his pocket, and smiled when she grimaced and blew her nose. And then, though he agreed about the confessing, he asked, ‘Has convincing me my mistakes are lessons made you see the same thing about yours?’

  She opened her mouth, laughing lightly when he gave her a look.

  ‘Oh, you’re sneaky.’

  ‘One of my many talents,’ he replied with a smirk. He saw his hand lift to cup her cheek, and wondered how it had got there. Wondered whether he was controlling it. When his mind caught up with his body and his body told him Yes, please, he brushed a thumb at the trace of a tear she’d missed.

  ‘I’m glad I met you,’ he whispered.

  ‘Me, too,’ she whispered back, leaning into his hand, her eyes still on his.

  He didn’t know how long they sat like that before she set the handkerchief aside and shifted closer. Close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath on his lips. His mind raced through all the reasons why he shouldn’t kiss her. None of them stuck. He closed the space between them...

  His heart stalled.

  The moment his lips touched hers, his heart stalled. And then started again. And then raced so fast he worried he might be having a heart attack. Except he didn’t think a heart attack would have every nerve of his body alight. Or make his blood feel like lava in his veins. It was an incredibly heady sensation, and he worried the novelty of it would have him coming back for more.

  But it wasn’t only that that had him wanting more. It was the way her mouth tasted of an incomparable sweetness. The tentative way she slid her tongue into his mouth, making the lava of his blood go even hotter, though he wasn’t sure how that was possible. He wasn’t sure how any of it was possible, really. They’d somehow skipped the light, tentative introductory kiss and gone straight to the kind that made him want to ditch the wedding and take her to his room.

  The thought had him pulling back. He waited until he caught his breath.

  ‘That wasn’t...’

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, her chest heaving. There was a beat of silence before she spoke again. ‘I’m really unhappy that that’s the way our first kiss went.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, it has nothing to do with your skills. Which are very impressive, by the way.’ She lifted a hand to her lips as though she were surprised by the fact. His pride took another knock.

  ‘Are you trying to make me feel bad?’

  She laughed. ‘No, sorry. It’s just that... I didn’t think...’ Her words faded, and then she looked at him. ‘Honestly, Ezra, I think I convinced myself that there wasn’t any spark between us. Clearly, I was wrong.’

  His indignation eased. ‘Why are you unhappy about our kiss?’

  ‘Because it was too hot,’ she said, and pressed a hand lightly against his chest. Taking it as a sign that she was tired of sitting, he stood, and helped her up. When she was standing, and had shaken her legs out, she continued. ‘You weren’t supposed to make me feel hot during our first kiss.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. The first kiss is supposed to be...sweet.’

  ‘I thought that was quite sweet.’

  She snorted. ‘No, you didn’t.’

 
He grinned. ‘Why’s sweet so important anyway?’

  ‘Because,’ she answered. Frowned.

  He waited, but when she didn’t continue, he asked, ‘You don’t know why you wanted it to be sweet?’

  ‘No.’ She laughed. ‘All my first kisses have been sweet.’

  ‘That isn’t necessarily a good thing.’

  ‘Why not?’ She didn’t give him the chance to reply. ‘Sweet is romantic.’

  He cocked his head. ‘Are you willing to go on record with that?’ He barely waited a second. ‘You plan on consistently writing the first kisses your characters share as sweet?’

  ‘Yes. No.’ Her face twisted. ‘Okay.’ She paused. ‘Look... Sweet is safe.’

  ‘Safe,’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes, safe,’ she replied in a faintly irritable tone. ‘And safety means...’ She hesitated ‘Safety means independence.’

  He studied her. ‘Is it that important to you?’ he asked. ‘Independence?’

  She gave him a stiff nod, though of course, he already knew the answer. Being independent must be vital if she was interpreting even the tone of the kisses she had as a possible threat to it. But he got it. She’d been responsible for so much growing up. Independence must have been a nonnegotiable in her life.

  ‘It’s not quite as fun though, is it?’ he said, trying to lighten the mood.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she replied after a while, her tone a complex blend of emotion and lightness. ‘I’ve had plenty of fun in the past.’

  ‘How about right now?’ he heard himself asking. ‘Would you like to have fun with me?’

  ‘That was a pretty lame attempt at another kiss,’ she said, the side of her mouth tilting up.

  ‘Yeah,’ he whispered, lifting a hand to her cheek. ‘I guess you make me lame, Ange.’

  That trace of her smile disappeared.

  ‘You don’t want me to touch you?’ he asked, lifting his hand as his heart jumped into his throat.

  ‘No, it’s not that.’ Her hand lifted to cover his as if to confirm it, gently bringing his hand back to her skin. ‘You...you called me Ange.’

  ‘You don’t like it?’

  ‘My dad used to call me Ange.’

  ‘Oh, Angie, I’m s—’

  ‘No, don’t apologise,’ she interrupted him. ‘I didn’t mind it.’ She blinked. Smiled at him. Laughed. ‘I didn’t mind it at all.’

  She kissed him again.

  Chapter Eleven

  Kissing Ezra again was probably not her best idea. But the moment she tasted his lips, she couldn’t think of a single idea that was better.

  This time, she slowed down what had been intense and eager before. Not because she wanted safe; after the last few minutes, she didn’t think there was a ‘safe’ with Ezra. Hell, after the entire day, she knew there wasn’t a safe with him. It should have had her running for the hills.

  She was losing her ability to keep him at a distance. Which meant she’d soon lose control over what she told him and inevitably, over what she felt for him. She already had, to an extent. And that was dangerous. Controlling her feelings was how she lived. It made her okay with the responsibilities she shouldn’t have had as a child. It allowed her to take care of herself. It gave her logic and independence. It kept her from turning into her mother.

  It had also brought her guilt and shame. An inability to grieve. She used that as an excuse as she slowed things down with Ezra. Because she needed to feel. She had to balance out the damage not feeling had done. It had nothing to do with wanting to savour the moment. It had nothing to do with the reckless excitement he stirred in her body. No, it was...for the sake of balance.

  She took her time exploring his mouth, memorising tastes and revelling in the feel of his tongue sweeping against hers. It sent heat down low to the base of her stomach, and she pressed closer to him as though somehow, it would sate the fire.

  It didn’t. Of course it didn’t. Instead, feeling his body react to hers stoked the flames. Her hands now had access to the body she admired earlier. Greedily, they ran over the planes of his chest, down the ripples of his abs.

  ‘No lecturer should have these,’ she said against his mouth.

  He chuckled, sending vibrations through her body. ‘I’m not your average lecturer.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that,’ she murmured, then stopped speaking when he pressed her against the tree behind her.

  She could only think of the heat that flared everywhere he touched. Idly, she wondered if she’d see a trail of burns when it was over. His hands skimmed the sides of her breasts, and then back down, tightening slightly when they reached the curves of her waist.

  She moaned, felt absolutely no shame in it.

  She loved that he kissed her like she was his only purpose. Like kissing her was his only purpose. Though her body screamed for more—just as his did—he seemed content with the kissing. Just another sign of how considerate, how respectful he was, she realised. He didn’t press because he wanted her to dictate where they would go with this.

  As she realised it, she pulled back, and leaned her forehead against his.

  ‘While I’m not against necking in the woods,’ she said breathily, repeating what they’d heard Becky tell Charles earlier, ‘I think our friends at the wedding are going to wonder where we are.’

  ‘Or they’ll think we’ve escaped to neck in the woods.’

  He nipped at her neck then, as if to emphasise his words, and she laughed even as heat exploded in her chest.

  ‘While I’d love to keep doing this, we should probably head back.’

  He sighed, but winked at her as he stepped away. She immediately missed the warmth of him; the smell of his cologne mixed with the scent of the trees around them.

  She straightened her dress, picked up the handkerchief. She’d have to clean it or replace it; and how fortunate was it that thinking about that kept her from thinking about what had just happened between them? She brushed at the dirt that clung at the bottom of her skirt. When she reached up to her face, she realised her tears and the making out had probably not done it any favours.

  ‘You should go ahead to the reception,’ she told him, walking back to the pathway that had brought them there. ‘I need to stop at the bathroom to assess the damage.’

  ‘There’s no damage.’

  She laughed. ‘I appreciate that, but I know there is. I don’t blame you for not seeing it though. It’s because of my super powers. When I kiss a man, he no longer sees any of my flaws.’

  His mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that before you kissed me? Don’t you think I should have been aware of what would happen to me after?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You’re right.’ She stretched out a hand. ‘My name is Angie Roux. Kissing me makes you susceptible to my superpower of only seeing me as the perfect woman I am.’ Now he did smile, but she shook her head. ‘Oh, no. No, don’t smile. This is serious.’

  He sobered immediately. ‘Of course.’

  ‘It is,’ she affirmed. ‘Some men have claimed it to be a disease similar to gonorrhoea—’

  She broke off when she heard his steps stop beside her. When she turned around, the expression on his face immediately had her laughing. Loud, and unruly, and incredibly freeing.

  As if she hadn’t been sobbing her eyes out only moments before.

  As if she hadn’t been kissing her lips off only moments before.

  ‘What?’ she asked, when he kept staring at her. ‘You wanted to know.’

  ‘I’m...processing.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’ve never had a woman tell me she might have given me gonorrhoea before.’

  ‘Well, we’ve already established you’ve been hanging out with the wrong women.’

  She’d been teasing—knew he knew it, too—but his face twisted into an expression s
he hadn’t seen on him before. Just like that, her stomach dropped. Turned. She opened her mouth, but he smiled at her. A tight, fake smile that turned the man she’d had her hands over minutes before into the stranger she didn’t think he was anymore.

  ‘I don’t mind waiting for you.’

  His voice was calm, steady. It sounded like a car screeching to a halt at a stop street to her.

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘I know. I want to.’

  ‘You don’t have to pretend like—’ She cut off. Pull back, Angie.

  ‘What? What are you taking about?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said immediately, forcing a smile to her lips. ‘I’m sorry. I’m still a bit shaky about everything.’ She cleared her throat. Because damn it, even if it killed her, she could be calm and steady, too. Prided herself on her ability to do just that, in fact. ‘I really do think you should go ahead though. Make sure Becky and Charles haven’t called the police on us.’

  After the longest pause, Ezra nodded, and slowly made his way to the reception venue. She didn’t wait for him to look back like she knew he would. Instead, she went straight to the bathroom in the café.

  There was no one there this time, thank goodness. Which meant she had a moment—how long, she didn’t know—to compose herself.

  But her head was spinning with thoughts. Her heart was heavy with emotions. She didn’t think about it. She rather chose to focus on touching up her make-up. She wore the bare minimum. She was lazy when it came to her looks, and frankly, her hair took most of her effort. So she washed her face, tidied up the smudged mascara, and took out her lipstick.

  Her lips were slightly swollen, slightly red, and as she lifted the tube of colour, she saw her hand shaking. She pursed her lips when that simple thing made her want to cry, and took a deep, steadying breath. Then she straightened her shoulders and continued.