Page 81 of The Masks We Burn

The woman is a goddess, and somehow even more devastatingly beautiful than when I saw her five minutes ago. When she reaches the edge of the stage, William steps down, extending his hand for her.

There’s a new butterfly on William’s forearm. The fresh bright black wings embedded into his flesh catch my eye as he helps Lily up the platform and hands her off to Spencer.

And it’s pink.

It’s fuckingpink.

More emotions than I know what to do with twirl in my gut, weighting my steps while speeding my pulse and constricting my throat. I’m a hot ass mess, barely able to keep my eyes trained on the ground for longer than ten seconds before they flash up to his.

And he hasn’t stopped looking at me. Honestly, he’s probably trying to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me, but what did he expect? Pink? Seriously?

Or… maybe I’m reading too much into it.

No. It can’t be.

A hope I’ve never felt before fills me to the brim, the very notion that maybe our stars are still aligned after all, sending tingles through my limbs.

“Amora,” Lily whispers, drawing my attention.

Oh, shit. It’s already time for the rings?

I hook my finger under the bottom of my bouquet and loosen the bow holding Spencer’s ring. After handing it to the priest, I fall back into place and force myself to listen to my best friend and her fiancé exchange vows.

They decided to recite the traditional ones, but hearing the love overflow in both of their voices and watching their eyes light up as they gaze at one another is literally the most overwhelming feeling. It blooms in my chest with promise as I watch a love being forged in the most tender of ways.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride,” the minister announces with a smile as Lily and Spencer seal their new marriage with a kiss.

We cheer as the newlyweds walk hand in hand down the aisle and disappear behind the wall of trees we came from. The wedding planner has us re-pair up and walk down with them, letting us know we must take pictures while everyone moves to the dining area.

Will links his arm in mine as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. As if his skin isn’t fucking burning from where our flesh touches. It can’t just be me.

I take a deep breath and steel my nerves. Amora Joy Orlov is no bitch. And if I want my man back, I have to say it. “Will.”

He peers at me as we continue the walk, a small smirk on his face. “Hmm?”

My lip rolls between my teeth as Itry. “Do you think we could talk?”

“Are you uncomfortable?” He turns his face toward me now, his brows drawn down in concern.

I shake my head and propel my actions, rubbing lightly over the little pink butterfly. “No.”

His eyes stay on my thumbs a moment before he purses his lips and swallows. “When?”

“The sooner the better.”Before I talk myself out of it.

“Okay,” is all he’s able to say before we are being pushed and pulled left and right for picture after picture, pose after pose. It isn’t until the whole scheduled thirty minutes have passed before we are taken to the dining area.

Much like the rows of seats for the ceremony, the dining area is a long, winding table between an opening of trees. Tables of buffet-style food rest on the opposite end, far enough away to create a forest dance floor of sorts, with the altar ring of flowers now behind the wedding cake.

Twinkling lights shine through the trees, now more prominent since the sky has started to set, painting the sky a cotton candy color. Dozens of battery-powered lanterns rest all along the ground and tables and I swear, I don’t think things could be any more perfect.

Unlike the traditional vows of the ceremony, the reception is to be anything but. Neither of them can have that dance with their parents, and have decided to forgo it all, and do a private dance with each other after the send-off.

I’m sitting at the long table on the other side of Lily, my foot nearly bouncing into oblivion as I wait for William to finish his conversation with one of the groomsmen. They’ve all been lost in conversation for what seems like forever, and I start to wonder if maybe I was jumping the gun. But as if he can feel my sudden reservations, his eyes stray to mine mid-laugh, making my thighs squeeze shut.

It’s probably not the best time to have moisture pooling between my legs, but hey, what can I say? William’s always had that effect on me, even now when we’re teetering on forgiveness or possibly finality.

My heart lurches at the thought until William stands, excusing himself and walking around the newlyweds to me. He holds out his hand, the pink butterfly on full display. “Do you still have a minute?”

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