Page 85 of Best Man Speaking

Marcus, on the other hand, is completely unbothered, not even attempting to maintain any personal space. His large thigh instantly finds me beneath the table, and his shoulder brushes against mine with each minor movement. The contact puts me at ease, and no matter what’s set to happen next, I’m at least able to concentrate on the company before us.

Unlike our first dinner together, this is an easy task. For a start, everyone at the table knows their purpose here, drinks flow, and whoever made the decision to order such a large selection of appetizers is now my favorite person.

Rhianna leans across the table to refill my wineglass, dark brown skin glowing against the coral of her strapless jumpsuit. Discreetly, she rolls her eyes to where Katie and Matt are in some type of heated debate over—I listen closer—Angel or Spike? Not what I was expecting, and not that I’m looking to get involved, but I know where I stand on this particular debate: Spike is the only option.

“Where do you head after this weekend?” I ask Rhianna as she sits again.

“I have a pre-wedding shoot in Seattle before I head back home for their wedding,” she replies, brushing long, dark curls over her shoulder as she tilts her head toward Jules and Erica.

I know the life of a traveling photographer probably isn’t as glamorous as it looks, but from the outside, it sure does seem like it. I might’ve moved far away, but the traveling I do is far from glamorous. Last-minute budget flights, carry-on-only tickets, and hotels booked on arrival. Whatever it took to get to as many destinations as possible. “Is it an actual engagement shoot or just a trial?”

“An engagement shoot. They want the whole package. Every memory possible.” Her response is given with a bright smile, and I can see how she’s so good at her job, how she’d successfully put people at ease on such a demanding day.

Erica had mentioned before leaving for Vegas that when she’d asked Rhianna to be a bridesmaid, she’d generously offered up her photography skills, but she’d declined. She wanted her friend to be able to enjoy the day, not work it. To be fair, being a bridesmaid is probably job enough, especially considering that I, as the maid of honor, only have half a brain in the game.

“When do you head back?” she asks me. And it’s the million-dollar question.

I feel Marcus still beside me. We haven’t spoken yet about my immediate plans—about my decision to sell the house but not to leave straight away. About my decision to test Erica’s theory about standing still.

“I haven’t confirmed my flight out yet,” I answer with forced lightness. “There are still some things I need to take care of here.”

“Well, I’m sure your family has enjoyed having you home,” Rhianna replies easily.

My wince is internal, my smile well practiced, but before I can give a slight nod, Erica jumps in. “We’re glad to have had her here. To be honest, I wish she’d stay.”

Julian throws an arm around Erica’s shoulders. “What my lovely fiancée means to say is that she wants Hallie to be wherever makes her happy.”

Not for the first time this evening, I notice Marcus remains remarkably quiet next to me; I haven’t even received a single dirty text. Even stranger is that he and Julian have barely said a word to one another, which wouldn’t be unusual except that he’s barely said a word to anyone. Not that I would’ve expected him to weigh in on this topic, although from the small look Erica throws at him, I’m guessing she did.

“Speaking of which,” Erica starts, “have you heard anything else from Gwen about the house?”

I laugh. “I appreciate your false enthusiasm, but it’s a Sunday evening. I’m not set to hear anything until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“And what about Cade? Is he happy to still hold your apartment for you?” she asks, and for the first time tonight, I notice a change in body language from the man beside me.

“Yeah, he is,” I respond, my answer coming off short. I’m used to keeping my life private, but in this case, I’m wanting the chance to speak with Marcus without the wedding hanging over us before I bring my life plans to a public forum.

“Does it need any work?” Julian wants to know next.

“A bit,” I demur again, hoping the topic will be dropped.

I don’t want to get into a discussion about the plans I’d had to make the small skylight in the bedroom much larger. As a listed building, it’s likely to cost me a whole lot of cash to get it done. Cash that would come from the sale of my gran’s house to create a space where I could lie in bed and look at the stars. If that’s even what I decided to do.

“I’m sure Marcus would be happy to fly over and help with anything you need,” Julian responds.

The words themselves are a compliment, but Julian’s tone is heavy. As I look between the brothers, I can feel a difference there. It’s not animosity, but it’s something.

Discreetly, I slide my hand onto Marcus’s thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. I leave it there, but the fingers I’d expected to thread through mine don’t appear.

“I’ll take your word for it since your house isn’t terrible to look at,” I add in an attempt to lighten the mood, and thankfully, it works. Erica picks up the conversation and carries us forward in a safer, more wedding-appropriate direction.

Even with everyone’s attention diverted, Marcus doesn’t give any indication of wanting my hand on him. His thigh might still be pressed firmly against mine, but the lack of response to my hand has nervous insecurity crawling over my skin. I stick it out for as long as I can, knowing the gesture wasn’t made for my own sake, but after a few minutes of my action going unrecognized, I pull my hand back, fingers clenching in my lap. I breathe slowly and then stop altogether when Marcus stands and heads away from the table.

My phone vibrates where I have it on my chair, just beneath my thigh, and I check it discreetly.

Marcus:I didn’t want you to move your hand.

Hallie:You sure about that?

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