Page 29 of Mr. Swoony

She’s still standing there, looking so put together like she should be on top of a cake. Her dress is big and puffy, and her hair is so tight in a bun that I want to release it and let her blonde strands fall over her shoulders. She looks rigid and cold. Not at all like the Eloise I met last week. They’re like two completely different people.

I walk down the aisle, the flower petals crumpling under my shoes.

“Con—” Kyleigh steps in front of me “—you’re drunk. What are you doing?”

I don’t look at her. My eyes are solely on Eloise. “I’m sorry, Ky. I know this is a big deal for you, but I can’t let her marry him.”

“It’s not your decision,” she whispers.

Tristan hasn’t even reacted yet. I know I’d be down those steps and knocking out the guy who’s trying to steal my girl.

I place my hand on my sister’s hips and pivot her out of my way. “Eloise?”

“I knew it! She’s a whore!” A woman on my right points at Eloise.

“Excuse me?” A woman from on the left stands and steps into the aisle.

“Are you Conor Nilsen?” one of the groomsmen asks, hitting Tristan on the arm. “Shit, half the team is here. At your wedding, man.”

I ignore them all. “Eloise?”

Her eyes soften, and there she is. I get a glimpse of my Eloise. Then her eyes narrow, she lifts the skirt of her dress, walks down the steps, and grabs my hand. “Come with me.”

She pulls me down the aisle and out the doors.

This isn’t exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

Twelve

Eloise

“Who is that?” Tristan asks from next to me at the altar.

“Shit, man, I think that’s Conor Nilsen,” Merrick says, elbowing Tristan.

“Who?” Tristan asks.

“You know, the Chicago Falcons goalie. Big contract last year when he got traded.” Merrick steps forward. “Are you Conor Nilsen?” He hits Tristan again as if he should be fanboying. Did he miss the part where Conor objected to our marriage? “Shit, half the team is here. At your wedding, man.”

“Eloise?” Tristan whispers with accusation while Conor says my name in that sweet voice of his.

I must be in a dream. I mean, nightmare right now.

I weave past my mom and Tristan’s mom as they argue about if I am, in fact, a whore, and grab Conor’s hand, tugging him toward the door. “Come with me.”

We pass Kyleigh, and she mouths sorry.

Henry and Rowan have their teammate with the longer blond hair cornered, his hands up, and he keeps repeating that he didn’t know.

Once we’re out the church doors and in my bridal room, I flip the lock and whirl around. “What are you doing here?”

He smiles. Oh, that panty-melting smile he uses on all the girls. “I’m here for you.” He says it as though it’s obvious and perfectly acceptable.

I groan. “Conor, this is my wedding.”

“Yeah, and that’s why I’m here.”

I lean forward and smell the alcohol on his breath. “You’re drunk. You smell like a distillery.”

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