Page 14 of I Almost Do

I'm about to tell Rafe to keep his hands to himself, but before I even get a chance, James isgrowling, "Don't touch her."

Something about the way he says it feels as though he's an attack dog ready to rip the man's throat out.

He's using his body to intimidate and back Rafe away from me until they're far enough that I can't hear a word they're saying.

But I can tell James is laying into the man. And I don't think it's the usual threats of financial destruction that powerful men like James typically employ. I think he's threatening to tear the photographer’s arms off.

I married James to give my father comfort and because I have dreamed of being loved by James for years. James married me as a favor to my dad. But I thought when he said we’d be friends that meant we’d be partners. I didn't realize James was signing up to be another one of my guard dogs.

I might never have rebelled against my father, but I can promise rebellion is coming for my husband if he tries to stuff me into the same role Dad did.

I'm not a stubborn or unreasonable person, I don't think. I will gladly and willingly accept James's help and support. And I hope he lets me support him in return.

But I don't need him fighting my battles.

I would have told Rafe to back off on my own. And if the man hadn't listened, then I would be all for this current display. But I could have handled this.

We end the shoot standing a foot apart, holding hands but looking off in different directions. It feels like an omen.

6

Raise Your Glass

Clarissa

When we reach the hotel ballroom, I excuse myself to go hide in a restroom for a while.

One of my usual bodyguards, Sasha, enters first. She's a fit black woman in her midthirties. She's in plain clothes today, dressed as a wedding guest, albeit one wearing practical shoes. I follow inside when she gives the all-clear. Then she stands near the sinks.

What I need is a good cry, but I won't do that. Not even in the privacy of a restroom. I'd leave with red eyes, a shiny nose, and my makeup wrecked. Screw that. No one gets to see what a disaster this day feels like for me.

Besides, my father would see the evidence of my tears. I can't have him worrying about me on my wedding day. He seems so relieved and happy about it all.

I lock myself behind the paneled wooden door of the handicap stall—the only one big enough to fit my dress—then stand still and just take a moment for myself.

Two women have entered the restroom and are standing near the far end of the sinks, just this side of the lounge area. I can hear them loud and clear through the stall door.

“That ceremony has to be one of the most uncomfortable moments I’ve ever witnessed.”

The other woman says, “It’s clearly a business arrangement. Harcourt plans to give James his shares when he dies. Without that family connection, the inheritance tax alone would be brutal.”

Water runs, and I miss some words. “…you would know, I guess. I hope they manage to work it out.”

“Please. Can you imagine James with a girl like Clare Harcourt? This is about money. Knowing him, I’d be shocked if he ever lays a finger on her.”

The other laughs. “He couldn’t even bring himself to kiss her at the wedding.”

“She’s not just young—she’s a spoiled little princess. She has to annoy the hell out of him.”

Then I hear the clicking of their heels as they move toward the exit.

I rip the stall door open, peering out just in time to see the back of a svelte woman with pale blonde hair, styled straight as a ruler, as she sashays her way out the door. The sound of her stilettos echoes like gunfire.

I meet Sasha’s sympathetic eyes in the mirror, and I burn with humiliation and rage.

When I told James that people would talk, I tried to convince myself I could grow a thick skin about it. I was determined to stay away from social media and stick my head in the sand. But I never expected to be confronted with it on my actual wedding day.

It would sting less if there weren’t tendrils of truth woven through the malicious supposition.

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