Page 38 of Unhinged Love

Clearly, she’s in the same place I am right now: a little tipsy and too damn tired to care. Instead of answering my question, she heaves a sigh while looking over the lavishly decorated room. “Do you think there’s a flower left in town?” she asks. “I hope nobody else is expecting to find any this weekend.”

The thought of flowers reminds me of something. “Are you going to go out there and try to catch the bouquet later?”

She rolls her eyes, scoffing. “Are you kidding? Even if I wanted to, Mom would probably tell me not to waste my time.” Her voice shakes a little before she looks away.

I remember clearly everything Irene said to her last night. I think I would rather have no mother at all than a mother who would make me feel that small and worthless.

I don’t know why, but there’s something in me that wants to make her feel better. It has to be the champagne, or the exhaustion. “You look nice today.”

“Oh. Thank you. I hate this dress,” she mumbles, picking at the light, gauzy fabric. Yeah, I guess she would hate it. It’s sleeveless, low cut enough in the front to show cleavage. Everything she always tries to avoid.

“You look nicer than a lot of the women here.” I plop down into the chair next to hers, glad to get off my feet in a pair of dress shoes I didn’t remember to break in before today. I thought only women were supposed to complain about aching feet at events like this.

Gesturing with my flute, I lean a little closer to her so she can hear me. “Look at those cougars over there on the dance floor. Friends of your mom’s?”

She giggles, shaking her head. “Mom wishes. They’re wives of some of your dad’s friends.”

“Yeah, I guess I didn’t recognize them with all that makeup. Did they use a putty knife to put it on?” She laughs, and I laugh, and we watch the trio of women dancing around with their shoes in their hands, shaking their asses.

“So I look better than a bunch of middle-aged women. I don’t know if that’s really a compliment.” But her eyes are shining when they meet mine, and there’s a heartbeat when we’re just two people sitting together at a wedding—the most normal thing in the world.

But her smile fades quickly, replaced with a frown. “I know what you think of her. I mean, it’s not like you try to make it a secret or anything. And I’m not trying to start shit,” she adds when I lean back in the chair with a sigh. “I understand how you feel. I would feel the same way. This whole thing makes my skin crawl.”

Well, son of a bitch. So this is what it takes to turn her into a regular person and not some always-spooked robot who scurries through life like a timid little mouse. “What, because I have to be your stepbrother?”

“Do you want an honest answer to that?” But she’s grinning as she shrugs. “I mean, you haven’t exactly made it easy. But it’s just all so… obvious. Painfully obvious. She doesn’t know how trashy she makes herself look, how embarrassing she is. And I hate…” All of a sudden, her bottom lip almost disappears under her teeth before her head snaps back around, avoiding my gaze.

But it’s too late for that. “What? Go ahead,” I prompt. I never would’ve expected being able to relate to her—and now that it seems like I can, I want to know more.

Looking at me from the corner of her eye, I can sense her sizing me up. Wondering about my motive. Can she trust me? Can I blame her for wondering that? “I hate thinking peoplemight, you know, lump me in with her. I hate that they would figure we’re the same kind of person because nothing could be further from the truth.” Then she tosses back the rest of her champagne all at once.

“Careful,” I warn her, laughing. “All that sugar. You’re gonna have a hell of a hangover.”

“Whatever. I don’t have any plans tomorrow.” She has definitely loosened up, and I can’t pretend I don’t like what I’m seeing. There’s something so tempting about her right now. It’s more than the memory of being inside her last night, that barrier between us demolished. It’s more than a feeling of possessiveness or ownership or anything like that. Feeling free and easy, she’s somebody I wouldn’t mind spending more time with.

“When do you think we can get out of here?” When it sounds like she’s going to choke on her tongue, I add, “I’ve been dying to go ever since we finished dinner. I mean, unless you feel like hanging around here and watching your mom start a conga line or some weird shit.”

“I think usually people wait until the cake is cut.” She eyes the monstrous six-tier cake on the other side of the room, chewing her lip again.

“Do you really think anybody would care if we missed that?” Standing, I button my tuxedo jacket and look down at her expectantly. “I’m going to go with or without you. We’ve had about enough of pretending for one night.”

She’s torn—until she isn’t. “Fine. I’ll go with you. I can always say I had a headache or something.”

“See? We’re getting along like siblings are supposed to. Our parents will be so proud.” I can’t help but laugh when she rolls her eyes. I think the champagne is affecting both of us, but it’s not a bad thing. For the first time in a long time, it feels like I have an ally.

Even if that ally comes from the last place I would ever expect.

It doesn’t take long to get an Uber—we rode in the limousine straight from the house, meaning there’s no car for me to drive home. The party is still raging by the time our car rolls up, and the drunken shouts still audible behind us make me glad we decided to cut out early. The drunker everyone gets, the more insufferable it’s all going to become.

There’s something almost nice about riding home with her, comparing notes on the day. In her lap, she holds a small purse and a bouquet of ribbon-wrapped peonies and roses. She’s smiling, obviously relieved to be out of the spotlight, away from people asking all kinds of rude questions about how life has changed and what it’s like fitting into a new family. A few of them must have recognized her from around town since they made a big deal of commenting on how much nicer she looks today, how they didn’t know she was so pretty. I mean, not that I disagree, but I at least have a little tact.

By the time we get home, there’s only one thing on my mind. The night air is humid, and I’ve been in this fucking tuxedo all day. “I’m gonna go for a swim,” I announce once we’re in the house, going straight for the kitchen and the doors leading out back. “Come with me.”

“I’m not going to swim.”

I stop at the firm, no-nonsense sound of her voice and turn on my heel while taking off my jacket. She’s standing at the foot of the stairs, one hand gripping the banister while she stares at me. Her eyes don’t look quite as wide as they do when she’s wearing her glasses, but they’re close.

“I’ll be a good boy, I promise.” I even hold up my right hand before using it to undo my bowtie. “Come on. Don’t make me swim alone.”

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