by Marie Force
“For Christ’s sake,” Eric mutters while we wait to be introduced. “Save it for the honeymoon.”
I glance over my shoulder to see Rob and Camille engaged in yet another passionate lip-lock and laugh at the look of disgust on Eric’s handsome face. “They can’t help themselves.”
“I need a drink. The wedding party is allowed to drink, right?”
“God, I hope so.”
“You’re up,” the wedding coordinator, a peppy woman named Mimi, says after Julianne and Rob’s cousin Nate are introduced.
“Ready?” Eric asks, extending his arm to me.
I tuck my hand into the crook of his elbow. “Ready.”
“Please join me in welcoming our best man, the brother of the groom, Eric Tilden, and our maid of honor, the sister of the bride, Ava Lucas.” The DJ draws out every syllable of my name, making me Avaaaaaa Luuuuucasssss.
We walk in to thunderous applause from the nearly five hundred guests in the ballroom. I’ll admit to being intimidated by the crowd and the noise, both of which have me hanging on to Eric a little more tightly.
As if he can feel my tension, Eric covers my hand on his arm with his free hand, and the gesture comforts me.
We stand on the side of the huge dance floor with the rest of the wedding party.
“And now, please welcome our bride and groom, Rob and Camille Tilden!”
The applause is deafening as the happy couple makes their way into the room, stopping for hugs and kisses from friends and family. They’ve been deliriously happy for two years now, ever since they met at a fundraiser for Rob’s dad when Camille was finishing her first year of law school. Rob managed his father’s campaign and runs his New York City office.
“Can we drink yet?” Eric speaks close to my ear so only I will hear him.
“Counting the minutes.” I glance up at him and realize he’s focused on me, not the bride and groom. The subtle, rich scent of his cologne surrounds me, making me want to lean in closer to him. This is, I realize in a moment of despair, the closest I’ve been to any man since the day John kissed me goodbye and disappeared from my life.
I shiver even though the room isn’t cold. If anything, it’s overly warm.
“Are you okay?” Eric asks.
I nod, but my heart aches. What I wouldn’t give to have the man I love with me today, to celebrate my sister’s marriage, to meet my family, to dance the night away. Even in the midst of so much happiness and joy, grief overwhelms me.
“It’s kind of disgusting, isn’t it?” Eric asks as he twirls me around on the dance floor after the wedding party is invited to join the bride and groom as they dance to “The Best Is Yet to Come” by Frank Sinatra.
“What is?”
“How perfect they are.” He points his chin toward Rob and Camille, who are so caught up in each other, the hundreds of other people in the room might not exist for all they care.
“It’s not disgusting. They’re perfect for each other.”
He pulls back ever so slightly to look down at me with an impish twinkle in his eyes. “You don’t think it’s the tiniest bit disgusting that any two people can be that gorgeous and that successful?”
I’ll never admit to having had a few of those thoughts myself. “No, of course not. She’s my sister. I’m very proud of her—and happy for her.”
“Uh-huh. Okay. If you say so.”
Why is he trying to bait me? “I say so.”
“You don’t think it’s the tiniest bit unfair that they got it all—looks, smarts, true love, great jobs and a fab apartment? How much you want to bet they’re going to have ugly kids?”
It’s such an outrageous statement that I can’t contain the gurgle of nervous laughter that erupts from my chest.
“Ah-ha! I knew it! You totally think their kids will be ugly.”
“I do not! Don’t say that. He’s your brother. You’re supposed to love him.”
“I do love him, but sometimes I want to punch his lights out. Everything comes so easily to him. He’s never had to really work for anything in his life.”
“And you have?”
“I’ve worked hard for everything I have. Still do.”
“What do you do?”
“I spend years researching a single company for the fund I work for, only to be shot down when I bring it to the acquisitions team. Then I have to find another company, spend years working on that proposal and hope it doesn’t get shot down, too. I’m one-for-four over three years.”
“That sounds rather…”
“Depressing?”
“Is it?”
“It can be. It’s a major bummer to invest all that time and effort only to be shot down at committee.” He leans in a little closer, again closer than any man has been to me since John left. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. Those companies I spend all that time researching?”
I nod, intrigued by his secret.
“I’ve invested personally in every one of them, and they’ve yielded spectacular results.”
“Then the time wasn’t wasted.”
“Not at all.” He gazes down at me, seeming to take a visual inventory of my features in a way that reminds me of John doing the same thing the night we met—and again on the day he walked out of my life. The memory hits me like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from my lungs. “You’re very pretty, but of course you know that.”
The most beautiful girl I ever met. John’s husky, sexy voice pops into my head, and I’m transported right back to the bedroom we painted a light gray, the bed we chose together, the sheets tangled around our bodies as he made fierce love to me, whispering sweet words I’ve never forgotten.
“Ava? Are you okay?”
Eric’s voice startles me, sucking me out of memories I wish I could wallow in. They come less frequently than they used to, and I live in fear of losing them forever at some point.
“Ava?”
I glance up at him, embarrassed to realize he’s stopped moving and is looking at me with concern.
“I… I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t.”
The rest of the wedding party, including the bride and groom, are looking at us, wondering why we aren’t dancing the way we’re supposed to.
“Let’s get a drink,” Eric says.
“But the dance…”
“Screw the dance.” He takes me by the hand and leads me to one of five bars strategically positioned around the massive ballroom. “What’s your pleasure?”
“Just ice water, please.”
He orders my water along with bourbon for himself. “Let’s get some air.”
We take our drinks to a balcony where the warm June breeze is a welcome relief after the stifling ballroom.
“Did I screw up by saying you’re pretty?”
“No, of course not.” I’m mortified by the episode. Right when I think I’m regaining my footing, a memory of John appears to show me otherwise. Sometimes I think I’m no further along on this journey than I was the day he left.
“Well, just for the record, you are very pretty. More than that, really. Gorgeous is a far better word. That was my first thought when I met you at the rehearsal.”
“Thank you.” He’s flirting with me, and I’m so out of practice, I have no idea how to respond.
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
“I’m better now. It was hot in there.”
“Yes, it was. Camille said you just moved back to New York from San Diego. What’d you do out there?”
Fell in love with the most extraordinary man who disappeared from my life five years ago. “I… I worked in PR.”
“Is that right? Julianne is in PR. She knows everyone. I bet she can help you find a new job. If you’re looking, that is.”
“I am, and that’d be great. I have feelers out all over the city, but I have a feeling it’s more about who you know than what you know here.” My goal is to live and work in th
e city so I can get out of my parents’ house in Purchase as soon as possible. After one month at home, I already know I’ve been gone too long to go back to living at home long-term. My parents are lovely, and they mean well, but they dote on me like I’m twelve rather than twenty-eight, and I’m wounded enough that it would be easy to let them take care of me indefinitely.
“We’ll set you up.”
He says that with the easy confidence of a man with connections. As the son of the governor, he’s probably fat with connections, and I’m not above taking advantage of who his family knows to jumpstart my life in New York City.
After a few minutes outside, we rejoin the party. We’re seated together at the head table, where we enjoy a delicious meal of tenderloin and shrimp. Eric entertains me with hilarious stories about growing up Tilden and how their parents had to ban practical jokes between the siblings out of fear of them burning the house down.
Despite the crowded room and the revelry all around us, in some ways I feel like we’re on a date by ourselves. He gives me his full attention, except when someone comes up to say hello to him. Then he introduces me as Camille’s sister, Ava, and includes me in the conversation. He’s charming and fun and funny and handsome, and I’m not sure if it’s him or the champagne that has me slightly dazzled, but whatever it is, I’m having more fun than I’ve had in years.
Mimi, the wedding planner, shows up after dinner with a cordless microphone that she hands to Eric. “You’re on.”
“Oh crap,” he says to me. “I forgot I have to make a speech. What should I say?”
“Seriously?”
“Nah,” he says, chuckling at my horrified expression. “I got this.”
He stands and loudly clears his throat into the microphone. “If I could have your attention, please.” When the room goes quiet, he says, “This is the part of the program where the best man is supposed to humiliate the groom with embarrassing stories that make the bride wonder what the hell she was thinking marrying such a jerk.”
Laughter ripples through the big room as Rob glares at him.
“Sadly for me and the rest of you, Rob doesn’t do embarrassing things. I know… It’s not fair and sort of wrong that someone could live to be thirty-two without a truly embarrassing story to his name. But that’s our Rob. Focused, brilliant and, despite a startling lack of flaws, fun to be around. And from all accounts, he’s found in Camille someone who’s just like him.” Sobering, he says, “Rob, we’ve been together a long time.”
More laughter follows that statement.
“And even though you’re only five minutes older than me, you’ve been an awesome big brother and best friend. I love you, and on behalf of everyone here, I wish you and Camille the best of everything. Congratulations.”
Rob stands to hug his brother while everyone else applauds.
Watching them together makes me feel emotional, which is odd because I’d never met either of them before two days ago. Still, their obvious affection for each other—and the multiple glasses of champagne I’ve consumed—made it a sweet moment to witness.
“Your turn,” Eric says, handing me the mic.
Taking the mic from him, I stand and wobble ever so slightly, cursing the champagne.
Eric’s hand on my back steadies me. I give him a grateful smile. “Unlike Rob,” I say into the mic, “Camille had an awkward stage.”
My sister groans, laughs and drops her face into her hands as her husband puts his arm around her.
“She got a big idea to cut her hair super short right before middle school started. That was an unfortunate decision. She was also the girl who’d come out of the restroom in a restaurant with a trail of toilet paper attached to her foot.”
“No!” Camille cried. “You did not just mention the toilet paper on my wedding day!”
“That’s all I’ve got,” I reply. “Like your husband, you’re too freaking perfect and obviously perfectly matched to each other. We can only hope that the six children you’re sure to have will be high achievers like their parents.”
“Ain’t nobody having six kids,” Camille says, cracking everyone up.
“I just want to say that you’re a wonderful little sister and friend. I love you, and I wish you and Rob a lifetime of the kind of joy and happiness you’re feeling today.”
“Hear, hear.” Eric raises his glass to the bride and groom, who’re indulging in yet another passionate kiss.
“And,” I say, before surrendering the mic, “on behalf of the entire wedding party, I’d like to add one more thing… Get a room. Please, get a room.”
The comment, fueled by champagne, is met with wild applause from the rest of the wedding party.
“Got one,” Rob says with a dirty grin when the ruckus dies down. “Gonna use the hell out of it later.”
“Shut up, Rob!” Camille cries, punching his chest.
That leads to more kissing.
“Booze,” Eric says, standing. “We need more booze.”
“Take me with you. Please, take me with you.”
“You got it.”
Chapter Two
AVA
I’m sloppy drunk. That’s the only possible explanation for why I’m slow-dancing with Eric and clinging to him like he’s the last lifeboat on the Titanic. If there’s any upside to being sloppy drunk, I’m too busy laughing and dancing and partying to think about anything other than the massive headache I’m going to have tomorrow.
I should’ve taken up drinking years ago.
Eric tightens his hold on me, and I sink into his warm embrace. He shed his tuxedo jacket hours ago, and I’ve discovered he’s one of those guys who smells good even when he’s sweaty from dancing. I like the way he smells and the way his muscles move under the fine linen of his shirt and the way he seems to realize that if he lets go of me, I’ll land in a puddle on the floor. So, he doesn’t let go.
I’m not sure exactly when I become aware of the fact that he’s hard and his hands are moving on my back with a certain sort of familiarity that doesn’t put me off the way it would have before I’d spent a delightful day with him.
His presence comforts me. I felt safe letting go today because I knew he’d be there to catch me if I stumbled, which is crazy since I met him only two days ago. But I already know I can trust him, and letting go feels so good. Tomorrow will be a cold dose of reality, but tonight, anything feels possible.
“Eric…”
“Hmm?”
“I think I’d better call it a night.”
“Not yet.”
“There’s a good chance I might pass out.”
Without losing his grip on me, he straightens and takes charge. Although how he can still stand after drinking as much as he did is a mystery that doesn’t need solving right now. “All righty, then. Let’s get you out of here.”
I have no idea how he does it, but Eric manages to half carry me out of the ballroom and into an elevator with minimum fuss. Rob and Camille departed more than an hour ago, so no goodbyes were needed, and no one paid much attention to us leaving together.
At least I hope they didn’t…
He props me up in the back corner of the elevator and unleashes a potent smile. “Good?”
“So far, so good.” My words are slurring. This is worse than I thought. Please, God, don’t let me puke.
Eric watches over me until the elevator dings on the thirtieth floor.
My brain suddenly comes alive. “My purse!”
“Got it,” he says, producing it from under his arm.
“You’re a lifesaver.”
Winking, he says, “Always happy to assist a damsel in distress.” He scoops me into his arms, again with hardly any fuss, and carries me down the long hallway.
He’s charming, handsome, fun. If I were capable of caring about another man, he’d have my interest. But I’m not capable. I’m barely able to walk, which is why he’s carrying me.
“Can you get out your key?”
“Uh-huh.�
�� I’m all thumbs as I open the purse and dig out the key from the inside pocket where I stashed it earlier.
Outside my door, he puts me down but doesn’t let go. He takes the key from me, opens the door and picks me up again, carrying me inside and placing me on the bed.
The minute I sink into the pillows, the room starts spinning wildly. I sit up quickly—too quickly—and a wave of nausea overtakes me. God, why did I drink so much?
“Are you going to be sick?”
“I really hope not.”
“Sometimes it’s for the best.”
“I never drink.”
“I figured as much. Didn’t take much to make you tipsy.”
I wonder if he’s teasing me, but when I glance at him, I see only care and concern. Then he reaches down to help me out of my three-inch heels. He gets up and retrieves a T-shirt I tossed on the bed earlier. “Want to change? I’ll help you, and I promise not to look.”
Since the dress is tight, I’d love to take it off even if I’m not sure he’ll keep his promise not to look. “Yes, please.” I turn my back to him, contend with another sickening room spin and wait for him to unzip me. I wrestle my way into the T-shirt before I take his hand to stand and shimmy out of the dress. “Gotta pee.” I stagger into the bathroom and manage to take care of business and brush my teeth without falling. I hear Eric talking in the other room, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.
I leave the bathroom and return to the bed. As I perch on the edge of the mattress, I wish the room would quit spinning.
Eric comes and sits next to me.
“Were you talking to someone?”
“I was ordering up a cure for what ails you. It’ll be here momentarily.”
“A cure sounds really good.”
He nudges my shoulder. “Stick with me, kid. I’ll fix you right up.”
Because it’s there and because I need it, I rest my head on his shoulder, comforted by his presence, his easygoing disposition and his willingness to help me. It’s been such a long, lonely time since I could lean on anyone, and as I lean on him, I realize how much I’ve missed having that.