“You’ll exchange your rings, recite your vows, and then I’ll pronounce you husband and wife,” the minister is saying. “After the kiss, you’ll exit, followed by the rest of the bridal party. It’s all quite quick. Any questions for me?”
Phoebe and Nate seem perfectly at ease, holding hands and smiling. All traces of her earlier panic attack are completely gone. It’s me who’s feeling anxious, now. I stare at them and a horrible pang of foreboding shoots through my chest cavity. I’m consumed with memories of the last time I stood at a bride’s side, holding her bouquet as she promised to love and cherish a man until death did them part.
And it did.
Far faster than anyone could’ve imagined.
Usually, when Mimi finds her way to the surface, I’m able to shove her back down. To compartmentalize her away into a tiny box marked big sister in the back of my mind.
It’s not because I don’t care.
It’s because I care too much.
It’s been ten years, but the loss still cripples me every time I allow my mind to wander to her. Ten years of grief. Ten years of missing her with every breath, of hating every milestone that passes by unshared.
I can’t think about all the things she was supposed to be here for — graduations and birthdays and broken hearts. I can’t let myself remember her smile that day, as she slipped into her wedding dress and called out for me in that lilting, melodic tone.
Hey there, Delilah!
It was our favorite inside joke, a play on the lyrics of a once-popular radio hit.
Help me with my zipper, will you? And pour us some of that champagne — just don’t tell Mom I let you have any. You may be underage, but I need my maid-of-honor to have a toast with me while we still have the same last name.
She was stunning, as she made her way down that aisle. I held her bouquet while she said her vows, and cried like a baby when my new brother-in-law promised to have and to hold her forever.
None of us realized just how short their forever would be.
My heart is pounding in my chest. My lungs feel tight, my airway restricted by a lump of grief I can’t seem to swallow. My head is crowded with memories and for once, I’m struggling to push them back into their box. No matter how hard I try, I can’t shake Mimi off.
How do I look? She laughed, a tinkling sound of delight. Do you think Charlie will cry, when he sees me coming?
I feel myself beginning to unravel, right there on the platform, as Phoebe and Nate walk hand in hand down the aisle, followed by Gemma and Chase. I know it’s my turn to move, know I should be walking toward Luca and joining the procession downstairs to the deck, where we’ll be eating dinner, but my feet are locked to the ground.
Shelby coughs impatiently at my back, as if to say get a move on!
But I can’t. I’m stuck. Swamped by sudden grief.
Luca appears, a look of concern on his face as he stares down at me. I know my eyes are wild — I can only imagine the emotions he reads in their depths. Whatever he sees, it’s enough to make his jaw clench tightly.
“Not here,” he says lowly, reaching down and twining his fingers with mine. And I can’t explain it, but as soon as he touches me some of the panic ebbs, until I can breathe again.
With a small nod of approval, he squeezes my hand, his grip warm and strong, and starts leading me down the stairs. I’m so lost in my own thoughts, I don’t realize we’ve separated from the rest of the group until several moments later, when Luca sits me down on a low bench between two shallow tanks. A hanging sign proclaims:
STINGRAY TOUCH TANK! Please keep your hands flat.
We sit on the child-sized bench with our shoulders pressed together, watching the eerie, translucent creatures glide gracefully though the mangroves, for once unbothered by a crowd of kids sticking their stubby fingers into the water. I focus on the rhythm of Luca’s chest moving steadily in and out, matching my breaths to his. After a while, my throat clears and my heart stops pounding like a cardiac arrest patient.
“You okay?” Luca’s voice is soft.
I glance over at him, straight into his eyes, and see so much concern there, my pulse stutters again. “I will be.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
I blow out a breath and drop my head into my hands, feeling weak and lost and more fragile than I’ve allowed myself to be in years. Luca’s hand hovers for a second, then lands on my back. He rubs my shoulders in soothing strokes, until I relax beneath his touch.
“Just breathe, babe. In and out.” His fingers flex against my skin. “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it. Promise.”
I turn my head to look at him and I’m horrified to find there are tears gathered in the corners of my eyes. He spots them and flinches, like I’ve struck him.
“No fixing this, I’m afraid,” I whisper brokenly.
He doesn’t say it aloud; his eyes do the talking for him.
You can tell me. I’m here for you. I’ll hold you until it passes.
I’m too close to him. I can’t breathe with him in my space, pressed up against me, stroking my back and being so alarmingly kind. I need some room, if I’m going to talk about this.
He must sense that, because he doesn’t move a muscle as I rise to my feet and start pacing in front of the bench, breaths puffing out in time with my footsteps. My high heels click against the cold cement floor for several long seconds as I attempt to wrangle my scattered thoughts into a cohesive sentence. Luca waits, watching me carefully. He knows me well enough to recognize that I won’t speak until I’m ready, that pushing me to talk will only force my guard back up.
“It’s stupid,” I say finally, clearing my throat. “I shouldn’t be this upset. I thought I had a handle on it. I’m just happy it happened now, instead of tomorrow. If I ruined Phoebe’s wedding, it would be unforgivable.”
“Phoebe loves you. She’d forgive you for pretty much anything, Delilah.”
“Maybe.” I shake my head, still pacing. “But I’d never forgive myself. It’s the most important day of her whole life. I’m supposed to be happy for her. Celebrating with her. And instead, I’m down here in the throes of a panic attack. Because weddings…”
Shaking my shoulders, I force myself to stop pacing. I stand stock still, clenching my fists so tight my fingernails cut into my palms, and force myself to say the words I’ve spent so many years avoiding.
“Duncan isn’t my only sibling.” I glance up at Luca, breathing hard. “Did you know that?”
He shakes his head.
Of course not. I never talk about her.
“Actually, I guess it’s more accurate to say… he wasn’t my only sibling. I had a sister until I was fifteen. Her name was Mimi.” I steel myself against it, but the words still hit me like a punch to the stomach as they pass my lips, cracking with grief. “She died.”
Luca’s eyes soften. “Oh, Delilah. I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
He nods. “I’m still sorry.”
My bottom lip starts to tremble. “I’m only telling you this because when she— when it happened—” I suck in a breath. “She’d just gotten married. They were driving to the airport for their Honeymoon and there was an accident. A drunk driver on his way to a summer kegger blew through a red light and slammed into their limo. Her husband, Charlie, died at the scene. Painless. Instant. But Mimi made it to the hospital.” My lips twist. “She was always a fighter — she fought for good grades and for the student council presidency and for Charlie, who our parents didn’t approve of, because his family wasn’t from money. She fought for me, whenever I needed someone in my corner; she even fought for Duncan, who’s always been a bit of a mess. And she never stopped fighting, not even at the end. But this was one battle she couldn’t win. The damage was—” I break off. My throat aches with unshed tears. “She was in a coma for two weeks, before my parents made the decision to let her go. Just like that… her happy ending, cut short at twenty-two.”
&nbs
p; “Babe.” Luca rises slowly to his feet and walks up to me.
I throw out my hands to hold him at bay. If he touches me, I’ll fall apart completely.
“Don’t. Please don’t touch me. Not now.”
He stops short, staring at me with a look of comprehension in his eyes, as if he’s just figured something out, found the torn-off corner of the map that held vital directions to the final destination.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” I ask, voice cracking.
“Just finally starting to put some pieces together that never made sense before.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Pieces that give me some insight about why you’re not the biggest fan of long-term commitments… or relationships.”
I drop my eyes to my feet. “What’s the point?”
“What do you mean?”
“What’s the point of a relationship, if it’s just going to end like that?” My laugh is brittle. “That’s not how it’s supposed to work. You’re supposed to find your soulmate and live happily ever after. That’s the lie we’ve all been sold by Hollywood, isn’t it? Cue the sunset and cheesy musical score.” I shake my head. “You go on awful dates, and survive horrible break ups. You get your heart broken time after time, somehow holding out hope that one day you’ll meet him. He’s your reward for all the crap you went through, while you were single. A soul mate. A husband. A happy ending and a perfect life full of chubby babies and bickering.
You’re supposed to get ornery and fat and love each other anyway. The till death do you part is supposed to come from the graceful progression of time, when you’re wrinkled and older than dirt. It’s not supposed to happen at twenty-two, with your whole life ahead of you, on your way to celebrate your Honeymoon. It’s not supposed to be snatched away at random, because some asshole chugs one too many Bud Lights and climbs behind the wheel.”
I look up at Luca with wet eyes, feeling raw and broken. “So my question is… What’s the point of any of it, if it’s just going to be taken away? Why go through the absolute fucking torture of finding your soulmate if, as soon as you do, it’s all ripped right out of your hands?”
Luca is silent for such a long time, I don’t think he’s going to respond at all. But eventually, he closes the distance between us with measured steps. I tilt my head back as he gets closer and keep myself totally still as he reaches up to cradle my face with his big hands.
“Life is a beautiful, broken mess. Closer to a Shakespearean tragedy than a Hollywood happy ending, in my experience. I don’t know why your sister’s life was cut short, Delilah. I don’t have an easy answer to your question about the point of it all.” His eyes hold mine. “I think the only person who can give you that answer is you. It’s not something anyone can tell you, and it’s not something you can learn from an instruction manual. It’s something you have to discover on your own. Something inside yourself.”
With that, he leans down and kisses my forehead in the most heartbreakingly tender gesture of my life.
And there, in that horrible, hope-drenched moment… with only stingrays to bear witness… I, Delilah Sinclair, slide my hands around his waist, tuck my head against his chest, and hug him until the pain in my chest ebbs away, replaced by something warm and soft and almost unrecognizable.
When we return to the table and rejoin the party, no one mentions our strange absence or my uncharacteristically red eyes, but Phoebe catches my gaze and mouths, You okay?
I nod and smile at her as I take my seat. Luca pushes it in for me, and I arch my brows at him as he settles onto his own chair.
“What?”
“Who knew there was a gentleman under all that…” I scan him up and down with my eyes.
He grins, dimples popping in his cheeks.
Damn, he’s handsome when he does that.
I feel almost back to normal as the night passes, sitting on a gorgeous seaside deck with my best friends, eating course after course of delicious seafood as the sun slowly sinks toward the western horizon. We’re a boisterous group, laughing often, trading jokes and stories, toasting Phoebe and Nate more than once as the champagne flows freely.
Every so often, I catch Shelby watching me carefully from her spot across the table, her eyes moving between me and Luca with curiosity in their depths. She’s even more convinced that there’s something going on with us, after what happened at the rehearsal.
Which there is not.
Obviously.
We’re just friends with some unresolved sexual chemistry.
We aren’t… together.
God, I can barely pull off a convincing lie in my mind, let alone say it aloud.
As if reading the direction my thoughts, Luca’s hand slides onto my thigh beneath the table. He doesn’t look at me as he does it — to everyone else, he appears fully engaged in Gemma’s animated story of the first time she and Phoebe crossed paths, before they even knew they were sisters. The breath catches in my throat as his thumb begins to stroke the bare skin between my knee and the bottom hem of my dress. I try to squirm away, but his hold tightens as soon as I move — there’ll be no shaking him off. Not without drawing attention.
Shit.
There’s a playful light in his eyes as his hand slides against my skin, sending shockwaves through me as it moves a single inch higher. His touch is relentless — delivering slow, sensual circles that drive me to distraction for the rest of the meal, until I’m flushed and struggling to stay attuned to the conversation happening around me. By the time they serve the desert course, I’m dying for a reprieve. I practically bolt out of my chair as soon as Phoebe remarks that it’s getting late.
“Yeah! We should probably call it a night.” I smile manically. “Long day tomorrow.”
I hear a low chuckle from Luca as everyone finds their feet and starts walking toward the door. I paste myself to Shelby’s side like glue, so close she shoots an annoyed look in my direction as we exit the aquarium and approach her car.
“Lila, you’re very pretty, but I just don’t swing that way.”
I snort and take a step out of her space. “Just making sure you don’t leave me behind. You’re my ride home, remember?”
“I already told you I’d take you.” Her eyes narrow. “Why are you being such a spaz?”
“I’m not!”
“She is.” Luca appears beside me suddenly. There’s a grin on his face. “It’s my fault.”
Shelby laughs. “Should’ve known.”
My mouth gapes. “You—”
Luca looks past me to Shelby, as if I’m not even standing there. “I’ll be driving Delilah home, if that’s okay with you.”
“Excuse me?” I snap.
My friend’s eyes flicker to my face for a brief instant. I see her answer before she vocalizes it.
“Don’t you dare abandon me to the wolves,” I mutter menacingly.
“Sorry, sweets. When the wolf looks like that…” Shrugging, her eyes move to Luca. “Sure, you can drive her.”
“Shelby!”
“You’ll thank me later!” she calls back, winking as she walks away. “See you tomorrow!”
I’m still processing the fact that I’ve just been betrayed — by one of my best friends, no less — when she climbs into her car and drives away. Without me.
I pivot to Luca and glare at him. All the goodwill he earned earlier, comforting me after my panic attack, is now null and void.
“You’re infuriating,” I say tiredly.
He shrugs, words laced with humor. “And you’re a walk in the park?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Let’s just go.”
He grins and, before I can stop him, reaches out to tangle his fingers with mine. I heave a heavy sigh as we walk to his truck hand in hand.
It feels too good to pull away.
Chapter Twelve
Is my name Terms and Conditions?
No. So please stop ignoring me.
Delilah Sinclair, wondering why the bartender won’t take her ord
er.
I don’t realize Luca has no intentions of driving me home until we pull to a stop outside Battery Wharf. He turns the engine off and I arch my brows across the dark cab. It’s strangely quiet, for a Friday night. Too late for dinner, too early for the bars. There’s not a soul around.
“What are we doing here?” I ask loftily, hoping he can’t hear my heart pounding from the driver’s seat.
His eyes smolder with heat.
“Don’t give me that look,” I insist, mouth going dry.
“What look?”
I decide it’s probably best not to answer that question.
He leans into my space, across the center console, and his eyes lock on my mouth. “That dress you’re wearing…”
“Mmm?” My tone is reedy. “What about it?”
“So tight it’s been driving me fucking crazy since the moment I saw you in it.” He pauses, getting even closer. “Been wondering if you’re wearing any underwear beneath it all night long. Suppose you could tell me, but…” His eyes turn molten. “Always been a bigger fan of firsthand research.”
I watch his lips form those words and have to bite my tongue to keep myself from doing something extraordinarily stupid. Like telling him the answer to his question is a big, fat no. Or launching myself at him and shoving my tongue in his mouth.
“Babe.”
My eyes flicker up to his.
“Keep looking me like that, we’re not even gonna make it out of my truck,” he murmurs hotly.
Oh boy.
He leans closer, until I’m drowning in his eyes, not sure I ever want to come up for air. I could get lost in this man, oh so easily. Stay in bed with him for days or weeks or years, pretending to have no responsibilities. No one counting on me. Not family or friends or…
“Fenway!” I yell abruptly, sitting back in my seat. “He’s with my neighbors. We have to go get him.”
Luca sighs heavily and murmurs something that sounds like, This woman is going to kill me. His voice is too muffled to know for sure. Nevertheless, he reaches out and starts the engine. Before we pull away from the curb, he looks over at me again, eyes scanning from my face all the way down the contours of my dress, until they’re lingering by the hem… and this time, when he speaks, there’s no doubt about what he says.
Take Your Time (A Boston Love Story Book 4) Page 20