“Amen,” he says.
“All right then,” the officiant says.
The guests laugh and it’s all so perfect. So is Charlotte. The wedding continues and then the rings are out, sliding into place on the finger that legend says connects to your heart, cementing their new future together as man and wife.
And my best friend doesn’t belong to me anymore! I should have been the one to give her away to Mr.—
“And do you, James Charlot, take Charlotte Jaimes to be your lawful wedded wife?”
I stifle a sob. They do! She does! James pulls her in for a swoony, sweltering kiss. The guests clap! I clap! They’re married!
Eleven
There’s nothing like posing on a vintage bicycle built for two with four people. It has two seats for a reason, but the wedding photographer doesn’t seem to grasp that epic detail.
“Sit on Austin’s lap,” Samuel directs me. “Get between his legs.”
This is a conundrum. If I object, I’m the spoilsport. If I agree—
“Come on, Chloe,” Mr. Impatient Photographer says. “Don’t be shy. Hop up there.”
Gosh, can’t a girl finish her rambling thoughts?
“Okay, sorry. I just didn’t know if it was safe.”
“It’s not moving,” he deadpans. “So, yes, you’ll be okay.”
The photographer isn’t really my favorite wedding person. Interesting fact—the longest tandem bicycle seated thirty-five people. Where’s that bike?
I drag my feet over to the Schwinn where Austin is already perched on the back seat with Charlotte and James, who are snuggled in a picturesque love cuddle on the front seat.
“Wheeee,” Charlotte, still ultra-relaxed from her gummy, squeals as I approach. “Isn’t this the best prop for a picture?”
“Yeah,” I lie.
Austin spreads his thighs so I can perch on his lap. He looks no more thrilled than I feel, but so far, so good. I don’t even notice the firm muscles in his long legs when I sit thanks to my clenched butt cheeks.
“Chloe, you’re looking like a mannequin who ate something rotten,” Samuel says, pointing his lens at us, and also rudely pointing out my discomfort. “Loosen up, girl. Try to imagine you’re riding on this thing, and you’re having the best time. Promise it won’t kill you.”
Charlotte suppresses a giggle.
“I don’t think he likes you,” Austin whispers.
“I’d say that’s mutual,” I mumble.
I’m sure his snarkiness is because he thinks I’m a difficult subject, but he keeps insisting on pairing me with Austin in our “spontaneous” poses around the property. Charlotte wanted fun pictures to remember today but Samuel’s idea of fun is the opposite of mine.
For example, Austin handing me an eggplant during our garden poses. Another example, everyone sprawled on the ground beneath a weeping willow and my head in Austin’s lap. His crotch, to be exact. It’s like Samuel was beamed down to Earth with the specific goal of causing me to backtrack on the progress I’ve made in my life. And I have made progress, dammit. I’m quite happy with my new and extremely original man.
“Can you put your arm around Austin’s neck?”
Austin’s warm hand sears my waist, and I say to hell with it so Samuel doesn’t continue to make this more awkward than it already is for me. For the next ten minutes, I pretend there is no undercurrent of emotion dragging me under and wave my bouquet in the air, smiling and following directions, changing positions on Austin’s lap.
Leg in the air. Click.
Hand on his chest. Click.
We’re in a marathon of poses until...
Something pokes me in the ass.
Something thick.
Something hard.
Something that rhymes with sock.
I shift. Austin shifts. The world shifts.
“I think that’s good,” Austin says, lifting me off his lap and standing. “I’ll be right back. I need to check on the, uh…yeah, I’ll be right back.”
He stalks away while I process the unmistakable fact he had a hard-on. What are the universe laws for this? It wasn’t my fault, and I really don’t want to pay more restitution to Lucy. This absolutely should not go on my sin record.
“Okay, let’s move over to the bridge at the creek,” Samuel says. “We’ll just take a few more and then we’ll be done.”
We file over to the next spot, and Other Mother nixes the idea of sitting on the railing, much to Samuel’s chagrin. “It’s not safe,” she says.
And, you know, I don’t miss that there isn’t a snarky comment back from him like when I objected about safety on the Schwinn Schlong. It’s fine, though.
He continues photographing Charlotte plus family and with the confirmation he’s “done with me,” I flee to the reception tent.
The huge space buzzes with chatter when I pass through the rose-covered entrance. Logan’s band is on stage and I head past the white linen draped tables blooming with red roses to the bar in the corner.
“Can I get some champagne for the band?” I ask.
A cheerful brunette hooks me up with a whole bottle along with champagne flutes on a tray that I take over and place on an empty table beside them, which earns me a look from Logan that says I’ll be getting well thanked for my kindness later.
As I subliminally communicate back that I’ll thank him for my thank you in a most delicious way, Dawn sidles up next to me. “You were right. Logan is hot.” I know. I know. “Do you ever…ya know?”
I tilt my head at her. “Do I what?”
Her dark eyes flit from Logan to me. “Is there ever anyone else between you? A third person.”
Oh my goodness. Is it that obvious about Austin? Does the entire world know my troubles?
“No,” I balk. “It’s just me and him. There is no one else; I can assure you of that.” I’ll deal with my untruth later.
“Ah, okay,” she says. “Shame. I thought maybe us three could have some fun later.”
Oh!
The couple is announced, and Dawn rushes away to snap pictures as a glowing Charlotte and James make their grand entrance to thunderous applause. They aren’t doing a first dance, at the suggestion of Will upon hearing the “Muskrat” dilemma, and weave throughout the room hugging their guests, looking like the happiest people in the world. Her new mother-in-law blessedly backed down once Charlotte said adamantly that she wanted a party to celebrate getting hitched, not an elaborate formal reception filled with more things to do.
As Charlotte navigates the room, I sneak over to a snack table and swipe a couple coconut shrimp and bask in Charlotte’s glee, hoping I’ll absorb a portion of it through osmosis. They did it. They got married.
Somehow, in all this, I hadn’t really considered the gravity of the whole thing.
Married.
Until death do they part. Imagine loving someone so much you want to spend the rest of your life with them. Imagine being loved that much that they want to spend theirs with you. Is that kind of love in my cards, too? Seems doubtful when I can’t even become an adult properly. But there’s only one way to find out. I beeline for the tarot card area where a few people wait to receive their love readings.
“Hi,” I say to the strawberry-blonde woman at the table when it’s my turn. “Can I get a reading?”
She pushes black-rimmed glasses up on her thin nose. “Have a seat.”
“This should be interesting.”
She smiles and spreads out a deck of black cards decorated with various golden symbols. “Pick one.”
“Just one?”
“Yeah.”
What if it’s a terrible card? How can I pick one card when I can’t pick one man? I worry my lip and reach out for the card in the right corner. Then swing my hand over to the left side. Gah. So much pressure. I hover over the middle before going back to my original choice.
I flip it over. A couple stand, arms around each other, with two kids playing beside them. In the distance is a h
ouse on a hill beneath a rainbow.
“The Ten of Cups,” she says, nodding her head. “That’s good, I think.” She whips out her phone and lowers her voice. “This isn’t my actual job, so I’m going to search for the exact meaning.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Ah, yes. It’s good. One of the best. Means you’ve got a great life ahead, having found the perfect partner to complete you. Aw.” She points to the dress of the woman. “See how it’s ragged? This says that means the guy may not be a millionaire, but he’s solid.”
“Ah, yay for me.” There’s still hope.
“But—”
“No. No buts, please.”
“Well, you flipped it over in an upside-down position,” she says.
Of course I did, because I can never have nice things. “Is that bad?”
“Well, apparently, the reversed Ten of Cups can show up when you’re focusing your attention inward to gain clarity about what you want from a relationship.” She looks up from her phone after a few moments of reading silence. “This said to ask yourself what your vision of the perfect relationship looks like to you and decide how you want to receive love and love someone back. So what’s your answer?”
“I want it to look like that card right side up.” I thumb over my shoulder at Charlotte and James. “I want it to look like them.”
She turns it. “Well, there it is. It’s up to you to make it happen. Sometimes we hold ourselves back from happiness without even realizing it.”
Very insightful for someone who isn’t really in the psychic profession. Other people line up behind me and I stand before she can find more negative to counteract the positive. Ignorance is bliss. “Thank you.”
My gaze shifts to Logan and I watch him drum, biting his lower lip with concentration until I catch his eye, and he gives me a sultry wink. The kind I imagine the guy on the card would give the woman in his arms.
Then I feel a hand on my arm…and it’s Austin. “Dance?” he asks, just as the music turns to a slow ballad.
“Sure.”
He takes my hand in his and leads me to a quiet corner of the now full dance floor. The minute our bodies make contact, I realize the mistake. His chest presses against me and I focus my gaze on his tie. Will’s husky voice swirls around the floor, serenading us with a song I now know Belinda wrote, and we say nothing as we dance under the twinkling lights. I glance up and we sway together, looking into each other’s eyes.
There was a time when I would’ve imagined that the unspoken things his eyes are telling me meant something more. I feel like he’s saying so much in his gaze, but I can’t read him and anything I think I see is probably only what I want to see anyway. That’s the fatal flaw with humans, isn’t it? When we want something bad enough, we’ll do everything within our power to hold on to it. Including distorting reality to make it seem idyllic so we can justify not letting go.
After a while, the gazing is too much. It’s like looking at a lie head-on and seeing the truth. My heart weeps because it knows its foolishness. I pull him closer—or he pulls me closer, I can’t be sure—and I bury my head in his neck. He bows his head, resting it on mine, and his breath fans across my shoulder. Goosebumps race across my skin, trying to deceive me into thinking this is chemistry.
Truly letting go of someone is heart-wrenching.
I clutch onto him; he clutches onto me. He smells like home and comfort and all the things I’m going to miss. This hasn’t just been a crush I’ve had on him. I realize it now as I let him go. I’ve been in real love. I really know him and he really knows me and he doesn’t want me. He’ll never be the man with me on the card. And if I truly want that house on the hill, the happiness and love that Charlotte found in James, I have to accept it will not be with Austin. One-sided love isn’t what I want anymore.
This dance is a real goodbye.
It’s time.
I have to move on.
I have to put these feelings away and stop the girlish fantasies. For me. For my future.
Tears burn behind my eyelids as I say goodbye to what could have been and what will never be. When Will belts out the last falsetto note, I release Austin and walk away.
Twelve
On the inside, I feel different, so why don’t I look different? After I left Austin on the dance floor, I bolted to the bathroom to stare at myself in the mirror for a few minutes to see if I looked different after closure.
Not particularly. Though, some of my eye makeup did smear during the ceremony-crying. I have fixed it thanks to the makeup in my bag, which I started carrying with me after the work fiasco. See? I’m not repeating all my mistakes. Progress is a slow battle, but at least I’m not a quitter.
The door opens and a dark-haired woman smiles at me on her way to the separate “business” area while I turn the water on and wash my hands so it’s not odd I’m standing here staring at myself in the mirror. This is the worst place to reflect on your inner self with a constant stream of ladies in and out. In hindsight, I should’ve picked the men’s room.
“Such a beautiful wedding,” the stranger says, returning from her business and joining me at the double sink.
“Yeah,” I agree. “Those two are relationship goals.”
“So sweet how you cried during her vows.” She looks at my ringless hands. “Maybe you’ll catch the bouquet.”
“I’m not sure I want to, but the thought doesn’t horrify me.”
She laughs. “Would you believe, I met my husband right after catching a bouquet?”
“Really? That’s great.”
She rests a hip against the counter and dries her hands with a paper towel. “Let me give you some advice. Everyone crowds the front in a pack. Stick to the back with a little distance. It’s really half luck and half strategy. People think destiny just happens, but sometimes, it’s all about you making your destiny happen.” Between her and the tarot lady, I guess I need to be making my future happen and no longer believing in fairy-tale notions that something is fated. She tosses her paper towel in the trash. “I’ll be rooting for you.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
After she leaves, I resume reflecting and inhale a few quiet breaths in case I need to cry again over this decision to let go of Austin. Surprisingly, I feel okay. There’s a sense of calm permeating throughout my body. Honestly, it’s almost a relief to let go of this thing that’s felt like dragging a dead body around with me. My shoulders feel lighter without the weight crushing them. And my heart only aches a little.
An interesting study I read found that the average woman will suffer heartbreak twice before she finds the man of her dreams. At my own doing, I’ve endured heartbreak more times than that with Austin, so the odds are in my favor I might not suffer again.
I check the mirror once more, looking for some physical difference I might’ve missed on the first perusal of myself. It’s like I need to prove it to myself by seeing it. My eyes appear brighter, less gloomy, but maybe that’s the lingering effects of the gummy. Even if I’m a bit disappointed with the lack of outward change, I’m thankful the crippling pain I feared hasn’t surfaced. And now I’m wondering if the fear of that pain kept me from closing the door for good.
There is nothing to fear but fear itself, right?
“You’re going to have that house on the hill,” I whisper to myself before I open the bathroom door and step back into the bustle of the ongoing celebration.
Charlotte’s bridal joy is contagious and I bask in it, enjoying myself, freed of the burden of loving someone who loves another. When we’re seated for dinner and I finally have a chance to hug the bride, I do it through tears and laughter, taking a brief, heartfelt walk down memory lane with my best friend. “One day, I hope I have something as special as you two,” I tell her.
During dinner, I don’t even mind that I’m seated next to Lucy and Austin, or that she’s feeding him from her fork, because I’ve got a solid guy on my right. A fantastic guy who doesn’t feel the need to pas
s germs to me to prove he likes me. Instead, he caresses my thigh under the table while I cop a feel of his package, completely out of sight.
My heart is beyond happy.
“Bouquet toss!” Charlotte shouts. “Unmarried women get in your places.” She whispers to me as she passes, “I’m going to throw it your way.”
“No,” I say. “I don’t think I want to—”
Cheat. I was going to say cheat, but Lucy cuts me off.
“Come on, Chloe.” She snags my arm before I can object, dragging me over to the fray of potential bouquet catchers. “You can’t miss this tradition.”
Well, this is just awkward. A gaggle of girls surround me, clucking like hens, and I slink to the back of the pack. I may not want to catch it, per se, but if I did, strategically, Stranger Woman said my chances are best in the back. It’s on, bitches.
Charlotte turns her back to us, and Logan grins at me as she counts to three and tosses it into the air. The roses somersault in an upward arc and fly toward me. And, eeep, I’m really going to catch this thing. I reach out, eyes trained on the prize, just as glossy dark hair flies into my face and a leaping body knocks me over to snatch it before it can make it into my outstretched hand.
“Woo-hoo,” Lucy says, waving it around. “I caught it.”
You stole it, I don’t say, because one, I think she knocked the wind out of me, and two...she didn’t really steal it. She just wanted to make her destiny happen more than me and will tackle everyone in her way. So kudos to her. Hate the game, not the player.
Hoots and hollers erupt, congratulating her, and okay. It’s fine. I’m fine. I get up off the floor, dust myself off—a metaphor for my life—congratulate her, and move on.
Winter Bloom (Dating Season Book 4) Page 8
