We were partnered up in the wedding party, which meant that we walked together, and at all of the parties, we sat together.
I usually took care with my appearance, but I went to great lengths that weekend, spending extra time on my hair and makeup and shopping for days to put my best foot forward.
I don’t care how things stand, every girl wants to feel beautiful when they see ‘that ex’ again. You know the one I’m talking about. The one you never quite got over. The one that had claimed enough of you that some of it had been lost in the parting.
I wore a gold lace sleeveless mod sheath to the rehearsal dinner, going heavy with gold shadow and big hoop earrings. I wore my hair straight and parted down the middle. I kept it down, since I’d have a complicated up-do the next day.
I was in dress to impress mode. I’d already seen Tristan several times since the festivities began, and each time I’d decked myself out with special care.
Vanity at its most perverse.
On the up side, we’d been getting along well, both of us cautious enough to go out of our way to give no offense.
“By the way, where’s that guy?” Tristan asked, sometime during the third course at dinner, his mouth making a mockery out of the words with just a hint of an unhappy smile.
His hair was longer. It looked good on him. Grippable. I gave myself a mental slap for even thinking it.
“Andrew,” I clarified, something in his voice troubling me, and unwillingly, intriguing me.
We’d kept things light thus far, and it had seemed to be working. This was a new turn, or the potential for one.
“You think I don’t remember his name? How likely do you think that is?”
“Where’s that girl?” I asked, immediately wanting to take it back. We did not need to do this to each other.
I looked down, up, shifted uncomfortably, but his eyes stayed glued to my face, his intense regard strong enough that it felt like a physical touch.
“What girl?” he finally asked.
I made a dismissive motion with my hand. I knew her name, but I already regretted even asking. “No one. It was a very silly question.”
“No, tell me. What girl?”
“That blonde one you’re always with. Your girlfriend.”
“That’s not my girlfriend. It’s weird to bring a girl that’s not your girlfriend to a wedding. Your turn. Where’s that guy?”
He had this perfectly even scruff on his jaw. It was distracting.
“Andrew couldn’t make it.” That was a lie. He’d wanted to come, but we were on a break, a very long break, due to the fact that he’d proposed several months ago, and I’d put him off again, and to say he’d been unhappy about it was a gross understatement. These days we were strictly friends, but Tristan did not need an update on my love life, or lack thereof.
“Oh, well that’s too bad.” His statement was so unconvincing that I had to make an effort not to laugh.
“Not an Andrew fan?”
He gave me a rueful smile, his brown eyes so endearing. I could tell he was about to say something funny. I just knew him that well. “That’s like asking if I’m a fan of cancer. I f**king hate it, but do I know how to get rid of it? Not f**king likely.”
That surprised one small giggle out of me. “Oh my God. Stop it. You’re impossible.”
His focus shifted to something behind me, and I turned to look. In an almost comical manner, everyone seemed to be staring in our direction, all gone quiet. No one was used to seeing us interact with each other like normal human beings.
“We should really blow their minds and start making out,” he whispered.
I laughed again and had to check the urge to give his arm a playful punch. “You’re an ass. Shut up,” I told him.
His smile grew and his eyes shone in pleasure, like I’d just given him a gift.
CHAPTER NINE
THE WEDDING RECEPTION OF JAMES AND BIANCA CAVENDISH
“That motherfucker is even bigger than you,” shot out of my mouth as Tristan took his seat beside me.
He gave me one quick look and then looked at Akira, but that look told me plenty of things that I’d rather not have known. For starters, my statement came out sassier than I’d intended, and Tristan still loved my sassy. In fact, he ate it up. His gaze had been hot and…something else that I didn’t want to name.
“Don’t get any ideas,” he said idly, taking a sip of water. “That giant bastard is taken.”
My eyes narrowed on him. “I know that. He’s married to a supermodel. I was just saying…it must be weird for you, usually the biggest guy in the room, having to look up at somebody. And his biceps are even a bit wider than yours…”
His breath whooshed out in a surprised laugh. “You and your big arm fetish. Mine are still bigger than your waist. They haven’t gotten any smaller.”
I didn’t let myself look at them, but it was a struggle. And I’d looked enough already to know that he was right.
Absently, I rubbed at my bad knee under the table.
I felt him staring at me.
“Does it still hurt?” he asked softly, as though he couldn’t help himself.
I made my face into a very careful mask. “It’s fine, just a bit stiff. Nothing to concern yourself with.”