“No, don’t listen to him. I, uh . . . I broke up with him.”
“Because you’re an idiot,” Declan says.
“Hey.”
“He’s right,” Cohen replies. “You’re an idiot, but I was the cause of your idiocy. So it’s excused.”
“Are we missing something?” Dad asks, looking thoroughly confused, his flute of champagne half-raised to his mouth.
“Nothing you should be concerned about,” Cohen says with such confidence that I actually want to puke.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” I say. “I know I’ve intervened a lot in your life, but stay out of this, Cohen. I said something to him that I can never take back.”
“What did you say?” Mom asks, leaning forward, as if she’s watching a soap opera unfold.
“Not something we need to talk about. Hey, let’s talk about how Helen is probably getting ready to make that cake, huh. Wouldn’t I love to be a fly on the wall for that.”
“Do you love him?” Cohen asks.
Everyone turns to stare at me.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“What?” Dad asks. “Of course it matters. The number of times I messed up with your mom is embarrassing, but because I loved her, I begged and begged for forgiveness—and she gave it. So it very well does matter.”
“It does,” Mom chimes in. “So . . . do you love him?”
“Do you?” Declan nudges me.
I glance around the table as their expectant eyes stare me down. Emotion climbs up my throat, and tears well up in my eyes. Before I can stop them, they fall over and onto my cheeks as I nod.
Cohen wraps his hand around my shoulder and brings me into his chest.
“It’s okay, Luna girl. We will fix this, I promise.”
He makes it seem so simple. Maybe I would believe him if Alec were texting me, or had come to my apartment, but at this point, I don’t think there’s any chance of bridging the gap I’ve put between us, of making him know he wasn’t the wrong choice.
I haven’t been able to see clearly for the last half hour as my brother and his love finally have their moment.
The cameras swirling around us, the guests sitting in attendance, the decorations—none of it matters as I hold my breath, waiting for Cohen to say his vows.
After a long “planning” session with my family on how to get me back with Alec, I kissed everyone good night and went back to my apartment. I held my phone close to my chest, wondering if I should text Alec like everyone suggested. But every time I started to type something out, my nerves took over, and I erased it quickly.
The tea ceremony was . . . God it was intimate and beautiful, a moment where Cohen and Declan were able to show appreciation to their parents for their support. I bawled like a baby.
And then, after I returned home, a heavy heart weighing on me, I attempted and failed to text Alec for the fifth time. Cohen texted, asking if I’d reached out to him yet. When I told him I couldn’t get up the nerve, Cohen called and proceeded to tell me that Alec showed up at their apartment and apologized for everything that had happened.
I cried myself to sleep last night, my heart breaking at the thought of Alec visiting my brother and trying to heal the rift I never should have blamed him for.
And then this morning, after Farrah helped me get rid of my puffy eyes, Declan and Cohen cornered me, asking what I planned on doing when I saw Alec today, because we would run into each other. It’s part of The Wedding Game—we all have to attend each other’s weddings, and it’s why they’re all on one weekend. Back to back to back.
My answer to them . . . I don’t know.
And as I’m standing here, beside my brother, at the fake altar we built with Cohen’s chuppah and decorated with our baby’s breath and fern garlands—unable to stand in a circle like I originally planned, now fully on display up front—I can’t bring myself to look out into the crowd. I’m terrified I’ll make eye contact with Alec—I still don’t know what I’m going to do when I see him.
Do I give him a hug?
Apologize?
Duck away and hide for the rest of the night?
Cohen clears his throat, bringing my attention back to the wedding. He pulls his vows from his jacket pocket—the wedding attire turned out beautifully—and carefully unfolds them. I know this moment is huge for him—not only is he expressing his feelings, but he’s doing it in public.
He takes a deep breath and looks up at Declan. “Love is a state of being in my family. When I was growing up, my parents spent countless hours every day showing my sister and me what true love looked like. It was an emotion I always felt, but an emotion I wasn’t sure I was ever going to let out.” He takes a deep breath. “Coming out to my parents, to my sister, that was never the issue, because like I said, they loved me unconditionally. But when it came to the outside world, to everyone else, that’s where the problem was. As time went on, I started to feel more and more empty, and I believed that the beautiful love my parents have would never be something I could experience . . . until you.” Tears run down my cheeks, and I don’t even bother to wipe them away.
“You showed me that I am lovable, that I could spend countless hours sitting with you on the couch and feel happier than I ever have before. You showed me it’s okay to love one another—not just behind closed doors, but out in the world too. You helped me build a home and a future, one I never thought I’d have. You changed my entire life with one little smile, and I promise you, till the day I die, I will make your life as meaningful and full of love as you make mine. I love you.”
Oh sweet Jesus. I let out a breath and stare up at the ceiling, trying to keep my makeup from melting off before I have to walk back down the aisle.
I’m so distracted with keeping my eyeliner in place that I miss what the reverend says, and before I know it, Declan is cupping Cohen’s cheeks and they’re kissing so passionately that I feel my face heat up. Our friends and family cheer, and I let out a hoot myself. When Declan finally lets go, the reverend introduces them as husband and husband, and they’re walking down the aisle, hand in hand. I follow behind, wiping at my eyes and trying to hold it together.
When we get to the end of the aisle, we step off to the side, and I wrap my arms around both of them.
“I’m so happy for you guys.” I playfully push Cohen’s shoulder. “Thanks for making me cry like an idiot.”
“Anytime.” He smiles and kisses the top of my head. “Now get in line.”
“Get in line?” I ask. “What are you talking about?”
“Last-minute change.” He smiles even wider. “We decided to have a receiving line.”
I’m going to kill them . . . dead . . . on their wedding day.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
ALEC
Fuck, she looks beautiful.
The moment she walked down the aisle, it felt like a bowling ball had knocked all the wind out of my body. From her beautiful green dress, to her silky long hair swept into a low bun, to the minimal makeup highlighting her gorgeous eyes, she stole my breath.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her the entire ceremony. And as she cried happy tears for her brother, relief filled my body—if everything is right with them, then this terrible week just got a silver lining.
Sure, Thad isn’t entirely happy with me, and Luna and I are still broken up, but all that matters is that she and Cohen have reconciled—I’d never forgive myself for wrecking their relationship.
When I arrived at the Shed this morning, I met up with Thad and Naomi, hoping things might have improved. Thad gave me a curt nod and stalked away, while Naomi shot me a sympathetic look. They probably shared a calzone when I left, but beyond that, no progress seems to have been made.
I didn’t even push it. I didn’t want to make a scene with Thad. I just followed them inside, hands in my pockets, my heart heavy.
I’ve never really had people mad at me like this before. It’s uncomfortable, knowing that someone is dreading running into y
ou. Contractually we are supposed to show up to every ceremony, but our contracts don’t say anything about staying for the receptions. The crowd is full of smiles and love for the couple, and I would truly just bring everyone down. I think I’m going to do us all a favor and take off. I witnessed a beautiful ceremony, but the food and dancing will just make things incredibly awkward. Once this crowd clears up, I’m taking off.
“That was so beautiful,” Naomi says. “Cohen’s vows just about killed me.”
Yeah, me too.
“It was really nice,” Thad says, sounding uncharacteristically reserved. “What’s happening right now?” He cranes his head over the rest of the guests. “Why is it taking forever to leave this room?”
“Receiving line,” Naomi says.
“What?” I ask, my heart rate picking up.
“Looks like the whole wedding party,” Naomi says, a small smirk forming on her face.
Fuck.
I scan the perfectly decorated room; Luna’s vision has truly come to life, with all the twigs she scrounged, the garland she painstakingly made, the artfully arranged bouquets of burlap flowers, and the well-placed tree stumps. But it isn’t just beautiful; it’s touches of Cohen and Declan. It’s the little grooms on top of the chocolate cake that speak so heavily of who they are. The pictures of them as a couple placed strategically throughout the venue, and Cohen’s carpentry displayed so artistically on the table through candleholders. It’s the perfect combination of everything I’ve heard Luna talk about. I wish I could tell her how beautiful it is, how much I can feel the love permeating the space. Instead, I scour it for any other exit, but there are none, making me want to report the venue to the fire department—shouldn’t there be an emergency exit?
An emergency exit made for moments like this, when a man has fucked up so badly he needs to flee the scene?
Naomi must sense my panic because she places her hand on my arm and whispers, “It will be okay, Alec.”
I glance at Thad. He’s watching Naomi and me with narrowed eyes. I half expect him to freak out about us having a “thing” behind his back.
But he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he steps in front of us as we funnel into a line.
And in a matter of seconds, I can see the top of Luna’s head, right next to Cohen.
With every step we take, drawing closer, my dread ratchets up to entirely new levels, until finally we reach Declan. Thad is the first to congratulate him, with a hug and a pat to the back. Given Thad’s bitterness toward the whole Wedding Game, I can’t quite believe how calm he is. I know he said we didn’t have a chance at winning, and I really think he’s taking that to heart. Instead of bashing the wedding, pointing out what he doesn’t like and how he thinks ours is better, he’s just soaking in the moment.
And it’s somehow more terrifying than the hysterical brother who cried and screamed his way through the competition.
Naomi is next.
“Congrats, Declan. That was so beautiful. I’m really happy for you guys.”
“Thank you,” he says and then turns toward me.
I swallow hard and plaster on a smile. “Congratulations, Declan.” I hold my hand out to him and he squeezes it, a little too firmly. A warning sign, maybe, of a protective brother-in-law.
“Thank you.” He leans in. Very quietly he says, “Don’t hurt her.”
I don’t have a chance to respond because I’m ushered to Cohen, who literally makes my balls crawl up into my taint with the look he gives me.
I hold my hand out again and swallow hard. “Congratulations, Cohen. Your vows were beautiful.”
He takes my hand, another firm grasp distracting me, for just a moment, from how close Luna is—so close that if I move a few inches, she would be directly in front of me.
“Thank you,” he says, leaning in just like Declan did. He whispers, “Be good to her.”
When he pulls away, he pats me on the back and nudges me right in front of Luna.
Slowly, she looks up at me, her eyes watery, her smile fake. I know what a real smile from this girl looks like, and this is not it.
Immediately, tension starts to build between us as we stare at each other in silence.
I hate this. I hate standing in front of this girl—my girl—and not being able to sweep her into my arms. I hate the uncertainty between us. I hate that I can’t reach out, cup her jaw, and feel her lean into my palm right before I bend down to kiss her. I hate that I can’t hug her, congratulate her, hold her hand, and walk her into the reception, basking in the knowledge that she’s all mine.
“Uh, congratulations,” I finally say. “The ceremony was great.”
Lame.
It’s so fucking lame.
Tell her how beautiful she is. How she took your breath away the moment you saw her. Tell her you couldn’t take your eyes off her the entire ceremony. Tell her you’re pathetically sorry and would do anything to make things right again.
But I can’t seem to move my lips, so I stand there, stiff, unsure of what to do next.
Gripping her bouquet, she gives me a curt nod. “Yeah, thanks . . . it was lovely.”
Okay . . . uh, this is probably going down as one of the worst moments of my life.
It’s as if I’m trapped in my own body. My heart is begging my brain to say something, do something, to let her know how much I love her, but my brain is on lockdown, not letting out any of the feelings my heart is throwing at it.
I give her a nod and take a step back. “Okay, well, have a good one.” And then I leave, feeling so sick to my stomach that I stride past Naomi and Thad, who are waiting for me, and straight out the door of the Shed, onto the cobblestoned streets of SoHo. I press my hand into my hair and look around. A Postmates deliveryman on a bike with food in his basket is screaming by me, sending me back against the old brick building, just as I hear the door open.
“Alec,” Naomi says behind me, her hand resting on my back. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head. “No. I can’t . . . fuck, I don’t know how to act around her. I can’t be here right now. I don’t want to make it weird for her, not on her brother’s day.”
“Are you going to leave?”
“Yeah.” I look to the side. “I am. Can you tell the producers I wasn’t feeling well or some bullshit like that?”
“What about tomorrow?”
“What’s going on?” Thad asks, coming outside as well.
“I’m, uh . . . I’m going to head home. Not feeling well.”
“Oh.” Thad’s brow creases. “Okay.”
Naomi gives me a look that begs me to stay, but I really can’t. I don’t want to make things uncomfortable for Luna.
“I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Just need some rest.”
“Drink water,” Thad says, actually sounding concerned.
“Yeah, sure.” I give them a parting wave and then take off down the block, flagging a taxi to get me the hell out of here.
Alec: Do you have Xanax?
Lucas: I take it the wedding didn’t go well today.
Alec: Wedding was fine, the encounter in the receiving line I had with Luna was fucking awful.
Lucas: Oh damn, a receiving line? There’s no way of getting around that. What did you say to her?
Alec: Some stupid shit about the wedding being nice. I really wanted to tell her how gorgeous she looked. I mean, fuck, dude, she looked so goddamn beautiful it hurt to even look at her.
Lucas: I like seeing you lovesick. It proves you’re not the robot after all.
Alec: How are you in any way being helpful right now?
Lucas: Oh, you wanted me to be helpful? Sorry, didn’t quite get that cue from you. How did the rest of the night go?
Alec: Not sure, I left after the ceremony.
Lucas: Ahh, chickened out. Nice.
Alec: I didn’t chicken out. It was obvious from the tension between us that she didn’t want me there. You should have seen the fake smile she gave me. She practically begged me to
leave with her eyes.
Lucas: Ouch. And you have two more days to be around her. That should be fun.
Alec: Seriously, why am I even texting you?
Lucas: Beats the hell out of me.
Alec: So no Xanax?
Lucas: No, but my suggestion is to talk to her, and not in a reception line. But that’s a novel idea—you’d never go for it. Instead you take the hard ass route of avoidance. Maybe one day you’ll grow a pair . . . *sigh* one day.
Alec: I’m saving this text. Hopefully you’ll go through the same torture someday, and I can throw this back in your face.
Lucas: Try all you want, but I’m a smart motherfucker when it comes to relationships.
Alec: Says the single guy.
Lucas: I’m picky. I’m not about to jump into a relationship to jump into one. You have to use your head, man. And you’re being a dipshit right now. You love her right? Then go after her. Stop hiding.
Alec: Why did I envision you clapping at me when I read that?
Lucas: Mentally I was. Come on, man. Go get her.
Alec: Easier said than done.
“Can we just talk about the elephant in the room?” Naomi says as she, Thad, and I stand at a cocktail table by ourselves, each with drink in hand—two beers and one iced tea.
The ceremony is over, Luciana and Amanda are wives, and they looked gorgeous together. Their vows were very heartfelt and touching, and their friend, who was the minister, did a fantastic job. The room was full of love for them.
“What elephant?” I ask, even though I could list two right off the top of my head: Thad’s coldness toward me and my inability to stop staring at Luna, who’s across the room with Declan and Cohen, wearing a cute black dress that flairs out at her hips and holding a glass of wine.
Naomi leans in and whispers, “Helen’s hair.”
Thad and I snort at the same time.
“I didn’t know a woman’s hair could go that high,” I admit, spotting Helen’s head easily against the crowd. It’s as if someone took a beehive, wrapped her hair around it, and then shellacked it in place with hairpins and hairspray. Atrocious.
The Wedding Game Page 33