by Tabatha Kiss
“Trig is flying back from the Middle East today,” he says, practically growling. “End of his third tour fighting to protect our country.”
“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Trig sounds like a badass, actually. I’ll have to tell him that...”
Jensen stares harder, unblinking and angry. “I think I can fill in from now on, Graham,” he says, hitting my name with an ice pick. “Thanks for checking in.”
“You’re very welcome, sir.” I ease to the side, getting out of the way of Tyra and valley boy as they step toward the front. “Let us know if you need anything...”
Jensen turns around, ignoring my comment.
I fire a look at Jen and her smirk deepens in victory.
Okay, then.
You won this round, Jenny.
I give one more respectful nod to Claire before turning around and making my way toward the back of the chapel. I reach Clara, standing there by herself as she waits for the others to finish their walks and for the music to change over and announce her heavenly presence.
I nudge her on the shoulder as I pass and she smiles. “Walking your own damn self down the aisle?” I ask.
“You know it,” she says with a wink.
I bow. “Congrats again, Baby C.”
“Thanks, G.”
As I step outside, the quartet strikes the first few notes of Here Comes the Bride. It’s such a mundane song but every time I hear it, I feel goosebumps. I didn’t always. Ever since the day I heard it for real and I looked up to see her in a white dress.
I straighten up, rolling my sleeves as I walk quickly across the street toward the hotel. Thunder rolls in above my head, signaling another coming storm along the Las Vegas strip.
Well, the get her back plan isn’t going as well as I’d hoped it would. Ambushing her at the chapel didn’t quite work out as intended but perhaps making an appearance at the rehearsal dinner might spark a little something…
I’m not giving up, Jen.
Count on it.
I approach the entrance to the Plaza and Fred nods as he grabs the door for me.
“You’ve got a purpose.”
I pause beside him. “What?”
“The way you’re walking,” he explains. “A man walks like that, means he’s got a purpose. What my mother used to say.”
I nod, letting it sink in. “Thanks, Fred.”
“Have a good day, sir.”
I continue on into the hotel but I quickly slow to a grinding halt in the middle of the lobby. Apparently, my purposeful stride doesn’t get me very far.
Now, what?
The elevator doors slide open ahead of me. A small group of young women get off and pass by me toward the restaurant, obviously just now waking up from a long night of binging who-knows-what. A man follows behind him in ripped jeans, an old, wrinkled t-shirt, and those damn sunglasses; no doubt very necessary to block the bright lights from his hangover.
Jonah.
“Hey, Jo!” I say, rushing forward.
He pauses and raises his head. “Oh. And a good morning to you, Graham,” he says, stifling a yawn.
I chuckle. “It’s three in the afternoon.”
“Is that right?” He scratches the scruff on his chin. “No wonder room service wouldn’t bring me pancakes.”
“Listen, Jo. You got a minute to talk?” I ask.
Jonah takes a deep breath before sliding his sunglasses off and rolling his shoulders back to stand a little taller. “Let her come to you,” he says.
I furrow my brow. “What?”
He hangs his glasses along the rim of his shirt. “I heard you were in need of my wisdom…”
I sigh. “Ira?”
“Hayden.”
“Of course.”
“Jen,” he says. “She needs to come to you.”
“How do you figure?” I ask.
“Some women like to be pursued. Others need to be ignored.” He smiles. “Because when they’re ignored, they get angry. When they get angry, they come to you. Let her come to you.”
I squint. “But what if she doesn’t?”
“She will.”
“But what if she doesn’t?”
Jonah exhales. “She will.” He reaches out and pats my shoulder. “Resist all temptation, big brother. Give her nothing… and she’ll want everything.”
“Sounds like one heck of a gamble, Jo,” I say.
“Well, this is Vegas,” he says, leaning forward. “But the house always wins, right?”
I blink twice as he gives my shoulder a firm squeeze. He walks off, following his band of groupies into the restaurant and leaving me with a fresh purpose in my gut.
Let Jen come to me.
Resist all temptation.
I can do that.
Probably.
Thirteen
Jen
A light hum echoes throughout the dining room. Our section is cut off from the rest of the room with a gorgeous partition that must be new. They didn’t have it when I worked here. Private parties usually just had to rent out the entire room or deal with the occasional onlooker from the other guests enjoying their meals.
“So, where’s your husband?”
I smile kindly at the woman sitting across the table from me. She’s my great aunt. Apparently. I honestly only see her once — maybe twice — a decade.
“Oh, I’m not married,” I say, trying to speak loud enough to reach her old ears but also low enough to not draw attention to the conversation.
She frowns. “I thought you were.”
“Nope.”
“But you’re Jensen’s other girl, right?” she asks. “The one that got married here befo—”
“Yes,” I say, clearing my throat. “I was married once. For a little bit. But I’m not anymore.”
“Oh, you’re a divorcee,” she says, her face smushing in judgment.
My impatience twitches.
Yes, Aunt Whatsherface. I’m a dirty, rotten sinner. Travel with my own condoms, too. What do you have to say about that?
I turn on the waterworks, letting them fill to the edge of my eyelashes without falling over. “Actually, he died,” I lie.
She leans back, her hand rising to her chest. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry—”
“It was just so sudden,” I say. “We had plans…”
I dip forward, cradling my face in my hands as she shifts uncomfortably.
“Hey, Aunt Mae!” I hear Clara over the woman’s shoulder. “You’re looking well. How’s Howard?”
Mae takes the opportunity and shoots out of her chair as I begin sobbing. “Oh, he’s good!” she says. “Um…”
Her voice drops to a whisper I can’t hear as Clara expertly takes over.
“It’s okay, Aunt Mae,” she says, shooing Mae in the opposite direction. “I’ll take care of her…”
I sit back and roll my dry eyes as Clara takes the empty seat beside me.
“I see you’re having fun,” she says, breaking into a chuckle.
I reach for my wineglass on the table. “I’d say I’m taking things rather well, actually…”
She chortles and snatches the glass before I can. “Yeah, right,” she says, raising it to her lips. “So, how’s Graham? Not dead, obviously…”
I blow out and eye the dining room, hoping to wave down a server for the wine refill I’m now in desperate need of.
“I don’t know,” I answer. “You tell me. You’re besties, apparently. Got him filling in for your wedding party and everything.”
Clara laughs, guilty. “Sorry not sorry.”
“Why did you do that?” I ask. “You knew Daddy would destroy him the moment he saw him.”
“I thought it’d be funny,” she says with a shrug. “And I was right.”
My eyes roll again. “You’re the queen of comedy, Baby C. He was just doing his job. You didn’t need to throw him under the bus.”
She raises a brow. “Oh, Graham wasn’t there on official hotel business, Jen.”
“He wasn’t?”
“Oli and I caught him hiding behind a fucking plant by the entrance,” she says. “He was there for you.”
I pause. “He was?”
“He was spying on you like a creepy weirdo, big sister.”
My chest flutters. “Really?”
“So…” her eyes narrow, “you gonna tell me where you really ran off to last night? Or is this just going to be one of those things I’ve already figured out but we never talk about?”
I blink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Uh-huh.” She grins. “Yeah, I don’t know, either.”
I sigh and tap a spoon, lightly slapping the handle against the tablecloth. “I think he wants to get back together,” I say, lowering my voice.
Clara leans forward. “Like officially?”
I nod. “Like officially.”
“And do you?”
“I don’t know. I mean…” I tap the spoon harder. “Last night was great but… intense.”
“Intense how?”
I sigh. “Well, for starters, my Fitbit auto-recognized it as a bike ride, so there’s that…”
She nods in approval. “Nice.”
“But it was one night. That’s all it was supposed to be; a one-time thing. I mean, we were not prepared for each other at nineteen and I don’t feel super confident about us at twenty-nine, either…”
She scoffs as she eyes my bouncing spoon. “Jen, you can’t have one-time thing sex with a guy you’ve already been married to. It goes against all the rules of astrophysics or something.”
I keep tapping. “How would you know?”
“Everybody knows that.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Jen.” She slaps the spoon, pinning it against the table. “I think you should go to the bar and talk to Graham,” she says. “Oli mentioned a mixer tonight. Graham said he’d be there.”
I lean back. “Whatever. You’re way too young for this conversation, anyway.”
“I’m an adult,” she says. “I’m getting married tomorrow.”
“Getting married doesn’t make you an adult. Trust me.”
Clara sighs, amused. “Well, I gotta mingle with my guests. Are you gonna be all right?” she asks, studying me. “You’re not going to feed lies about dead husbands to more extended relatives, are you?”
I let out a huff and reach across the table for the nearest random, unattended drink. “No,” I say, bringing it to my nose and smelling bourbon. Jackpot. “I’m concocting an elaborate story about him being recruited into an underground criminal organization as we speak.”
Clara slowly takes the glass from me before I can drink it and she shakes her head. “Honey, no…” she says.
I squint at her as she stands but I nod in agreement.
I’m a fucking mess.
One ride on the Graham Express and I’m tearing apart at the freakin’ seams. Not because it was awful. Oh, no, no, no. It was far from that. It was everything I needed and more and the only thing I’ve been able to think about since the chapel is how easy it would be for me to go upstairs and get it again. And again. And again.
I grunt out loud and prop my head up on my palm. I scan the partitioned dining room, making out the faces of close relatives and the vaguely familiar ones of those I rarely see and the complete mystery ones of people that must be from the dairy farmer side. One more sleep before we’re all one big happy freakin’ family.
Oh, joy.
I sit up, swallowing my cynicism. This is joyous. It’s a fucking wedding.
I came here fully prepared to make this weekend about Clara and her wedding day but here I am sulking and pouting over a boy when I should be smiling and mingling and hugging relatives like she is. I should be a fucking big sister for once but I can’t even get that right.
A straight-up fucking mess.
I feel a soft hand on my shoulder.
“Hey, honey.”
I look up as my father sits down in the chair beside me. “Oh. Hey, Daddy,” I say, sitting back. “How’s it going?”
“My youngest daughter is getting married tomorrow morning,” he says as he fixes his left cuff. “I’m an eclectic mix of happiness and suspicion.”
“Have you given Peter the take care of my daughter or else speech yet?” I ask.
My father finds him in the crowd across the room and furrows his brow. “Figure I’ll wait until just before he goes to sleep tonight. Then, I’ll pounce.”
I chuckle. “Sounds good.”
“And you…” He eyes me carefully. “Do you know of any other young men I need to give a-talkin’ to tonight?”
“No, Dad…”
“What’s he bothering you again for?”
“Graham’s not… bothering me. It’s not like that. We’re just…” I shake my head. “I don’t know. Catching up?”
“Is that all?”
“I think so.”
“Now, honey…” He leans forward. “That doesn’t fill me with a whole lot of assurance.”
I throw up my hands. “Well, what exactly do you want me to tell you, Dad?” I ask. “That even against every instinct in my gut, I miss him? That being back here makes me feel like shit and the only thing that makes me feel any better is him? That he’s the only person I’ve ever met that understands me? Is that what you want to hear? I could go on. There’s a lot more but it’d probably alter our relationship forever and I doubt you want that.”
My father stares at me, firm and unblinking. “Jen…” He shifts his chair a little closer and clears his throat. “You and I have never really seen eye-to-eye on… well, much of anything really.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I gave up on you a long time ago.”
I scoff. “Gee, thanks, Dad.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then, how did you mean it?”
“Would you let me finish?” he asks. “Please?”
I close my mouth and nod.
“I spent years trying to figure out how your mind works,” he says. “Now, Clara… She’s easy. Food, water, shelter. For everything else, she’s known exactly what she wanted down to the details since she was fourteen. She wants this. She wants that. Boom. I can do that. But you? Every day was different. One day, your favorite color is blue. It’s red the next. You wore long skirts and read Jane Austen all summer long. Then, all of a sudden, you dyed your hair purple and started reading nothing but The Bell Jar over and over and over again.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask.
“I’m your damn father and I don’t understand you, but…” He rubs the back of his head. “Can’t believe I’m saying this but if you found someone that does understand you, then hell, what do I know?”
I squint. “Daddy, are you… telling me to—”
“I don’t know. I’m gonna go find your mother.”
He quickly stands up, leaving me confused and fidgeting in my chair while he bolts into the nearest crowd of almost-relatives.
What the fuck?
I open my mouth but only tiny, short sounds come out. Did he say what I think he said? Did my mother put him up to this?
Why is my heart racing?
Go to the bar and talk to Graham.
It’s not the worst advice my sister has ever given me before. And hey, she’s getting married tomorrow. She’s an adult. She knows what she’s talking about, right?
Good God, woman. Stop looking for excuses and just go do it.
I slowly rise from my chair and grab my purse off the table beside me. I sidle away, casually glancing over my shoulder before bolting behind the partition and making my way across the busy dining room.
Golden lights shine in my eyes as I arrive in the lobby. The foyer is full of people dressed to the nines for a Saturday night in Vegas. I pass by them, muttering excuse me and pardon me as I cut through them toward the hotel bar just left of the restaurant.
I pause just outside the entrance and
push up onto my toes to see over the men lingering in bunches throughout the bar — every last one of them very tall and very important-looking. Botsford Corp. Shareholders, I presume. Mixing it up before a long week of boring meetings.
My gaze shifts to the bar, locking on the back of a familiar head.
G-graham. G-graham. G-graham.
The man turns around and I deflate. No, not Graham.
Fucking Hayden.
Luckily, Hayden wanders away from the bar with two drinks in his hands and walks over to the corner table where three other men sit around, each constantly talking over each other.
The Botsford Boys.
All four of them. Together again. Shoulder-to-shoulder. Each one a heartthrob in their own right.
My feet lock in place as I stare across the room at them. Going over there and talking to Graham was one thing but trying to do it in front of his brothers is an entirely different ballpark.
Maybe I’ll come back later.
I turn to leave and bump right into a man’s very thick shoulder.
“Oh—” I jump back. “I’m sorry, I—”
I look up — all the way up — and my breath catches.
It’s not every day you come face-to-face with a… well...
“Kingston,” I say. “I mean — sorry — Mr. Botsford.”
He laughs beneath a full head of silver-speckled black-brown hair. “Let me know what you decide on. I’ll follow suit, Jennifer. Or Ms. Parker. Whichever you prefer.”
I blush. “Jen is fine, sir.”
“Then, you may call me Kingston.” He extends his hand. “How are you, my girl?”
I nod and place my hand in his. His shake is soft, yet firm enough to remind me who exactly he is. “I’m doing well,” I answer. “Thank you.”
“And your father?” he asks, raising a brow. “I thought I spotted him in my dining room tonight.”
“Yes, you did. And he’s great. My little sister is getting married here tomorrow, actually.”
He hums with amusement. “Is that so?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Had I known the Parker family gathering this weekend was the Parker family, I’d have comped him twenty-percent.”
“I’m sure he would have just refused it,” I quip.